Chapter 19

Chapter

Nineteen

HARPER

I was too numb to struggle as Arlo carried me into the house. Behind us, a frazzled-looking Leander and Goliath herded the rest of the maze's inhabitants into the hedges. Goliath cast me a final, sorrowful look over his shoulder before winking out of sight.

Arlo hurried across the kitchen and into the long hallway that led to the foyer.

"I can walk," I said, pushing at his chest. The pungent scent of sulfur burned my nose. The wound Einar had given me stung from my elbow to my wrist, but I ignored the pain. "Put me down. Please."

Arlo didn't look at me as he shook his head. "Not until you're safe." He took the stairs two at a time, carrying me effortlessly. It was difficult to reconcile the hulking, muscular demon who held me with the reserved, slightly built man I'd come to know. His horns curled against his hair, which was the same chocolate brown. Traces of his usual features remained under his prominent brow ridge and sharp cheekbones. But there was no mistaking him for anything other than a powerful supernatural.

We reached my room, and he sat me on my feet next to the bed. "I'll treat that wound, and then I need to see to Prince Einar."

"What happened downstairs?" I asked, cradling my injured arm to my chest. "What did you mean when you said Einar is a rogue lycan?" Even as the question left my lips, I knew the answer. Einar's transformation had been horrifying, his body seemingly trapped between two forms. When I ran to help him, he looked at me like he didn't recognize me.

And then he'd slashed my arm open. Madness had danced in his eyes, and he'd roared like he wanted to do a lot more than rake his claws over my skin.

Arlo reached for me. "I need to check your injury."

"It's fine," I said, pulling away. "Tell me what happened with Einar. No one has been honest with me since I got here. I deserve to know the truth."

Arlo's jaw tightened. Tension vibrated off him, but he gave a single nod. "Prince Einar lost control of his beast when he was a young man. It's always a tragedy when a lycan goes rogue. Usually, family members notice, and they intervene before disaster strikes."

Foreboding slid down my spine. "But that didn't happen with Einar?"

"No," Arlo murmured. "His Highness didn't realize what was happening. Some lycans can appear lucid even after the madness takes them. But Prince Einar blacks out. On one occasion, he killed a servant and dragged the body back to his quarters. Other servants found the decomposing corpse a few weeks later."

My gasp was loud in the bedroom. I pressed trembling fingers to my lips.

"That was ninety years ago," Arlo said. "Prince Einar has never killed in cold blood again. Even so, memories in the supernatural world are long. Many believe King Cyrus made a mistake by permitting Prince Einar to live. If he were anyone else, Cyrus would have killed him."

My heart pounded painfully. I couldn't deny what I'd seen downstairs. But I also couldn't dismiss the Einar who flirted with me over dinner and took me hiking. "Einar shelters supernaturals who need help," I said. "He built the maze to keep them safe."

"Yes," Arlo said, sadness heavy in his voice. "Einar has a good heart. And he knows what it is to be an outcast. He understands how it feels to lose everything. But lycans who can't control their beasts are dangerous. Prince Einar knows that too. He didn't build the maze to keep the people of Draithmere safe from the outside world. The grounds are secure enough for that." Arlo drew a deep breath. "Prince Einar built the maze to keep his people safe from him."

My breath hitched. My interactions with Einar ran through my mind like a movie strip, beginning with my father's office and ending with him clawing my arm downstairs.

"You left me alone with him," I said, anger kindling. "You took the night off?—"

"I'm always a shout away. And Adina's potion has kept the prince's beast in check for decades. It's not foolproof, but it allows him to live a somewhat normal life."

Puzzle pieces fell into place. "The flasks," I said. "He drinks from them to control his animal side?"

Arlo nodded. "Adina is the most accomplished potion master in the world. She takes risks others won't. With a lot of experimentation, she's been able to craft mixtures that allow Prince Einar to shift normally, making the full transformation from man to beast. That's how your father was able to capture him on film. But the potion doesn't work all the time, and the effects wear off eventually." Arlo hesitated. "Adina thought perhaps…"

"Perhaps what?" I asked.

Arlo exhaled heavily. "The prince was taken with you from the moment he saw your photo. His attraction was obvious to all of us, and the two of you seemed drawn to each other despite your best efforts to stay apart. Adina theorized that love might help Prince Einar regain control of his beast. Fated mates are rare among lycans, but the histories tell of such matches occurring."

My body went hot, then cold. An odd lump formed in my throat. "Einar doesn't love me." He'd never said it. And why would he? The moments we'd shared had been engineered by others.

