Venom rises up in me, strengthening my bones and giving new purpose to my power. “Give Arlanna to me!”
Even as the fire catches on the curtains and begins to climb up the fabric, Conan cannot part with his penchant for taking what doesn’t belong to him. Arlanna’s magic is her own, but he still doesn’t want to relinquish his grip on her. “She will stay here until I have what I need!”
Rafe stands, though he really shouldn’t. His howl sends a tremor through my veins, even though his rage isn’t directed at me.
Conan shudders, shirking away from us.
Good. He should be scared.
I draw a line of fire with my gaze, separating Conan from us once we cross the room. I need him sequestered, to keep this criminal from being able to follow us. His shouts of rage do nothing but encourage me to run faster down the hall to get Arlanna away from this madman.
Though I’m positive Rafe is going to turn around and fight through the flames to tear into the barbecued bodies that are flailing around in a panic, his nose hits the ground, leading him toward the back of the cottage. His limp is dreadful, so I run ahead of him in the direction he points to with his maw, racing toward any closet I can find.
The first two are dead ends, so I bolt to the next bedroom, knowing we have run out of time. We need to get out now.
“Arlanna?” I call her name before I throw open the closet doors, relief flooding me when she tumbles out with a broken cry.
Rafe lets loose this horrid bellow mingled with a snarl—anguish mixed with vengeance. It is not just my queen who’s been mistreated; it’s his mate.
Rafe collapses in a heap of heartbreak beside her.
Arlanna blinks the room into focus through the thickness of the terror filling her tear ducts. “Paxton?”
The quiver of her lower lip nearly sends the encroaching fire from my mind. I kneel before her and gather my girlfriend in my arms. She still looks foreign to me with her head shaved, but upon closer inspection, the love of my life is still in there, still stubbornly clinging to her last shred of sanity like the fighter I’ve always understood her to be.
“Let’s get you out of here. Rafe’s been shot, so I’ll need you to help me with him.” I kiss her slicked cheek, hoping to infuse us both with a little peace of mind.
When I glance up, I see scratch marks on the inside of the door, no doubt from Arlanna trying to claw her way free. My heart skips when I catch sight of the untidy “Sloan is a buttface” scrawl across the back wall.
“Shot? Rafe’s been shot?”
Instead of answering her, I throw another bit of turbulence her way. “Fire, darlyss. The cottage is burning, so we need to get out.”
Arlanna ambles to Rafe, wrapping her arms around his thick neck and burying her face in the folds of his fur. “The backdoor,” she instructs, her throat scratchy from too much screaming. Her arms are trembling, but she does what she can to help me coax Rafe to his feet.
Truly, all she has to do is move from his side, and Rafe summons the strength to follow.
“Hurry!” I call as the fire spreads from the front rooms toward the back, heading straight for us.
The second she opens the back door, she freezes, and I bump into her.
“No!” I cannot help but give voice to my frustration. The very last thing I wish to see is staring me down.
It’s my father, with a gun aimed directly at my chest.
15
Racing Over the Edge
Arlanna
I’m raw from distress. Being trapped in the dark closet for who knows how long has fried my very last shred of grace. My rescue is bittersweet, since Rafe has been shot. And now our escape is stopping short of a happy ending because King Regis has nothing better to do than make my miserable day impossibly worse.
I’ve been held at gunpoint. I know the drill. Get down on your knees and wait for Sloan to address the issue.
Only Sloan isn’t here. Sloan is dead.
And there’s no way my knees are hitting the ground in front of this royal jackass.
I should back up and try a different way out. I should at the very least ask Regis what he wants.
I should do a lot of things that I don’t bother to consider when someone I love has been taken from me.
Instead of cowering, I charge at the king, not caring in the least that I’ll most likely die in the effort. I’ve been out of my mind, bathing in bleach stink and terror. My legs are unsteady, but my determination makes up for what I lack in coordination. Regis should shoot me, but he’s taken aback by a crazed bald woman running at him, instead of backing down like a good girl.
I’m tired of being good. If I’m going to be marked as a criminal, this is my chance to earn the title.
My body collides with the monarch as I tackle Regis to the grass, relishing his unpolished “oof!” and the careless way he drops his gun.
“You killed him! You killed Sloan! He was everything to me, and you murdered him like he was nothing!”
Regis tries to speak, but I don’t hear a word of it.
Rolling to my right, I scramble in the grass, my hand stumbling over his as we both reach for the gun.
I’m never going to lose another man I love to this megalomaniac.
I’ll never be backed into a corner by his wicked policies ever again.
“You don’t understand!” Regis chides through gritted teeth. Though the roar of the fire in the house behind us threatens to drown out his words, I hear every one with crystal clarity. “Magic like yours is wasted on you! Your father is trying to buy the loyalty of the fugitives. Don’t you see what he’s doing? You could potentially enhance all of the people you were incarcerated with. Every donation he makes to your commune is a step he’s taking to create his own army. He wants to overthrow me! It’s what he’s always wanted!”
All of that sounds exactly like the reason why my father would be suddenly charitable. Helping us secure the mobile homes and getting us all settled couldn’t have been completely altruistic. My rush to secure the job with Elizabeth Lauren’s Vault wasn’t because we were out of food, but because I didn’t want to rely on my father’s provision any longer.
Though the words ring true, I don’t have it in me to separate which megalomaniac is at fault more than the other. They can both burn, for all I care. They can have their stupid feud.
They can chase the power they crave until they race each other off the edge of the cliff.
The world might never understand my actions, but in this moment of moments, I know the path I need to go down. I also know there will be no coming back from this.
And I don’t care.
Rafe does me a favor and bites the king’s ankle, giving me just enough time to grab the weapon up from the grass and hold it tight, just like Sloan taught me.
My Sloan. My best friend. My true father. Revenge won’t bring him back, but it will stop Sloan’s killer from coiling his malicious fingers around my neck.
“Stop!” Regis begs, his hand raised toward me. “We can do so much more with your magic than you could ever dream!”
I expect my grip to be shaky, but it’s not. In fact, it’s my first calm moment, and perhaps my last.
“My dreams have nothing to do with you,” I tell him, my jaw firm. “Look away, Paxton!”