I thought I’d seen their arched shapes lining the main section of the sanctum, but in the frenzy of the fight I didn’t pause to investigate, and the candles’ light didn’t penetrate the darknessfar enough for me to be certain. The fleeting shadow of a harpy winging past is why I didn’t feel the need to investigate.
“Queen?”
Briar’s hesitant voice resonates like a shout.
“Goodbye, Briar Rose.” She perches on the sill for a brief second. “Good luck with her, my great-great grandson!”
The queen leaps.
“No!” Briar rushes to the window, dropping the blanket, her golden hair flying, heedless of her long skirt dusting over the candles. Two wink out. The rest gutter before flaring again. It’s a miracle she didn’t set herself on fire.
Gripping the sill with white knuckles, Briar turns to me beseechingly. “She jumped!”
“Why do you care? The queen poisoned you. She only wanted your curse broken so she could escape the one placed on her.”
I snuff the remaining candles and cast a dark glare at Alistair, who’s managed to sleep through the ruckus.
Maybe he’s been afflicted with the curse, too.
Maybe he’ll sleep for a hundred years and be awakened by another true love’s kiss, while I claim Briar for my own.
A flare of hope sparks, hot and painful inside my chest, that he won’t awaken, leaving Briar free to choose.
Only to be doused just as quickly when Alistair swings his boots over the side of the coffin and sits up, scrubbing his face.
Foolish of me to entertain the idea that Briar might want me. Women come to my bed for one of two reasons: to be ridden hard and put up wet, or as a stepping stone into his. She’s already got a solid-gold permanent invitation to his bed. The only reason Briar might glance in my direction is if she wanted a good hard fuck—and I’ve given her every reason not to consider trying such a thing.
For the first time in my life, I feel greedy and possessive over a woman. One I can’t have, naturally. I don’t want a taste. I want to consume her.
“Morning already?” Alistair asks.
Another shadow flickers past the window, darkening it. In a few strides, I’m at Briar’s side, yanking her away.
Touching her.
The scent of roses rises from her skin, so soft and sweet that the swell of desire I’ve been fighting since she roused surges anew.
She would never choose me. My body doesn’t care.
Her gentle curves press against me as she cowers away from the window. An ear-splitting shriek, followed by the harpy’s sharp talons crunch into the exterior and the intrusion of a curved beak.
I shove Briar behind me, not gently, and slam the casement windows on that deadly, snapping culmen. Feathers batter the stone, but the monster flies off as I latch the window, its wingbeats as loud as drums.
Alistair has come down from the nave to wrap his arms around his lady love. Briar’s wide eyes well with tears, but she pushes his hand away, only for him to put it around her shoulders instead of her waist.
“The queen may have poisoned me, but that doesn’t mean I wanted her dead,” Briar says indignantly.
“The queen didn’t care one whit about your life. Why do you care about hers?”
“No one is born a monster, Killian. We choose whether to grow claws and fangs.” She glares haughtily at me. “I choose not to become what I despise most.”
I cannot fathom forgiving a betrayal like Isadora’s. Whether Briar Rose’s comes from innocence or purity of heart, or both,I find it utterly confounding. In her place, I’d have pushed that hag out the window myself.
“The queen had already lived many years past the natural span of her life. Let it go, darling.”
Despite the endearment, there’s a note of warning in his voice that says Alistair will brook no argument. Briar’s lush mouth flattens.
“How do you plan to get us out of here, Kill?” he asks.
