noose.
“Constance!” Atreus snapped.
She ignored him and drew her knife. Centuries of obedience could not trump the instinct to protect her child.
“ Constance! ” Atreus bellowed. His voice bounced off her, meaningless sound.
“They always say it’s the women who rule any household,” said Reynard dryly.
“Let me give her a fight,” put in a big, tattooed guardsman named Bran. “She looks energetic.”
“Silence, Bran,” said Reynard. “We’re here as men of honor.”
Bran closed his mouth, but his expression made Constance’s skin shrink against her flesh. She tried to put her body between Sylvius and the men who threatened from all sides. There just wasn’t enough of her, but she’d fight any way she could. No rules. This was her family, her child , at stake. Constance bared her teeth—her hated vampire fangs—in a snarl.
“She can’t hurt you,” said Reynard to his guards. “She’s never tasted blood. Her powers are barely more than human.”
But I’m a mother. Don’t underestimate mothers.
A swarthy-faced guardsman tried to grab past her to get at Sylvius. She could hear Sylvius moving, feel his solid weight as he bumped against her. He was young and strong, but she doubted that he’d ever thrown a punch. He needed to have brothers, like I did .
The guard lunged again. Ruthlessly, she swiped at the soldier with the blade. His arm came away coated in blood that splashed down his long green tunic. “Fanged whore!”
Viktor growled, reacting to the blood or the angry words. He ripped free of Bran’s hold on his ruff and joined the fray, grabbing the guardsman in his jaws.
“Atreus, control your minions!” Reynard roared.
“ Constance! ” Atreus flicked his fingers, threads trailing from his cuff like wisps of smoke.
An invisible weight hurled into her, smashing her to the stone wall behind. Her spine took the impact, her arms and legs flopping like the limbs of Viktor’s toy. The knife dropped from her hand. She barely noticed. Her ribs felt as if they were bending inward, crushing into her chest, squeezing the air from her lungs. She became one with the stone, sinking into it for a split second before she realized it was her own bones that gave.
A moment later, Constance crumpled to the floor like a rag, waiting for the waves of pain to come crashing home. If she were a human, she’d be dead. Instead, she felt the eerie crawling feeling through her flesh that said her body was already healing. Her mind was like a clean white page, empty, blank. Stunned.
When her senses returned, she had her first thoroughly disloyal thought, and it burned. Atreus, you bastard.
Reynard picked up her knife, carefully sliding it through his own belt. The captain paid attention to detail.
She smelled as much as heard Viktor bound to her side. The werebeast straddled her, as if sheltering her with his body. Then there was the rough wetness of his tongue, licking at her face. The blunt affection melted her resistance to the pain. It swamped her like bad whiskey, tides of nausea and dizziness and hot, brutal agony. She willed her eyes open and managed a sliver of vision.
They had Sylvius, bewildered and passive, a guardsman holding each arm. Reynard stood before the youth, a considering look on his face.
Sylvius looked from the captain, to Atreus, to where Constance lay. “What are you going to do with me?” His voice shook.
Reynard took a tiny red lacquered box from his pocket and set it on the floor between them. He depressed a catch and the lid sprung open. “Do you understand what this is?”
Constance tried to scream, but couldn’t draw enough breath.
Sylvius nodded, turning deathly pale. “It’s a demon trap.”
It’s a prison, four inches square.
“No one can harm you inside there. Nor can your influence cause harm to others.” Reynard spoke with the air of someone doing a difficult but honorable thing. Of course, he wasn’t the one getting inside the torturously small
“Constance!” Atreus snapped.
She ignored him and drew her knife. Centuries of obedience could not trump the instinct to protect her child.
“ Constance! ” Atreus bellowed. His voice bounced off her, meaningless sound.
“They always say it’s the women who rule any household,” said Reynard dryly.
“Let me give her a fight,” put in a big, tattooed guardsman named Bran. “She looks energetic.”
“Silence, Bran,” said Reynard. “We’re here as men of honor.”
Bran closed his mouth, but his expression made Constance’s skin shrink against her flesh. She tried to put her body between Sylvius and the men who threatened from all sides. There just wasn’t enough of her, but she’d fight any way she could. No rules. This was her family, her child , at stake. Constance bared her teeth—her hated vampire fangs—in a snarl.
“She can’t hurt you,” said Reynard to his guards. “She’s never tasted blood. Her powers are barely more than human.”
But I’m a mother. Don’t underestimate mothers.
A swarthy-faced guardsman tried to grab past her to get at Sylvius. She could hear Sylvius moving, feel his solid weight as he bumped against her. He was young and strong, but she doubted that he’d ever thrown a punch. He needed to have brothers, like I did .
The guard lunged again. Ruthlessly, she swiped at the soldier with the blade. His arm came away coated in blood that splashed down his long green tunic. “Fanged whore!”
Viktor growled, reacting to the blood or the angry words. He ripped free of Bran’s hold on his ruff and joined the fray, grabbing the guardsman in his jaws.
“Atreus, control your minions!” Reynard roared.
“ Constance! ” Atreus flicked his fingers, threads trailing from his cuff like wisps of smoke.
An invisible weight hurled into her, smashing her to the stone wall behind. Her spine took the impact, her arms and legs flopping like the limbs of Viktor’s toy. The knife dropped from her hand. She barely noticed. Her ribs felt as if they were bending inward, crushing into her chest, squeezing the air from her lungs. She became one with the stone, sinking into it for a split second before she realized it was her own bones that gave.
A moment later, Constance crumpled to the floor like a rag, waiting for the waves of pain to come crashing home. If she were a human, she’d be dead. Instead, she felt the eerie crawling feeling through her flesh that said her body was already healing. Her mind was like a clean white page, empty, blank. Stunned.
When her senses returned, she had her first thoroughly disloyal thought, and it burned. Atreus, you bastard.
Reynard picked up her knife, carefully sliding it through his own belt. The captain paid attention to detail.
She smelled as much as heard Viktor bound to her side. The werebeast straddled her, as if sheltering her with his body. Then there was the rough wetness of his tongue, licking at her face. The blunt affection melted her resistance to the pain. It swamped her like bad whiskey, tides of nausea and dizziness and hot, brutal agony. She willed her eyes open and managed a sliver of vision.
They had Sylvius, bewildered and passive, a guardsman holding each arm. Reynard stood before the youth, a considering look on his face.
Sylvius looked from the captain, to Atreus, to where Constance lay. “What are you going to do with me?” His voice shook.
Reynard took a tiny red lacquered box from his pocket and set it on the floor between them. He depressed a catch and the lid sprung open. “Do you understand what this is?”
Constance tried to scream, but couldn’t draw enough breath.
Sylvius nodded, turning deathly pale. “It’s a demon trap.”
It’s a prison, four inches square.
“No one can harm you inside there. Nor can your influence cause harm to others.” Reynard spoke with the air of someone doing a difficult but honorable thing. Of course, he wasn’t the one getting inside the torturously small
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