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“That’s really very sweet of you to say,” she told him. Then she hugged him briefly, a one-armed hug, and then stepped as far away from him as she could without stumbling back into the bathroom.
She didn’t like how he had positioned himself a few inches from her face, visibly intoxicated, and the long dark hallway was only accessible if she physically brushed past Phillip.
“He doesn’t deserve you,” Phillip told her.
“Phillip, forgive me. I get claustrophobic easily. I need you to step back,” she said to him. Her voice was barely a whisper. She couldn’t speak any louder.
Was it fear? Had fear made her mute?
Phillip didn’t move.
“I have failed at all angles to see how he gets you. He doesn’t deserve you,” Phillip continued to tell her. He swayed forward when he spoke, and his sour breath in her face forced her to lean back. She didn’t dare move, which would essentially be stepping back into the lavatory, then she’d really be cornered.
“Who, Phillip?” she asked. She wanted there to be firmness and annoyance in her voice so he could hear her seriousness and step back, but she could barely hear her voice at all. “Who and what are you talking about? Declan?”
“That fuck with the silver spoon of royalty stuck in his mouth since day one. He doesn’t deserve you. He barely notices you most of the time.”
“Phillip, this is out of line,” she told him, her voice still barely a whisper. Fear had made her weak. Fear and growing panic had swallowed her voice.
“Phillip, I don’t talk about people when they’re not around. I also think you are talking about my king to whom I am betrothed ….”
“You need love from someone who wants to give you that love, not one who believes in the unworthy shifter philosophy,” Phillip snapped at her, cutting her off.
“You should be telling Declan all of this,” she heard herself rasping. “You are offending me and bordering on assaulting me right now. You do not talk to me about my Declan, ever, when Declan is not around!”
“Listen, you nasty little tart.” Her heart fluttered in her chest. Phillip’s voice was low. Quiet. Dangerous.
And it frightened Taryn.
She flinched when spittle flew from his mouth as he continued speaking.
“I am not offending anyone. You’re the offensive one here. You are the half-breed defect.”
“What did you call me?” she asked. Taryn was shocked to the core at what Phillip had called her, but fury slowly replaced the fear. “Back off. Step away, Phillip.”
“You are a half-breed,” he continued, his speech slurred and drool sliding from the corner of his lips. “Basically, you are a cripple, missing the basic genetic makeup for shifting.”
The best way to really deliver a solid groin shot was to first slap the face. That made the opponent move their hands up and away from guarding the groin. Then you deliver the shot with everything you have. The slap was simply a stinging distraction.
“Back off, Phillip!” she spoke louder. Her voice was still too quiet for her liking.
You should be screaming your head off. The entire castle should be able to hear you now.
She prepared herself for the moment she’d have to protect herself from his advances.
“This meeting right here doesn’t end until I get my kiss,” he told her. “We both know you want it.” He reached forward to grab her face and pull her in for a kiss.
Taryn slapped him with as much force as she could across his cheek. The slap was loud, and a cracking sound echoed along the hallway, bouncing off the walls.
She grabbed both of Phillip’s shoulders and pulled him toward her. Her right knee swung up, and then Phillip was on the floor.
Taryn bolted. Not toward the remaining anniversary revelers but Declan’s room. She locked the door and buried herself in his bed.
TWENTY-TWO
DECLAN
Declan had crawled into bed with Taryn dozing away … what he thought of astheir bed… and nestled against her luscious form, snaking an arm around her waist and burying his nose and mouth into the nape of her neck. He engulfed himself in her essence, that wild fragrance. She was his favorite apothecary under the moonlight, at dusk, and at dawn.
