Chapter 14 Ch 14

"Look at me like that one more time," threatened the scraggly guard.

He had a French accent that made me want to punch his throat. Maybe his accent wasn't the only cause of my hostility. Maybe it was because I'd been fucking kidnapped and dragged across the Atlantic to fucking France.

"Or what?" I hissed. "You'll hit me? You already did that, asshole."

"And I'll do it again!"

His hand rose and I couldn't help but flinch as the back of it whipped across my cheek. Blood spurted into my mouth, hot white pain searing my face. I spit the iron flavor onto the stone floor. Flicking my gaze back to his, my former scowl reseated itself. My middle finger twitched. It would be flung at him if my hands weren't restrained.

"Eh, what's going on in here?" a familiar voice asked.

The guard and I both turned to acknowledge Peter, who had now reached the end of the stairs. I fastened my glare onto him.

"Little bitch has no respect." The guard pointed a dirty fingernail at me. "Hitting her does nothing. I was thinking about upping the punishment."

Peter's silver eyes weren't glowing at the moment while they appraised me. Crossing his arms, he sighed. "I didn't intend to hurt you unless it came down to it. Then again, you betrayed me and Nathan. That wasn't nice." He nodded at the guard. "Do whatever you'd like. No one can hear her anyway."

My mouth had filled with blood again, but I was holding it. Peter narrowed his eyes on me.

"What?" he taunted. "Not going to say anything?"

At my silence, he walked over to me, squatted down, and lifted his hand. Bloody spit shot out of my mouth. It went right into his eyes.

"Ah!" Peter stumbled back, wiping his face. "Fucking bitch! You filthy whore!"

My jaw clenched. "If I'm a whore, I hope you get my syphilis."

"You're revolting."

"And you?" I countered angrily. "You are a liar! You don't protect humans. You torture us and, soon, you'll kill us too."

"You think Basileus is any better? Have you already forgotten the millions he slaughtered?"

A ripple of fury rattled down my spine as I screamed, "He never lied! Your brother might be a monster but you . . . you are a traitor."

"Brother?" asked the guard.

A bellow of rage swallowed the small room, rattling the shelved bottles of ancient wine. Dust drifted off their glass and settled to the floor. Peter ripped a knife from his belt and ran at me with it. Even though I didn't think he would kill me—at least, not yet—I couldn't help but turn my face away. My eyes squeezed shut in anticipation. The icy blade pressed into my throat.

"He is the one who betrayed me," Peter whispered, voice trembling as it would snap at any second. "He left me. Abandoned me."

I turned my face to see his glowing orbs. "So you would choose to kill him? The only blood you have left? Probably the last person in this world who gives a damn about you? He knew you were going to betray him and that he should kill you, but he didn't. He cares about—"

My airflow cut off as he pushed the blade harder. I choked and felt wetness travel down my neck. Blood.

"He never cared. Not about me. Not about anyone." He peered down into my eyes. "You think you know it all, you hairy fucking twat? Did he tell you that we are linked? What if I become mortal, he will too? Did he mention that in his little history lesson?"

I stared at him, hard. Basileus didn't tell me that. Maybe he would have been at the lake before Peter interrupted to distract his brother so his little minions could abduct me. But maybe he never would have told me. Did Lee and Tandan even know the Lycans were brothers?

"I didn't think so," Peter muttered, pulling away.

I coughed at the sudden release and let my head fall forward. The lack of food and water had made me weak. Between the slap and my throat, I'd lost too much blood.

"Wait," I ordered hoarsely.

"I wait for no one anymore."

My head was still too heavy to lift, to watch him walk away. Black specks slowly encroached on my vision. I felt a finger poke at my sore cheek.

"Don't die yet," the guard said. "None of that until the big guy gets here."

"Fuck . . . you," I forced out.

—(—)—

When I came to, there was a wooden tray with a matching wooden bowl of soup and a wooden cup of water at my feet. I groaned. My head felt like a bowling ball, far too heavy for my neck. I reached out for the cup of water and wrapped my fingers around the smooth wood. It trembled in my grasp. Swallowing, feeling the frozen tundra that was my throat, I slowly brought the water to my mouth. I sipped from it and then eagerly poured more. Μy hand shook too much, though, and it spilled down my front. I shivered.

