But Mordoc’s face twisted with cruel delight. “Oh? Was that the excuse you were going to use in that alley? Or with the mystics? You forget who you’re speaking to. I never forget a scent.” He sneered at Bryce and Hunt. “I tracked you all around Lunathion—Rigelus was all too happy to hear about your activities.”
“I thought you reported to the Hind,” Athalar said.
The silver darts along Mordoc’s collar glinted as he stepped closer. “Rigelus has a special interest in you lot. He asked me to sniff around.” He made a show of smelling Hunt. “Maybe it’s because your scent is wrong, angel.”
Athalar growled, “What the fuck does that mean?”
Mordoc angled his head with mocking assessment. “Not like any other angel I’ve scented.”
The Harpy rolled her eyes and said to the captain, “Enough. Leave us.”
Mordoc’s lip curled. “We’re to wait here.”
“Leave us,” the Harpy snapped. “I want a head start before she ruins my fun. Surely you know a thing or two about that, if you’re sneaking around her to report to Rigelus.” Mordoc bristled, but stalked off with a low snarl.
Ruhn’s mind raced. They should never have come here. Mordoc had remembered his scent—and tracked them these past weeks. Had fed every location to Rigelus. Fuck.
The Harpy grinned. “It’s been a while since I’ve played with you, Athalar.”
Hunt spat at her feet. “Come and get it.”
Ruhn knew he was trying to keep her from going for Bryce. Buying them whatever time he could to find a way out of this shitstorm. Ruhn met Bryce’s panicked look.
She couldn’t teleport, thanks to the gorsian shackles. Could Cormac get back here? He was their only shot at getting out of these chains—their only shot at survival. Had Dec seen the capture? Even if he had, there were no reinforcements to send.
The Harpy drew a short, lethal knife. The kind so precise that it could carve skin from the most delicate places. She flipped it in her hand, keeping back from Athalar’s reach, even with the chains. Her focus slid to Ruhn. Hate lit her eyes.
“Not so cocky now, are you, princeling?” she asked. She pointed her knife toward his crotch. “You know how long it takes for a male to grow back his balls?”
Pure dread shot through him.
Bryce hissed, “Keep your fucking hands off him.”
The Harpy laughed. “Does it bother you, Princess, to see your males so roughly handled?” She approached Ruhn, and he could do nothing as she ran the side of the blade down his cheek. “So pretty,” she murmured, her eyes like blackest Hel. “It will be a shame to ruin such beauty.”
Hunt growled, “Come play with someone interesting.”
“Still the noble bastard,” the Harpy said, running the knife down the other side of Ruhn’s face. If she came close enough, he could try to rip out her throat with his teeth, but she was too wary. Kept far enough back. “Trying to distract me from harming others. Don’t you remember how I cut up your soldiers piece by piece despite your pleading?”
Bryce lunged against her chains, and Ruhn’s heart cracked as she screamed, “Get the fuck away from him!”
“Listening to you squeal while I carve him will be a delight,” the Harpy said, and slid the knife to the base of Ruhn’s throat.
It was going to hurt. It would hurt, but because of his Vanir blood, he wouldn’t die—not yet. He’d keep healing while she sliced him apart.
“GET OFF HIM!” Bryce bellowed. A guttural roar thundered in the words. As Fae as he’d ever heard his sister.
The tip of the knife pierced Ruhn’s throat, its sting blooming. He dove deep, into the place where he’d always run to avoid his father’s ministrations.
They’d walked in here so foolishly, had been so blind—
The Harpy sucked in a breath, muscles tensing to shove in the knife.
Something golden and swift as the wind barreled into her side and sent the Harpy sprawling.
Bryce shouted, but all the noise, all the thoughts in Ruhn’s head eddied away as a familiar, lovely scent hit him. As he beheld the female who leapt to her feet, now a wall between him and the Harpy.
The Hind.
75
“You fucking cunt,” the Harpy cursed, rising to draw a long, wicked sword.
Ruhn couldn’t move from the floor as the Hind unsheathed her own slim blade. As her beckoning scent floated to him. A scent that was somehow entwined with his own. It was very faint, like a shadow, so vague that he doubted anyone else would realize the underlying scent belonged to him.