Page 103

She ran toward the building, her heart hammering against her ribs with each step. She slipped through the doorway and into the main hall. The scene that greeted her was worse than her darkest imaginings.

The hall was a tableau of pure carnage. Three bodies lay sprawled across the blood-soaked floor, their limbs twisted at unnatural angles. The metallic scent of spilled blood was overwhelming, mingling with the acrid smell of fear sweat and something else—something that might have been death itself.

And there, in the center of it all, was Gideon.

He lay on the floor, his body contorted in pain, but his head held high. Towering over him like a nightmare was the burly man she recognized instantly—the same vicious beast who had wanted to defile her and had kicked Gideon until his body was a map of bruises and cuts.

That monster.

He stood over Gideon with a knife raised.

“No!” Leila cried, the word torn from her throat before she could think to remain silent.

The sound echoed off the stone walls, and the burly man’s head snapped up.

Leila dashed toward him, positioning herself between Gideon and the monster who had almost destroyed them both.

When he had hurt Gideon before, she had been shackled, unable to help, forced to watch as they beat him into unconsciousness. The memory of that helplessness burned in her chest.

But now she was free, armed, and filled with righteous fury.

“Leila, go! Run!” Gideon grunted from behind her.

But Leila planted herself like a tree before him.

“Brave little bird,” the guard mocked, hefting the large knife.

Then he rushed at her, brandishing his weapon.

Leila dodged at the last possible moment, jolting to the side. The man’s momentum carried him past her, and she heard the satisfying thud as he stumbled into the stone wall.

The impact seemed to anger him even more.

“You little whore!” he snarled, spinning around to face her again.

He charged at her a second time, but rage made him sloppy. Leila dashed to the side again, this time adding a slight push to his back as he passed.

From the periphery of her vision, she caught sight of Gideon crawling across the blood-slicked floor toward one of the fallen guards.

She heard him grunt with effort as he reached the corpse and gasped, “It’s mine.”

But her moment of distraction nearly cost her everything. The large man lunged forward, and before she could react, he managed to grab her arm. His grip was like an iron manacle, his fingers digging deep into her flesh.

She twisted and turned desperately, trying to break free, but his hold was too strong.

He swung her easily, hurling her against the stone wall. The impact drove the air from her lungs.

She lost her balance and collapsed onto the floor. The world tilted and spun around her, and she tasted blood on her tongue.

Through the haze of pain and disorientation, she saw the burly man advancing on her, his face red with anger and humiliation.

Just as he raised his knife for the killing blow, something slithered across the floor toward her.

Gideon’s bared sword.

A part of his sword-cane. The one he’d had before they were captured. That’s what he reclaimed from the dead guard, the fleeting thought entered her mind as she grabbed it by the wolf’s head, her fingers closing around the familiar weight of steel.

In one fluid motion, she sprang to her feet and drove the blade deep into the man’s stomach.