Page 69 of Prisoner of the Lycan Prince

For a second, I thought Armand might shoot Hector. “You fucking idiot! If the demon gets loose, we’re all dead.”

BOOM. The world tilted, and I staggered sideways. Hector’s fingers bit into my arm, keeping me upright as statues crashed around us. A scream tore from me, and I tried to duck, but he forced me into a run.

I stumbled along, half-blind as a series of pops filled the air. It took my sleep-deprived brain a second to recognize the sound of gunfire.

We rounded another corner, and Hector yanked me to a halt.

“Don’t fucking move,” he grated, disappearing behind a stack of pallets. Dust motes swirled, and he lifted a bound and dust-covered Arlo still secured to the metal chair. Blood seeped from a gash on Arlo’s forehead, forming a river through the grime on his face. Joy coursed through me as he blinked open his eyes.

Hector stepped back, then pointed the gun at Arlo’s head.

“No!” I screamed, terror rooting me to the floor.

Keir appeared out of nowhere next to Hector. The vampire took one look at the cut on Arlo’s forehead and then swayed on his feet. Hector jumped, swinging the gun in Keir’s direction. With a hiss, Keir moved in a blur, yanking Hector into him and plunging his fangs into Hector’s throat.

Hector’s gun went off. On a nearby shelf, the statue of a cupid exploded.

“Harper!” Arlo shouted, drawing my attention. “Undo my cuffs!”

Heart pumping, I raced around the pallets. Keir continued to feast on Hector, who sagged in the vampire’s arms.

Basic metal handcuffs circled Arlo’s wrists. “I don’t have a key,” I said.

“You don’t need one. It doesn’t take much at all to hold me as long as my arms are behind my back.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No.”

Huh. “Well, that sucks.”

Arlo craned his head, giving me an exasperated look over his shoulder. “Nearly limitless power, one major design flaw. Trust me, if I ever find myself in front of the gods, I’ll have a lot to say about it. In the meantime, can you get the freaking cuffs off me?”

“Oh, yes. Sorry.” I fiddled with the cuffs, pressing the release catch. The metal fell away, and Arlo sprang into action, tearing the rope from his chest and jumping to his feet.

Hector’s eyes rolled back in his head. His skin turned gray, and his jaw went slack. Keir wrenched his mouth from Hector’s neck. Blood trickled from twin puncture wounds over Hector’s jugular.

“Oh…” Keir said, staring at the blood. He gave Arlo and me a watery smile, then slumped to the ground.

“He’s fine,” Arlo said, taking my arm. “He just fainted. We have to keep moving. I need to get to Einar.”

A loud roar echoed through the warehouse. More gunshots rang out.

“I think we found him,” Arlo said grimly. “Come on.” We ran toward the sound of the fighting, dodging debris and shattered statues. As we reached the end of the aisle, a vast production floor stretched before us. Daylight poured through a pair of busted metal doors, flooding the space.

A battle raged, the scene like something out of a fairy tale. Or maybe a nightmare. Everywhere I looked, mythical creatures fought werewolves. Centaurs galloped with swords in their hands, their biceps flexing as they slashed and parried. A giant crow swooped above the chaos. Rolfe romped in bear form among the werewolves, sending them flying with broad sweeps of his paws. Leander stood behind a stack of plastic crates, his head ablaze. Goliath crouched behind him. When a werewolf lunged at the crates, Leander swiped a handful of fire from his head and lobbed it at the wolf like a fiery baseball.

In the center of everything, Einar fought in hand-to-hand combat with a werewolf in human form. They grappled, fists swinging and sweat flying. The werewolf was huge, but Einar fought like a berserker, seemingly anticipating the path of the man’s blows before they could land.

But something wasn’t quite right. The next time Einar swung his fist, his muscles bulged, a bubble of flesh swelling from his skin. The werewolf ducked, then landed a vicious uppercut to Einar’s ribs.

Einar staggered back. He snarled, his mouth full of too many teeth. Patches of fur dotted his skin. He was losing control.

“I have to help him,” Arlo said. He disappeared, then reappeared next to Einar.

A whisper of sound behind me made me turn. Everything slowed down.

Armand leapt from the dust, his eyes bright gold and his fangs bared. I spun, my heart pounding, but he caught me and pulled me against his chest. Fingers scrabbled in my hair, and then wrenched my head to the side. Oh god, he was going to shoot me. As I drew breath to cry out, pain exploded in my neck. Hot liquid spilled down my shoulder. My mouth stretched on a soundless scream, and I realized he’d bitten me.

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