The Night Prince (The Wolf King, #2)(108)

Alexander strolls back toward me. He smiles, almost lovingly, at me. “Nice try, love. I know you’re afraid, but it must be this way.”

I’m falling. My stomach plummets, and darkness claims me. Philip is shouting something. Alexander steps back, and the man with the whip stands near me. I’m losing feeling in my hands, but I manage to clench my fists. I grit my teeth.

I cannot do this. I cannot—

James roars. He elbows the wolf to his side in the face, and there’s a crack as he breaks his nose. My eyes widen as I catch a flicker of blond hair, and a soiled yellow kilt. It’s Ian, the male from Lochlan’s clan. The two brawl, and the chained Wolves are knocked into one another. Shouting and snarling fills the air. Ryan tries to join in, and lands a hit on Ian, but quickly gets shoved back by James.

A female cry echoes around the amphitheater. The Wolves fall silent. James’s gaze snaps across the circle. Alexander has his fist in Claire’s hair. Her eyes are wild, furious, and a dagger is held to her throat.

She bares her teeth. “Get the fuck off me.”

“I will, if your king behaves himself. Do I have your attention, Your Majesty?” Alexander mocks. A feral grin spreads across his face. “You will submit, or I will maim your mate, then throw her into the pit for my other special guest to play with.”

James’s steely gaze moves from Alexander to a trapdoor in the floor a few meters from where I’m bound. A hiss creeps through the cracks, and I suppress my whimper. The Dark Beast. We must be directly above its cell in the dungeons.

James releases Ian, and sinks back to his knees. Alexander throws Claire onto the floor. “Good boy.” He nods at the trapdoor before dropping into his stone throne. “If you survive, Aurora, love, I’ll open the door and you’ll meet her. Let’s begin.”

Philip’s eyes widen. A plea fills my lungs. Panic alights my soul. I jerk my head toward Alexander. “Wait—”

A crack fills the air and I’m jolted forward as a whip slices through my back. The burning pain comes a second later. Tears spring into my eyes. My fingers curl around the chains that bind me. The cuffs bite into my wrists. I take a deep, wheezing breath.

“Do it until she breaks,” says Alexander.

My skin splits like butter. I’m burning. Dying. I cannot breathe. I cannot see. There is only pain and blood. I’m shrieking, I think. My knees are weak, and my shoulders jerk in their sockets. My fingers are numb as I clutch the chains. Tears stream down my face. I try to recite one of my mother’s stories, but the pain is too great. I cannot focus on anything but my body being broken.

Something rises, angry, within. A scream builds in my chest that needs to break free. What good is screaming? What good is crying? Dots dance before my eyes, and I’m floating above my body—watching the broken girl, covered in blood, in the center of the amphitheater. My vision darkens, and I don’t know if it’s my life leaking away, or if that thing beneath the arena is making the torches flicker.

I can watch no more. I can bear no more. I retreat into myself. I hide with the emotions and the wildness I have contained since I was a girl. I coat myself in armor. I turn myself to stone. I let my soul flicker and blink out.

Alexander roars. The noise stops; the onslaught stops. I’m limp, my hair sticking to my tear-stained face, my arms pulling out of their sockets. My back is on fire. Alexander storms toward me, grabs my face, and jerks my gaze to his. His red face blurs in front of me.

“Why aren’t you doing it, you stupid bitch?” He backhands me and my head snaps to one side. He grabs me again. “I know it’s you. It has to be you. Show me your power. Show me your fucking power or I’ll rip you apart—”

There’s a gurgling noise behind him, and he turns. A blade protrudes from the neck of one of the men guarding the exit. His hood has fallen, and blood dribbles from his mouth. It spills down his chin and puddles between his boots. His eyes are wide. Shocked.

In a fluid movement, someone pulls the blade out, and he slumps to his knees before face-planting the floor.

Blake stands behind him.

His face. . . he is fury incarnate. His shirt is wet, plastered to his hard chest and torso, and a couple of dark curls stick to his forehead. His jaw is as sharp as the dagger in his fist. There’s a sword strapped to his back, and two more blades holstered in his belt.

His essence overpowers me. It fills my hollow chest. It’s dark and cold and inhuman, and puts out the fire that burns within. I thought I had felt his emotions before, but they were nothing compared to this. I cannot breathe. I cannot move. I can feel nothing but him. I’m reminded of that well that he told me about, and I wonder now if there is a bottom to the darkness.

The wolf blazes, amber, in his eyes as he holds Alexander in his steely glare. “Get your hands off my mate.”





Chapter Fifty-Nine





My eyes meet Blake’s.

Something erupts inside me. The wild and dangerous thought I’ve been trying to cull spreads through my body and sets my soul aflame. My breaths come out fast and shallow. He came. He came. He came. I feel the whisper of his attention brush over me, even when he moves his gaze back to Alexander.

Alexander releases his grip on my chin. My head is a ballast. I can’t support it. It rolls onto my neck. My back is shredded. My shirt blood-drenched. It sticks to the welts that mar my skin, and every breath I take is excruciating.