Page 60 of Prisoner of the Lycan Prince

And Arlo lay crumpled on his side next to a flat door built into the concrete floor. His eyes were closed, his mouth slack. Blood trickled from a cut on his forehead.

Just as I drew breath to scream, a hand clamped over my mouth. An arm wrapped around my waist, hauling me onto my tiptoes. “Quiet, chère,” a masculine, French-accented voice breathed in my ear. “We don’t want to wake our sleeping friend.” In my peripheral vision, a second man whipped a black hood over Goliath’s head. When Goliath struggled, the man spun him around and buried his fist in Goliath’s stomach. Goliath crumpled with a pained wheeze.

My captor tightened his arm around my midsection, cutting off my breath before I could attempt to protest. “Someone open that fucking trap door!” His lips caressed my ear, and my skin crawled as his breath fluttered over my neck. “We’re going to see how well your boyfriend fights when he doesn’t have his drugs to help him.”

Half a dozen wolves sprang from the shadows, their fangs bared and their eyes gleaming like gold coins in the darkened garage.

Werewolves. They were smaller than Einar in his lycan form.

A third man dressed in head-to-toe black strode from between two cars. He carried a pistol, and the hilt of an honest-to-goodness broadsword poked over his shoulder. As he approached the trap door, a giant crow swooped out of nowhere, its talons aimed directly at the man’s head.

He ducked, cursing.

“Help him, Hector!” the man holding me shouted. The man who punched Goliath darted forward. He waved his arms, shouting as he attempted to scare off the crow.

Screeching, the crow wheeled in the air, its wings spread wide. As it swooped toward the ground, it shifted in a flurry of black feathers. A beat later, Myrna stepped to the ground on two legs. Her white dress fluttered around her ankles as she moved in front of Arlo and the trap door.

“Stop right there!” the man with the pistol shouted. He leveled the gun at Myrna. “Not another step closer.”

The werewolves on four legs bared their fangs.

Myrna paid them no attention. She stared at the man holding me, her eyes wide and red-rimmed. Slowly, she lifted a finger and pointed at him.

“I’ve seen your death, Armand Reverdin!” she cried. “You will burn in the inferno, your flesh melting from your bones!”

My captor tensed. His arm around my waist tightened like a band of iron, threatening to crush my ribs. Next to me, Goliath slumped on his knees, his head sagging under the hood.

The wolves didn’t move. A few cast wary looks at my captor, who was apparently called Armand.

Myrna kept her finger outstretched. An eerie wind tugged at her dress, making the fabric whip around her legs.

Tension filled the garage. A few of the werewolves in beast form slunk backward. The man with the pistol looked at Armand. “Should we…seize her?”

“Kill her,” Armand snarled.

Distant shouts drifted from somewhere behind me. Armand whirled, dragging me with him. The door flew open with a metallic shriek, and another man stumbled into the garage.

“They’re coming, sir!” he gasped, his face leached of color. “There’s some kind of fucked-up hedge maze in the back. People are pouring from it. Rothkilde has an army!”

The shouts from outside grew louder. The thunder of hooves followed. My heart leapt. The centaurs and the others were coming.

Armand swung back around, his palm tight over my mouth. His chest lifted against my back, and I got the sense he grappled with his next steps as he realized he was in danger of being trapped. “Intercept them!” he yelled finally. “We’ll have to fight our way out.”

The werewolves on four legs growled and then shot past us. My elation evaporated, and worry gripped me as I imagined them clashing with Leander and the others from the maze. On the ground, Arlo stirred, his eyelids fluttering. Relief coursed through me even as I mentally pleaded with him to stay still. If he tried to fight, I had no doubt Armand would kill him.

“Bring the demon!” Armand barked. Hector scrambled to obey.

Myrna caught my eye. I couldn’t be certain, but I thought she gave me a subtle nod. Then she shifted in a blur, reforming into a crow and zooming toward the rafters.

The man with the pistol aimed it toward the ceiling.

“Don’t shoot, you idiot!” Armand yelled. “The bullets will ricochet.”

Outside, a wolf gave a high-pitched yelp. The shouts grew louder. Hector and the man with the pistol lifted Arlo from the ground. They were both big men, but they clearly struggled under Arlo’s weight.

“Leave the runt,” Armand ordered. “He’s not worth the hassle.” Just as I realized he spoke of Goliath, something hard struck my head. Pain exploded in my skull.

And everything went black.

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