As I creeped into the sitting room, I spotted a dark haired man in a green uniform, he was facing Anwen and passing her some bags, the two chatting casually. She looked relaxed and trusted the man. She even smiled at him and they shared familiarity. Maybe I was wrong, maybe the mating instinct got the better of me and the threat I felt was simple jealousy. He looked and acted like a guard, I had spotted them several times around the territory and they all wore the same stance and green coat. Until I saw his face.
Every cautionary impulse vanished and I lunged for him, dagger in hand, ready to wound, ready to kill. The bastard sensed me, or maybe it was Anwen’s scream that warned him when I tried to thrust the weapon into his neck. He turned just enough to shift the blow to his shoulder, where I left a deep cut that instantly started bleeding and staining the polished wooden floor.
“Ansgar, stop!” Anwen ordered but I pushed her out of the way and into the kitchen, making her tumble on the floor.
Protect your mate. It was all I heard in my mind, all my instincts screaming, demanding me to do so. I lunged for him once again, aiming for his throat, his kidneys, anywhere I could fatally wound. Again, he shifted out of the way and jumped over the sofa, so I followed him, pushing him further away from her as one of my knees found its mark and shoved a blow at the back of his head. Anwen shouted again, screaming at me to stop, ordering me to, explaining that this bastard was her friend. It only took the second while I glimpsed towards my mate for my throat to be wrapped in iron. He had found the chains Anwen used on me that time and sent one of them flying at my head, squeezing hard enough to remove the air from my lungs. I heard Anwen’s voice again, distant, screaming and through some miracle, she reached him and pushed him away. To my surprise he let her and just as everything was turning dark, my mate released the chain around my throat, allowing me to breathe.
“Ansgar,” she cupped my face and scanned it, needing to know I was okay. From the corner of my eye, I saw Fear Gorta picking up the dagger I’d used against him and making a sign of throwing it into my mate’s head. Just like a darts game. I grunted, the message crystal clear.
“Ansgar,” she softly, lovingly caressed my face, tears flowing, “it’s okay, he is a friend,” she tried to explain and I could not bear the innocence in her eyes. She had been cheated, we both had. All the while I thought he had vanished, that I made him disappear that first day, and in turn he had infiltrated the guards to get to her. To befriend her, make her trust him.
“Why?” I grunted, still on the floor with Anwen on her knees, by my side.
“Where’s the fun in that, tree princeling?” he mocked and hovered over us, stepping slowly and playing with the dagger, able to launch it any second. I could do nothing to stop him, except throw myself in front of it. I would do it, for her, I would do it.
“This is between you and me, she has nothing to do with anything,” I threatened and tried to stand up but as soon as I made my intention clear, his hand tensed on the hilt, so I stopped.
“Ansgar, he is a member of the guards, he is a friend,” Anwen tried to clarify, still thinking the whole situation was a misunderstanding. “His name is…” she tried to tell me but I stopped her. I already knew.
“Rhylan,” I continued for her. “He calls himself Rhylan now, correct?” I asked the fireling.
“Yes,” he nodded with a smile, introducing himself to us all over again.
“You know him?” she asked incredulously.
“He is the one who attacked you, the day we met. He is a fireling.”
“No,” Anwen shook her head in disbelief. “No, it can’t be. He is not fae, he can touch iron.” She continued moving her shocked gaze from me to Rhylan, then back to me, expecting, hoping that one of us would tell her it was all some kind of joke. She seemed to realise it was not and rose to her feet, shoving Rhylan. Once again, he let her, to my surprise.
“How dare you lie to me? I trusted you! It was all a ruse to get to him?” she pushed her fists into his chest again, only this time he lost patience and shoved her onto the sofa. I took the opportunity to regain my stance.
“Now, now sprout, no need to get sentimental. You don’t like pain, remember?” Rhylan smirked darkly at my mate, then shifted his attention back to me. “How was the visit?”
“What do you want?” I pressed and tried to take small steps towards the sofa, trying to cover Anwen.
“The entire forest heard you two fucking, so I assume it was a pleasurable encounter?” The words rolled off his lips with distaste.
“That’s none of your business, you freaking jerk!” It was Anwen who replied.
Fear Gorta huffed, placing a theatrically offended hand to his chest. “None of my business, sprout? It was I who helped your joyous reunion, was it not?”
My mate rose from the sofa and as she did so, I immediately gripped her wrist and pulled her behind me, protecting her with my body, away from the weapon resting in Rhylan’s hand.
“What do you want?” I pressed again, this time emphasizing the hate and anger rising in my throat.
“It is quite simple, I want payment,” he replied as though it was as clear as child's play.
“For what?” I grunted, all the while stepping back and almost shoved Anwen against the wall, expanding my arms as much as possible to form a protective shield in front of her.
“The journey, of course. What, did you think it came out of my charity funds?”
I frowned as I tried to decipher his words, but it was Anwen who replied from behind me, “Fine, I’ll write you a cheque.”
“Humans and their petty cash,” Rhylan replied annoyed. “What you received, silly sprout, is worth a lot more than your paper.”
“What did you give her?” I demanded.
“Cloutie root. Burnt Cloutie root,” the bastard replied with a proud smile.
