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Stringer strode toward her. “Are you hurt?”
She looked down. Blood soaked through the washcloth. “I cut my thumb on some broken glass. I need a clean bandage and antiseptic if you have it.”
“I’ll send up supplies. For now, return to your room.”
“Something’s happened,” she said.
“It is nothing to concern yourself with. The situation is under control.” He held out his arms like he was attempting to block her view.
A roar echoed down the stone corridor.
Charlotte felt it rattle in her soul. It was the sound of deep pain. Worse, it was familiar. She heard it on her wedding day, right before her new husband tried to tear her throat out. But there couldn’t be another beast here. Draven specifically said they felt uncomfortable in another monster’s territory. The only beast anywhere in proximity was Miles and he left hours ago…
She watched her friends exit the courtyard toward the Black Gate, which was an elaborate trap.
What if Miles never left? Yes, that was the only explanation.
“Miles? Miles!” She tried to push past Stringer, but the man grabbed her by the shoulders.
“That is not your friend.”
“He’s hurt. What are you doing to him?”
Stringer steered her back to her room. “The only one hurt is you. Lord Draven will have my head if anything else happens to you, so please stay in your room, for your safety.”
Voices rose in alarm, shouting orders. There was a thump, like metal striking a body, and another roar.
“It is Miles. Why is he being held? Draven said he could leave,” she said, trying to shake off his grip.
“I’m sorry. I don’t have time to answer your questions. Just…please stay out of the way,” Stringer said. He paused, his hand on the door. “Do not open this door, no matter what you hear.”
The door closed, followed by the unmistakable sound of a lock turning.
All the warmth drained from Charlotte’s body. She grabbed the handle and tugged fruitlessly. “Unlock this door.”
“This is for your safety,” came the muffled reply.
Well, that wasn’t ominous and alarming.
Draven
Blood and wormwood.
Charlotte’s blood.
The scent clouded his mind. His fangs descended, thirsty and aching to bite. He needed to focus on containing the chaos caused by the escaped prisoner, but that alluring scent mingled with wormwood drove him straight to Charlotte’s door. He had left his toothsome bunny alone, convinced she’d be safe in her bed, despite knowing that she had been dosed with poison earlier that day, and now she bled.
“Sir, the normal sedatives are not working.” Stringer trotted up to his side.
Draven yanked his hand away. He had responsibilities. The prisoner first. Then his bride.
“Did you increase the dosage?” he asked.
“We administered the standard amount.”
“We’re approaching the winter solstice. You know this,” Draven grumbled. “You are not usually so incompetent.”
Something less-than-flattering flashed across Stringer’s face as he stuttered out an apology. Annoyance? Contrition? Draven did not care. He wanted the situation resolved. Now.
