Page 6 of Possess Me at Midnight (Doomsday Brethren #4)

Chapter Five

“ G o now!” Duke shouts.

I race to the back door, heave Bram back onto my shoulder, then press an urgent hand to the small of Sabelle’s back. “Backpack?” She nods. “Good. Outside. Now. Stay in shadow. We’ve got two minutes, at most.”

The princess sends me a shaky nod, but she’s surprisingly composed, rather than panicking or demanding I carry her, too.

“And Lucan?”

Who gives a shit? After losing his mate, the bastard used Sabelle because she’s beautiful, kind, and convenient. I hate him for it. “Behind us.”

She nods. “We can wait here for him. Bram had extra protections here, just in case we ever needed to escape.”

Good to know. As I open the back door, I check to make certain no Anarki has made their way to the back of the massive estate.

I see none, but I hear them, beating at Bram’s weakened magical defenses, zapping and gnashing their way ever closer to the Doomsday Brethren’s fallback position at the back door.

I urge Sabelle onto the terrace, in the shadow of the overhang, then slide out behind her, covering her body with my own.

For a heartbeat, we’re pressed together, her soft curves molding against me, her pulse racing where my fingers grip her wrist. I release her quickly, but the brief contact leaves my skin burning.

She stiffens, caught between pressing back against the wall and maintaining distance from the dangerous wizard her brother has warned her about.

The December chill wraps around me, and I embrace the bite against my skin.

Snow is beginning to fall. I hope the Anarki bastards are having a miserable time.

I’d be happy to send any to their deaths if they threaten my Sabelle.

Well, she’s not mine . The princess belongs to me only in my fantasies.

A Rykard and a Rion together? The magical world would implode before that happened.

So I shush the foolish voice in my head, then guide her to the corner of the terrace while laying Bram at her feet in case I need both hands to fight.

With concrete at her back and sides, I can shield her.

Keeping my back to her, I pin her against the wall and scan for potential threats as Marrok, Olivia, and Tynan pour out of the house. They take a few steps forward before the wizard grabs the mated couple and teleports them away. Sydney and Caden follow.

Everyone is abandoning the estate. I need to get Sabelle to safety before it’s too late. Where the hell is Lucan?

Duke stumbles through the door, dragging an injured Lucan behind him, who’s now bloody from head to toe.

Behind me, Sabelle gasps and tries to wriggle free. I whirl on her and mercilessly flatten her to the wall with my body. “The Anarki are nearly upon us. You are not rushing through the danger for MacTavish.”

“But he may need?—”

“He is a full-fledged wizard with others around who can care for him.”

“But I’ve been helping him since Anka…”

My face must show my fury. I force it down with soul-deep willpower.

I knew Sabelle had become MacTavish’s willing carnal sacrifice as he healed from madness.

It lit a fire of jealousy and hatred in my gut.

Lucan loves Anka still, but he uses Sabelle’s body, her sweetness and softness, for his own selfish ends.

And Sabelle encourages him. Because she loves him?

I know she will never be mine, but I’ll be damned if I stand by and watch Lucan use her.

“Would you rather have Lucan die or the Doomsday Diary fall into Mathias’s hands?” I growl. “Since you’re female, you must carry the book…”

She sucks in a shuddering breath. The feel of her breasts against my chest nearly unravels me. But this isn’t the time or place for my possessive lust. Then again, there never will be one.

“You’re right. I-I wasn’t thinking.” Her breath mists the cold air. I want to kiss her so desperately.

I don’t dare.

“Ice!” Duke yells through the dark chill.

I pin Lord High-and-Mighty with a stare and a raised brow, willing him to hurry.

“The Anarki are through the door and into the house. That fucking gray smoke is everywhere! Take Sabelle and go—now. Lucan is too injured to be anything but a liability to you. I’ll take him with me.”

Finally, some sense. I grab Sabelle around the waist. “Let’s go, princess.”

“Where?”

I know of many remote places between here and my boyhood home. I’ve a million places to hide–and remain tucked away as long as necessary to ensure Sabelle’s safety.

“Anywhere but here.”

Curling my arm more tightly around her, I try not to think about how perfectly she fits against me, how soft her breasts feel cushioning my chest, how her alluring scent fills my lungs with every desperate breath.

It would be so easy to curl one hand under her backside and urge her legs around my waist so she could ride me…

Never happening, I chide myself.

Focusing on Wye Valley in the Welsh mountains, I will myself, Sabelle, and Bram there. My knees give out as darkness and a keen sense of weightless disorientation swallow me. But I’m hyperaware of clutching Sabelle close with one arm, while the other steadies Bram’s limp form.

Moments later, the ground rushes up under us. We land in a heap within a cluster of snow-dusted trees. The icy river trickles nearby. Lights from the nearby village are a hazy golden glow in the distance.

Thank fuck we escaped.

Though I’m tempted to breathe a sigh of relief, the danger may not be over. I scramble upright and lift Sabelle to her feet while hoisting Bram higher on my shoulder. I tug on her hand and lead her toward the town. “Are you all right?”

