Page 11 of Lucifer's Mirror

He obviously misses the warning. “If you can’t do it,” he says, “then let me take her to your father.” He gives me a smirk. “It will be my pleasure.”

I move fast, and seconds later, he’s up against the wall, my arm across his throat. I lean in close, pressing hard on his jugular, so he chokes and splutters. “Lay one fucking finger on her, and I’ll rip you limb from fucking limb.”

I remain there for a few seconds more, just to get my point across, then I slowly straighten, releasing my hold, and he drags in a gasping breath.

“Gods, Khaos, what’s gotten into you? You’ve never acted like this over a woman before. You’ve always been more than happy to share.”

Mine.

My beast growls again, and Trystan must see it in my eyes because this time, he backs slowly away. He has some sense left after all. I turn and stare out of the window while I take another slug of whisky, feeling the warmth in my belly.

I’ve known Trystan all my life. We grew up together, and he’s the closest thing to a friend I’ve got. But I don’t trust anyone with all my secrets. Not since Khendril.

“Not this time,” I say.

“And what will you do? You can’t neglect your duties forever. The army has been without its commander for three years now. They grow restless. So does your father.”

He’s right. I’ve only been allowed this much freedom—my father likes to keep me on a tight leash—because I told him about the message from Khendril, despite the “tell no one” instruction on Khendril’s note. My father was incandescent with rage. He’s curious about the girl, but I think more than that, he wants this crone. Those were my orders—bring him the Crone. And after three years, he’s growing impatient for answers. But I don’t have any yet—just more questions.

I need to find a way to get him off my back for a while longer.

Draining the bottle, I toss it to the floor and head for the door. I open it and turn briefly. “Stay away from the girl. I’ll be back at first light.”

“Where—”

I close the door on his words and head down the corridor. As I pass her room, I hesitate. Breathing in deeply, I catch her scent. This time it’s wildflowers after fresh rain, and Fury stirs again. I almost turn toward her but force myself to continue. I need to get a handle on my control before I face her again.

She’ll be safe here until morning.

I straighten my shoulders and set off to do what must be done.

Just like I always do.

Chapter 6

Locked in and Livid

Iglareatthedoor.Again.

I can’t believe they’ve locked me in here. Like a freaking prisoner. I hammer my fist against the wood and get absolutely no response.

My heart is beating fast, but more with anger than fear.

Who do they think they are?

I almost smile. The question is a refreshing change after three years of “who am I?”

I take a few deep breaths. I had anger issues when I first woke up, and my therapist showed me ways to overcome them. I close my eyes and clear my mind.

I open them. Nope. Still freaking angry.

I’m also exhausted. Maybe I need to rest for a while, and I might manage to think of a way out of this.

I look around. It’s not actually a prison cell, but there’s not a lot else going for it. It’s big and bare, completely bereft of furniture. No carpet. No curtains on the big window opposite the door. I cross the room and peer out. It’s immediately clear that there’s no escaping this way. We’re high up above the city. Probably Manchester. It’s still dark, so we couldn’t have driven for hours. But I can tell we’re a long way from home. How am I supposed to get back? Even if I manage to get out, I’ve got no phone. No money.Crap!

I try to open the window, but it’s either stuck, locked, or nailed shut. I consider smashing it and screaming but have an idea it will do absolutely no good. No one will hear me.

I’m guessing we must be in the penthouse of a high-rise. I can’t see any way down from this side of the building. My anger is rising again. How could I be so stupid? I should never have gone with him. Never gotten in that car. Though at that point, maybe I didn’t have a choice. And I’d wanted answers to my questions—questions I’ve been asking for three years. Stupidanddesperate.