The harpies know we’re in here, and they want their next meal.
Which makes Alistair’s solution ingenious, if disgusting.
Hours later, we’ve peeled the basilisk’s hide from its body, chopped the legs and head off, and are about to execute the second part of our bloody plan.
“Ready?”
At my signal, Alistair opens the window. Immediately, there’s a shadow followed by the crunch of talons seeking purchase on the exterior. Briar throws open a second window, giving me my opening.
I heave the chunks of lizard out the window. A meaty slap draws the raptors away.
“Grand,” Alistair says. “Now for the hard part.”
We throw the rolled-up hide down the passageway, but it keeps getting stuck. I keep having to kick it free. By the time we reach the platform where Queen Isadora first let us into the castle, evening has painted the sky in vivid shades of orange.
Fucking great. Getting out of here at night is going to be nigh impossible. Maybe if I was fresh, uninjured, and alone, I could do it. But whether we stay another night or leave now, we’re as good as dead.
Alistair’s plan had better work, or we’re fucked.
“What do we do now?”
Briar surveys the landscape of tangled thorns below like the queen she soon will be.
“We go down that wall, and drape this disgusting thing over our heads to fool any passing monsters into leaving us alone,” Alistair says.
Which will work splendidly until we reach the vine forest again and have to hack our way through with a dull axe.
“Better move. Those harpies won’t be satisfied for long.”
Alistair drops down the wall first, leaving me to devise a harness for the lady. I loop the rope, eyeing her figure to try and get it close to the right size. Her tiny waist flares gently into lushhips. I’d like to say I avoid looking at the pillowy rises of her breasts, and that I’m not tempted to run my thumb along the bottom curve, but I’m only a man. I’m tempted. I resist as best I can.
The real test comes when I hold open the loop and bid her to step in. She’s tied her torn skirt up, leaving her legs exposed. She presses one hand on my shoulder for balance and steps through the makeshift harness. I frown at the sight of blood on her shin.
“What happened to your leg?”
“The harpy’s attack. It’s only a scratch, mercifully.”
Our faces are close.
“Listen to me, Princess. No harm will ever come to you again. As long as I’m alive, not one monster, whether human or beast, will so much as displace a single hair on your head. Understand?” My words come out fiercer than they should, a low, protective growl. Her eyes widen.
It would cost me my life, if I were to lose hers. But that isn’t why I said it. Or why I mean it with every fiber of my being.
Her lips turn up in a faint smile. That gorgeous mouth brushes my cheek with each syllable, as soft as a butterfly’s wings. My chest turns warm.
“Does that include your beastly friend?”
I yank the rope tight around her waist. She gasps.
She knows I can’t protect her from him.
She glares and settles into the double loops, one below her bottom, the other at her waist. Twisting her long hair into a knot, she ties a ribbon from her sleeve around it and glares at me. “You’re not as awful as you’re pretending to be.”
“You don’t know me at all, Princess.”
Her blue eyes narrow. “What are you so afraid of me knowing about you, Killian?”
“What’s taking so long?” Alistair shouts, breaking the spell before I can respond.
