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They came pouring out of the basement and the kitchen, tearing automatic weapons from their shoulders, rushing forward like warriors on an ancient battlefield. I briefly wondered if the sound I’d heard was someone opening up a goddamn wormhole. They knocked into me, uncaring, and I felt like a pinball. Cookies fell from my hand, breaking into pieces on the milkyway floor just as someone gripped my wrist.
“Why are you still here?”
I stared into his hazel eyes, recognizing the color—Levi. What the fuck was happening?
“What do you mean why am I still here?” As far as I knew, I was still the princess prisoner, sucking spare bits of freedom like a dog swallows air from an open car window.
“You should have left with your grandmother this morning.” I reeled, actually threw my head back. No one had said a thing about leaving.
If you so desperately want to be without me, granddaughter, then perhaps I’ll grant you your wish.
I was so afraid to leave, I didn’t realize staying was Lucia’s punishment.
“You need to get out now,” he said. “This is no place for a civilian.”
“Wait—
“Get out now,” he said then disappeared into the chaos just as gunfire broke out.
Shit.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I ducked under a table and hid. Dozens of boots tangled together and then bodies started falling to the ground. Lifeless eyes stared back at me. I clapped a hand to my mouth and closed my eyes.
I couldn’t believe Lucia actually wanted me to die, so there had to be a way to get out. Just like with the basement, she only wanted me to see what it would be like without her.
Fucking psychopath.
Thirty minutes passed, maybe forty, before I opened my eyes again. After the first ten minutes, the gunfire died down, but the occasional pop still sounded. It was like after the Fourth of July when one asshole kept firing off fireworks a week after the holiday ended.
By the look and sound of the action, everyone had moved upstairs. I didn’t know how long they would stay there, but once they came back down I’d be caught. It wasn’t the table that had kept me hidden but the chaos of the fight.
It was like counting thunder. Five minutes after I heard the last pop, I slid out from under the table and ran to the front door. Blood and bodies were everywhere and I had to awkwardly run and jump over them to get to the door. I pulled at the handle, but it wouldn’t budge.
“What the fuck?” I tugged, shaking the handle, but it wouldn’t open. My heartbeat matched the handle’s loud rattling as I realized there was no fucking way it was opening. An ear-ringing pop sounded and I threw my head over my shoulder, expecting soldiers to come flooding down. When a minute passed, I released a breath and looked to my left.
The basement.
I knew for certain soldiers were upstairs, their gunshots and boots a furious thunder. Maybe there were some quietly waiting downstairs, but staying and tugging on a locked door was certainly suicide.
Bodies cluttered the stairs too, thankfully none of them women—I was dreading the idea that Lucia had left them there to be killed. I searched their faces, scared I would see Papa’s staring back, then it hit me—the reason Levi thought I should be gone, the reason Papa was gone, the conversation I’d overheard in the pantry, the one I’d had with Gabby—this was what they’d been planning.
Suddenly I was searching the faces for one in particular, fear burning acid holes in my gut. What had I done? This was entirely my fault. This all could have been avoided if I’d just sent one fucking text.
I didn’t see Anteros or any of his Wolves among the faces, only soldiers littered the stairs—so many that I had to grip the handrail for support as I stepped over their faces. They were all nameless, but their faces stared back, gaping. I would remember them forever.
It was dark at the bottom, the type of darkness you feel like velvet on your skin. I quickly pasted myself against the wall when I heard grunts and banging—there were still people fighting, five of them. As my eyes adjusted to the little light, I realized it was just one person fighting the other four.
The one didn’t bother with weapons, opting to use his hands. As one enemy fell, he grabbed another. Someone came flying at him from the side, screaming and running at full speed with a knife. The man easily sidestepped the assailant, grabbed his neck, and slammed his head into the wall, causing him to fall to the ground in a heap.
Only the one remained, standing above the felled bodies, legs spread, fists at either side. The sudden end of the fight was marked by silky quiet. I studied the shadow of the man, hulking but somehow carnal. I should have been afraid, but my fear was displaced by a yanking deep in my gut. The air was all at once sizzling and heavy, my breath humid, and then it hit me.
Anteros.
The realization, the relief that he was alive, hit me like lightning. Even obscured by shadow my body called to him. I should have been disgusted, but watching Anteros destroy those men twisted me up. It stirred feelings I’d tried to deny when I’d murdered Big O. Alive. Invigorated. Invincible.
Only a shred of light penetrated the darkness, but that light was captivated by Anteros. When he put both hands in his hair and pushed the strands out of his face, it practically lavished his biceps.
