Page 37 of House of Pawns
Samuel and Rath both throw themselves at Micah, who fights back with a deafening roar. And I actually catch a glimpse of the red glow of Trinity’s eyes before Lillian grips her by her hair and with a quick twist and twirl, throws her back out across the lawn.
Nial steps directly to my side, hugging close to it as he surveys the surroundings.
“I hope you’ve carefully considered the worth of the consequences of all of this,” he says.
My eyes scan the fight. Micah gets his hands around Rath’s throat and I fire an arrow, embedding it deep in his forearm. With a howl, he releases Rath, just as Samuel plows into him, sending the two of them flying twenty feet.
“Something has to change,” I say as I watch Anna fight her way back to her feet. She whips out that small metal shaft, and from it ejects a deadly sharp, needle thin spear. “You don’t understand Jasmine.”
And suddenly the air is choked off, a hand around my throat and I go crashing back against the front door.
Jasmine’s red eyes are an inch from mine.
“He’s been dead for over a century,” Jasmine hisses. While there is plenty of anger in her voice, there’s also pain. “Why? Why would you do this?”
I claw at her hands, trying to tear them away from my throat. Over my shoulder, I see Nial attempting to fight off Cameron and Christian.
“You really expected me not to return your sick gesture?” I choke out.
“What gesture?” she screams into my face.
Jasmine is ripped away from me, and Anna flings her off the porch. I cough violently, my hand rising to my surely bruised throat.
Standing off, part way down the grounds, casually sipping on a bag of what is surely my blood, is Markov. He watches our fight with light amusement.
This is my chance to make my move with him.
I climb to my feet, crossbow still lightly in hand. I walk to the edge of the porch, and toss it down.
“Enough!” I yell. And I didn’t expect it, but every eye turns to me. The scuffles momentarily still. “Jasmine,” I say, turning toward her. “You and I can continue to fight until one of us kills the other. We can continue to play games and toy with each other’s heads. But you need to realize that you will never control me.”
Jasmine yanks out of Anna’s grasp and takes two slow steps toward me. Her eyes are bright and stare straight at me, black veins spreading out on her face. There’s hatred there, so dark and so heavy.
There are no House members between she and I. Anna may be able to stop her before she can launch herself at me and snap my neck, but maybe not. Everyone else is engaged in a fight with someone else.
“I will never claim the House for you,” I say calmly. “If you had let me die peacefully that night I offered myself, you would not have had war. But you killed the man I love that night, and that changed everything.”
And this, love, I find, Jasmine does indeed understand. I see it in her eyes.
“I want you to stop, Jasmine,” I say to her as my voice grows quiet. Every House member, Voltera or Conrath, stands frozen, mid punch, on the ground, hands poised for attack, fangs bared. “I want you to take Micah and whoever still wishes to follow you back to your House. I want you to peacefully stay out of my way.”
“I have ruled the House of Silent Bend for fifteen years,” Jasmine hisses. She takes another step toward me. Anna mirrors her movement. “And you want me to simply slip quietly into the shadows?”
“Yes,” I say softly with a nod. “I want the fighting to end. Iwant you to recognize that while you kept things going for a decade and a half, the royal blood has run through my ancestry for over a millennium. It was never your right to lead Silent Bend and the Southern region.”
“This is not the way this ends,” Jasmine says with venom. “You know this.”
I swallow once. Because she speaks the truth. “I know. It will end with the King’s arrival in three weeks and one of his games.”
The expression on her face falters. “Three weeks.”
“Yes, Jasmine,” I continue. I’ve got her. This is over. “Three weeks. One of the King’s own men informed me that is when he will arrive. I suggest you prepare yourself.”
Her expression grows more serious, her face pales. She takes one step back. And I can feel her defeat. She cannot win this. Not today. Not tomorrow. And certainly not in three weeks.
But that won’t stop her from fighting.
“I think you should go back to your House now,” I say as I take three steps down off the porch.