"I shouldn't have listened to Adina," Arlo said softly, his tone at odds with his fierce appearance. "Witches can be fanciful. None of us meant to hurt you, but I fear that's exactly what we've done."

"By feeding me spiked tea and throwing me into Einar's path?" I asked, bitterness welling. Arlo and I had laughed together. He'd treated me like a friend, not an experiment.

Arlo's face fell. He stepped toward me, one claw-tipped hand extended. "You should let me look at your arm."

I moved backward. "I said it's fine. And you said you need to see to Einar. You should go do that."

Silence fell. After a second, Arlo lowered his hand. "I'm sorry, Miss Ward. I know my words are meaningless at the moment. But I do mean them, and I hope you can forgive me for the part I played in this." He went to the door and opened it. Pausing on the threshold, he looked at me over his shoulder. For a moment, I thought he'd say more. But with a final look of regret, he left.

I counted to ten in my head. Then I rushed across the room and tried the door knob.

Locked.

As I'd suspected, Arlo had ways of making sure I didn't leave my room. Cursing under my breath, I hiked my sleeve up and examined my arm. Three slashes marred my forearm, the wounds red and ugly. Blood clotted in the furrows as my body struggled to heal.

My gaze drifted to the bed, a vision of Einar with his first aid kid filling my mind. Had everything been fake? Had any of our moments together meant anything at all? Or had it all been farce? A test trial fueled by Adina's potion, every interaction carried out under Arlo's watchful eye.

My chest tightened. Only vaguely aware of what I was doing, I went to the bathroom and started straightening the toiletries lined up on the sink. A therapist once told me that repetitive behaviors were rooted in an anxiety sufferer's need to regain control. I understood the theory well enough, but understanding why I did compulsive things didn't make me stop doing them. My anxiety was just part of me, like my hair color or the freckles I'd hated as a kid. I managed my disorder with medication because I refused to let it rule me.

My fingers brushed my prescription. The bottle tipped, rolled, and clattered to the floor.

Memories of Einar rose, his silver gaze steady as he nodded toward the bottle protruding from my pocket. " There's no shame in taking medicine . An ailment in the mind is the same as an ailment in the body. Treating anxiety is no different than setting a broken bone. You'll receive no judgment from me."

My heart sped up. " You'll receive no judgment from me."

But I'd judged him. Was his ailment all that different from mine? He lost control, but he managed his condition as best as he could. And the second I'd learned of it, I was prepared to write him off as a lost cause.

I bent and retrieved the bottle from the floor.

"You're under my skin, Harper Ward. And the harder I try to fight it, the more I want to make you mine. No one challenges me like you do. No one dares. Every time we argue, I walk away wondering if I should have kissed you instead."

He'd shopped for me. Lined up labels for me. Because he understood how it felt to lose control. I couldn't give up on him.

"Arlo?" I called, rushing from the bathroom.

Goliath popped into existence directly in front of me, his body wreathed in a cloud of black smoke.

I stumbled backward, and I coughed as smoke filled my lungs. "What?—?"

"Shh," Goliath said, stepping from the cloud. His face was pale under his tattoos, and his tail curled tightly around his hip. "We have to be quiet," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Arlo won't be gone long. If you want to see Einar, we've got like five minutes to get you downstairs."

My heart skipped a beat. "I do want to see him."

Goliath offered a shaky smile. "I thought you might say that." He sobered. "Harper… I never wanted to lie to you. But Prince Einar's story is his to tell."

Doubt crept in. "Well, he never told it. Not to me."

"Because he was afraid to drive you away." Determination filled Goliath's eyes. "None of us have ever seen him like this. He's happy with you. Adina has spent decades searching for a cure. And then you arrived. Maybe you're the cure, Harper. Fate is powerful magic."

Hope soared in my chest. "What do I have to do?"

"Just be you. Arlo is probably still in the crypt where Einar stays when he's in one of his rages. If I can get you to the trap door, you can enter and try to break through to Einar. Arlo might balk at first, but he'll keep you safe."

I nodded. Then my heart sank. "Arlo locked me in."

Goliath scoffed. "Locks can't hold me." He put out his hand. "Hang on tight. This will feel weird."

I gripped his hand. And the floor dropped from under me. A scream lodged in my throat as I plummeted, the world dissolving into smoke. A second later, my feet slammed into a hard surface, buckling my knees.

I sagged to the ground, coughing as I tried to catch my breath.

"Sorry," Goliath whispered, bending over me. "There's no good way to prepare someone for morphing."