She nods, the silvery moonlight alighting her soft features and pale curls that fall gently to the breasts I’d give anything to touch. “Where are we?”

A sound—a twig snapping?—cuts through the night.

I yank Sabelle behind the nearest tree, my body caging hers against the rough bark.

My arm bands across her waist, holding her still as I strain to listen.

Her breath catches, warm against my neck.

For a handful of endless heartbeats, we’re pressed together, her spine against my chest, the gentle curve of her backside nestled against my thighs.

My senses flood with her—the silken texture of her hair brushing my jaw, the hammering of her pulse beneath my forearm.

Then the forest falls silent. False alarm. Reluctantly, I release her, the loss of contact bludgeoning me like a physical blow.

I force myself back to the moment. “Wales. I know this area well. Let’s go.”

Since we need shelter, I take Sabelle’s hand and haul her deeper into the copse of trees.

If memory serves me, there’s an abandoned house built into the nearby hillside.

It should shelter us for the night and will be easier to defend than remaining out in the open.

After I reestablish communication with Duke and the others, we’ll decide on a rendezvous point and a plan.

We’ve taken a mere handful of steps when I hear a whoosh behind me.

“Where are they?” a deep voice booms. “Find them. The spell Rhea cast on the book tells us it’s been transported somewhere nearby. Spread out!”

The hair on the back of my neck stands up. Mathias. Motherfucking hell. The evil bastard himself is chasing us. And that evil witch of his, Rhea, put a spell on the diary. The Anarki will know the Doomsday Diary’s location whenever Sabelle teleports with the book.

Bloody hell! The move was clever on Mathias’s part. I have to be smarter to save Sabelle and the book.

Can Rhea’s spell track us on foot? We’re about to find out…

I just have to hope the princess and I don’t get separated.

Duke sent me with her to protect the book.

The little red tome will allow me to carry it a short distance from her—but no more than that.

Since it’s an object of “feminine reverence”—according to its creator the long-dead bitch Morgana Le Fey—only a female can “own” it.

Being male, I can merely be the muscle that carries it, and only if I stay near whichever woman claims it.

A gasp slips from Sabelle’s lips. I tighten my grip on her hand and run faster, praying she keeps up. If she’s unable, I’ll carry her, Bram, and the Doomsday Diary to safety. Despite my legs being longer, Sabelle stays with me, every step. My admiration for her goes up another notch.

Quietly, we zigzag through the trees, gradually turning toward the abandoned house. We can’t stay there now, of course. It’s likely the first place the Anarki will look. We have to keep fleeing.

Grateful for the darkness that covers our tracks in the mud and remnants of snow, Sabelle and I dash for the hill on the west side of the valley. Behind me, I hear the pursuit of several wizards, the curses when one trips over a branch.

“Are you certain they ran in this direction?” one asks.

“Not entirely. So spread out. If she teleports anywhere, we’ll find her,” Mathias assures. “The bitch can’t outrun us. When I get my hands on her, I will happily strip her bare and make certain she knows who her master is.”

Over my dead body .

But the conversation suggests that my hunch was right: as long as Sabelle and I are on foot, no one can track the book. I think briefly of hiding the tome in a tree and teleporting away, but the risk is too great. If the Anarki find it… No, we must press on.

Sabelle stumbles in the dark, falling into me. I wrap my arm around her and jerk her to her feet. She must be getting tired, yet I don’t dare slow our pace.

“Can you go a bit farther?” I whisper.

Despite her panting, she nods, her jaw set with determination. “I will.”

Clearly, Bram isn’t the only Rion with pride. I’m not convinced Sabelle’s will is stronger than her body, but I pray she finds the fortitude to press on.

Without a word, I strip the pack from her back and cart it over my free shoulder. Bram’s dead weight flops over the other, but like the book, I don’t dare leave her brother behind for the enemy to find and use against us.

Despite the winter chill, sweat drips off me. My heart pounds a constant, violent tattoo. My lungs are about to burst, and my thighs burn. But I must keep on. I cannot risk Sabelle for rest.

Finally, we approach the hill leading out of the valley. I’m more than ready to be gone from here, find a car in the nearby town, and drive to safety.

Just then the moon peeks out from the clouds shining into the valley below.

The trees leading up the side of the hills are few and far between.

Now that Sabelle is no longer carrying the pack, I realize her pristine white sweater all but glows in the dark.

It might as well be a bloody beacon to Mathias and his minions.

In her world, such impracticality is merely written off as fashion. In mine, it’s life or death.

We need to improvise–and quickly. If she were anyone else, I’d simply slop mud over her clothes. Her shiny blond hair, too. But the Sabelle Rion? Has mud ever touched magickind’s princess? Irrelevant. We don’t have time. Behind me, the Anarki sound closer than ever.

Though I might be able to coax Sabelle into running north, parallel to the river, I fear we will encounter searching Anarki. Same with creeping south. The cliff is east, the river west.

We’re virtually trapped. And I have seconds to decide our fate.