That was the moment I realized my hands were no longer bound behind my back. Gasping, I placed my palms on the cold floor and pushed myself up. The cold stone bit into my bare knees, but I pushed through it. I made it onto my feet after several attempts and hobbled over to the base of the stairs. The goblets lining the narrow staircase weren't lit, which meant it was nighttime. My lungs heaved in protest as I began to climb.

Everything was sore. Everything hurt.

By the time I reached the top, only a thick wood door stood between me and freedom. I tried the handle. It was, of course, locked. Shitheads. Sighing, I dragged my fingers down the doors and around the edges. A rogue splinter of wood stabbed into my thumb, making me yank back.

There was also a lock and a splinter standing in no man's land, the growing trench keeping me from liberation. I forced myself back down the stairs. Looking around at the vintage wines, I sneered and pulled one off its shelf. A Cabernet Sauvignon from 1855, yada yada. I moved to throw it on the floor but it almost preemptively slipped out of my hands. My breath caught. I managed to catch it again.

My wounded thumb felt the slick patch covering part of the bottle. A flake of white peeled off and floated to the floor. Ice? What the hell? Looking down, I plucked at my shirt. It was stiff, frozen. I drew in a breath and forced it out. My breath turned to frost.

"He's trying to freeze me," I whispered. "Holy shit."

Tears burned my eyes. Death suddenly felt nearer. It felt much more possible. They were too lazy to beat me to death, but freezing me into a block of ice wouldn't require any effort on their part.

A memory forced its way into my sobs. I was sitting by a campfire. My friends from college sat around me. They were laughing. Their breaths clouded the night air. We had the fire to keep us warm and puffy coats, but we also had beers in our hands. We had alcohol.

The tears burned into anger as I turned and brought the neck of the bottle against the stone wall. It broke right off. My breathing was coming harshly now just from the effort it took to do that. I brought the broken bottle closer to my face for inspection. When I decided it was safe enough, I dipped my head back and lifted the bottle. The red liquid poured on my tongue and slipped right down my throat. It tasted sour, but I took it in until I vomited.

As the wood door squeaked open, I leaned my back against the shelves. Footsteps approached down the steps. My arms dangled at my side, letting the vinegar pour out onto the floor. A guard I didn't recognize came into view. He arched a brow at me.

"Naughty girl," he said. "You got into the wine, did ya?"

"Well . . ." I tossed it to the floor with a haggard sigh, withholding my flinch as it shattered. "They're beginning to freeze. Someone should drink them."

He laughed heartily and came down the last stair. "I'll have to punish you for that," he told me. His hands went for his belt buckle, making my stomach turn. "I've been told nothing works on you. They haven't tried anything good, that's why."

I shuddered. "Don't you have a mate or something?"

Flashing me his gleaming teeth, he took a step towards me. "I'm a human, little girl."

"Oh," I said, stepping back. "That's good."

"Is it? I heard wolves have tiny cocks." His menace turned into a smirk. "You'd be better off if I was one of them."

Grabbing one of the shelves, he pushed his pants to the floor. I noticed he wasn't wearing anything underneath. His penis was already hard, saluting me in all its appalling glory. My shaking legs carried me back another step so that my back was against the far wall of the cellar. He stepped out of his trousers and crept toward me. I looked down at his shoes. They were almost to the spilled wine.

"How unfortunate for me," I hissed.

He paused, the tip of his boot a half-inch from the spill. I made sure he kept his eyes on me by lifting my hands.

"Would my surrender buy me any reprieve?" My voice was cutting, hopefully like my eyes. I was mentally tearing him to shreds.

"There is no reprieve by the time you get to me, princess." With that, he lunged forward to grab me.

I held my breath.

His boot hit the puddle and then went straight up into the air. An airy, soundless shriek escaped him. Within a blink, he was slamming onto his back. I stared at him in surprise and then pushed myself into motion. My fingers grappled for one of the bottle shards, careful not to cut myself. He was still gasping for air.

Another shudder rocked me. I bent down beside him and met his wide, frightened eyes. My throat throbbed in memory of the blade Peter had pressed there. I pressed the shard to this man's neck.

"Bitch," I murmured, heart thundering, "I'm the Queen."

Tearing my hand to the side, his blood spurted up in a crimson ribbon.