“But if we send her back to the bloodsucking Royals, we send one hell of a powerful message,” another argued. “It will shake them. We need that advantage.”
“And we want it,” the one who was called Rolf said. “You have to. Those bastards killed your whole den, Delano. Your mother. Your father. Your sisters weren’t so lucky. They waited a while before they killed them—”
“I know exactly what was done to my family,” snarled Delano, and I felt my stomach twist. “But that does not change the fact that I will not allow you to hurt her.”
“She was standing next to Duke and Duchess Teerman,” a voice came, sending a chill down my spine. “She stood there when they told my wife and I that our son was to be given to the gods. She just stood there and did nothing.”
I stumbled back a step when the man who spoke stepped out of the shadows. It was Mr. Tulis. So jarred by his appearance, I couldn’t do anything but stare at him.
He looked at me then, with hatred in his eyes. “You cannot tell me you didn’t know what they were doing. You cannot tell me that you had no idea what happened to our children!” he shouted. “What was happening to the people who went to bed and never woke up? You had to know what they were.”
I opened my mouth, and the only thing I could say was, “Is your son with you now?”
“The Ascended will never get their hands on Tobias,” he vowed. “We will not lose another to them.”
Rattled as my gift came alive, I was barely able to pay attention to what Delano said. “And you would betray the Prince, who aided your family in escape? Who made sure that your child could grow and thrive?”
Mr. Tulis didn’t take his eyes off me. “I would do anything to feel the blood of the Ascended flowing on my hands.”
“I’m not an Ascended,” I whispered.
“No,” he sneered, brandishing a knife. “You’re just their whole future.”
I wanted to tell him that I planned to go to the Queen on their behalf, but I didn’t get the chance. Not that it would’ve made a difference. Not with that kind of loathing radiating out from him.
“Don’t do this,” Delano warned, unsheathing his sword.
“He’ll get over it,” Jericho said. “And if we have to kill you two to make sure he never finds out, then so be it. It’s your grave. Not mine.”
Everything happened so fast.
Rolf pushed Mr. Tulis back as Naill struck like a coiled viper, grabbing the larger man by the chest. Naill sank his teeth into his neck, tearing, ripping—
A man crashed into Naill, pulling him free from Rolf, who stumbled into the bars. Blood poured, and the man laughed. “You bit me.” He threw his arms out as his back bowed, cracked. “You actually bit me,” he said, the last of his words turning to gravel as his knees bent. He snarled, going down on all fours.
Naill kicked the man off, baring his fangs in a hiss that sounded so cat-like that I thought of the predator I’d seen in the cage all those years ago.
The cave cat that Hawke always reminded me of.
Naill flew at the man, taking him to the ground as Delano turned to me. “Kill any of them that get close to you.” He threw his sword at me, and I caught it in surprise as he turned back to those gathering at the cell door.
Delano shifted, splitting his shirt up his back as he fell forward, his lengthening hands smacking against the ground as white fur sprouted in a blinding flash over his mammoth form.
In a heartbeat, a massive wolven stood beside me just as others appeared in the hall.
“It’s a party,” Jericho said, and whatever hope I had that they were going to help ended right there. He winked at me. “You’re popular.”
“And I have two hands,” I retorted.
The smirk faded from his face.
Rolf came into the enclosure, and Delano crashed into him. They rolled across the cell, a ball of brown and white fur. Delano gained the upper hand, snapping his teeth inches from Rolf’s.
Naill snatched up one of the men in a run. He turned, slamming the man into the bars with such force that it cracked the iron. That man went down, and he didn’t get back up.
The Atlantian turned, reaching for one of the others who’d slipped past into the cell. One quick glance at the eyes—neither ice-blue nor golden amber—told me that I was squaring off with a mortal. The one who’d spoken first.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” I said.
“That’s okay,” he said, holding a wicked sickle-shaped sword. “But I want to hurt you.”