Page 7 of Merciless Is My Crown

The faint rustling outside would have escaped even the keenest Fae hearing, but my wolf went on high alert. I debated shifting, but after what happened last time…No, I couldn’t afford to get stuck mid-shift. I slipped off the settee, laid Anaria down gently, and drew my sword.

One last glance at my beloved before I crept toward the entryway, the crystals in the chandeliers overhead tinkling ever so softly from a silent, phantom wind.

A dark form sailed out from the darkness.

I swung my blade and damn near sliced Torin’s owl shifter in half.

He dropped a field mouse onto the floor, then landed on a desk, sending papers scattering in a cloud of dust. The golden owl blinked, his baleful eyes studying the sword in my hand. I’d chased this fucker halfway across Blackcastle and I didn’t lower my weapon one inch.

The bastard shifted into his Fae form, golden hair and eyes shining in the firelight, but Simon wasn’t looking at me.

He was staring down at the mouse, shivering in the firelight. “Transform, you piece of shite, or I’ll swallow you whole.”

I sniffed. The mouse smelled like a mouse…except for the faint hint of spent magic and Fae male clinging to his dusty scent.

The rodent skittered across the floor as fast as his tiny feet could carry him, before the owl shifter stomped a bare foot down onto his tail. “Transform into something useful, Bexley, or I swear to the gods, I’ll turn back into an owl and eat you. I’m hungry enough I might fucking do it.”

The mouse gnawed on the shifter’s toe.

Simon bent down and picked the creature up, its feet scrambling, little squeaks coming from its now-bloody mouth. “You should have picked a bigger form, you fool of a healer.”

He threw me an apologetic look. “Bexley tried to wiggle away, but I caught him before he could escape.” Simon hoisted the mouse higher. “Now, if you aren’t healing this girl by the time Torin arrives, I expect you’ll spend the rest of your miserable life as a rat or something worse. You can either help us or die. Your choice.”

The mouse stopped squirming before Simon dropped him. A thin Fae male hit the floor with a heavy thump.

Bexley was small, his bearded face pointed, almost like the mouse’s. He was lightly muscled and trim, with washed-out brown hair and drab eyes that glared threateningly up at the owl shifter.

“No need for brutish threats, Simon. Nor to snatch me from my home. I would have come willingly.”

Simon ran his hands down his naked body. “Willingly? You demanded payment before you’d go anywhere. Owls don’t carry bags of gilder around with them, in case you haven’t noticed. Then you transformed, dove into that hole…” His gaze drifted over to Anaria, his face paling.

“I’ll find us clothes while you get to work. The wounds are on her lower legs.”

Simon stopped when he reached the door. “Bex, this is Tavion Montgomery. He’ll fill you in on what happened, but trust me when I say this, your survival hinges upon hers, so you’d better fucking save her. Understand?”

“As usual, you’ve made yourself perfectly clear, Simon.” The healer grumbled, his gaze fixed on Anaria. He took one step before I stopped him with the flat side of my sword laid across his chest.

“She is the only thing in this world that matters to me,” I warned, debating allowing this fucker any closer to Anaria. “You harm her in any way, I will take you apart and enjoy every second of your pain.”

The healer rolled his eyes. “Two brutes in one night. How did I ever get so lucky?”

“He means what he says,” Simon yelled from down the hall. “Get her stabilized. Now.”

Every muscle in my body tensed as the healer—the very naked healer—knelt beside Anaria and gently peeled up the bottoms of her trousers. I shuddered at the cracking sound of leather being torn from flesh.

Then the smell hit me.

“How old are these wounds?” The healer whirled to me, fury blazing in his eyes. “Why was she not given treatment before now?”

“Five hours, at most. And she was healed by someone in our company. That was the best he could do.”

Bexley shook his head. “No, these wounds are days, maybe weeks old. Now that infection has set in…” He swallowed hard, beads of sweat trembling on his forehead as he gazed at Anaria’s ruined legs.

“I’m not sure I can save her.” His voice went low enough I strained to hear. “Maybe if I take her legs before the infection reaches her heart there’s a chance, but even so, there are no guarantees.” He blew out a shaky breath.

“You will heal her.” I took a step, my hand gripping the pommel of my sword like a fucking lifeline. “You will save her, and you will not take her legs.”

“I…I don’t know if I can.” He shook his head, looking up at me with a distraught, pleading expression that wasn’t feigned. “This isn’t like any injury I’ve ever seen before.”

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