I nodded, one hand pressed to the paved path that connected the garage to the main house. Evening air swirled around me, ferrying away the last of the smoke. Ahead, a door leading into the garage stood ajar.

"It's through there," Goliath said in a low voice.

I let him tug me to my feet. Together, we entered the darkened garage. Moonlight streamed through windows set high on the walls. Several vehicles filled the space, chrome gleaming in the gloom.

And Arlo lay crumpled on his side next to a flat door built into the concrete floor. His eyes were closed, his mouth slack. Blood trickled from a cut on his forehead.

Just as I drew breath to scream, a hand clamped over my mouth. An arm wrapped around my waist, hauling me onto my tiptoes. "Quiet, chère ," a masculine, French-accented voice breathed in my ear. "We don't want to wake our sleeping friend." In my peripheral vision, a second man whipped a black hood over Goliath's head. When Goliath struggled, the man spun him around and buried his fist in Goliath's stomach. Goliath crumpled with a pained wheeze.

My captor tightened his arm around my midsection, cutting off my breath before I could attempt to protest. "Someone open that fucking trap door!" His lips caressed my ear, and my skin crawled as his breath fluttered over my neck. "We're going to see how well your boyfriend fights when he doesn't have his drugs to help him."

Half a dozen wolves sprang from the shadows, their fangs bared and their eyes gleaming like gold coins in the darkened garage.

Werewolves. They were smaller than Einar in his lycan form.

A third man dressed in head-to-toe black strode from between two cars. He carried a pistol, and the hilt of an honest-to-goodness broadsword poked over his shoulder. As he approached the trap door, a giant crow swooped out of nowhere, its talons aimed directly at the man's head.

He ducked, cursing.

"Help him, Hector!" the man holding me shouted. The man who punched Goliath darted forward. He waved his arms, shouting as he attempted to scare off the crow.

Screeching, the crow wheeled in the air, its wings spread wide. As it swooped toward the ground, it shifted in a flurry of black feathers. A beat later, Myrna stepped to the ground on two legs. Her white dress fluttered around her ankles as she moved in front of Arlo and the trap door.

"Stop right there!" the man with the pistol shouted. He leveled the gun at Myrna. "Not another step closer."

The werewolves on four legs bared their fangs.

Myrna paid them no attention. She stared at the man holding me, her eyes wide and red-rimmed. Slowly, she lifted a finger and pointed at him.

"I've seen your death, Armand Reverdin!" she cried. "You will burn in the inferno, your flesh melting from your bones!"

My captor tensed. His arm around my waist tightened like a band of iron, threatening to crush my ribs. Next to me, Goliath slumped on his knees, his head sagging under the hood.

The wolves didn't move. A few cast wary looks at my captor, who was apparently called Armand.

Myrna kept her finger outstretched. An eerie wind tugged at her dress, making the fabric whip around her legs.

Tension filled the garage. A few of the werewolves in beast form slunk backward. The man with the pistol looked at Armand. "Should we…seize her?"

"Kill her," Armand snarled.

Distant shouts drifted from somewhere behind me. Armand whirled, dragging me with him. The door flew open with a metallic shriek, and another man stumbled into the garage.

"They're coming, sir!" he gasped, his face leached of color. "There's some kind of fucked-up hedge maze in the back. People are pouring from it. Rothkilde has an army!"

The shouts from outside grew louder. The thunder of hooves followed. My heart leapt. The centaurs and the others were coming.

Armand swung back around, his palm tight over my mouth. His chest lifted against my back, and I got the sense he grappled with his next steps as he realized he was in danger of being trapped. "Intercept them!" he yelled finally. "We'll have to fight our way out."

The werewolves on four legs growled and then shot past us. My elation evaporated, and worry gripped me as I imagined them clashing with Leander and the others from the maze. On the ground, Arlo stirred, his eyelids fluttering. Relief coursed through me even as I mentally pleaded with him to stay still. If he tried to fight, I had no doubt Armand would kill him.

"Bring the demon!" Armand barked. Hector scrambled to obey.

Myrna caught my eye. I couldn't be certain, but I thought she gave me a subtle nod. Then she shifted in a blur, reforming into a crow and zooming toward the rafters.

The man with the pistol aimed it toward the ceiling.

"Don't shoot, you idiot!" Armand yelled. "The bullets will ricochet."

Outside, a wolf gave a high-pitched yelp. The shouts grew louder. Hector and the man with the pistol lifted Arlo from the ground. They were both big men, but they clearly struggled under Arlo's weight.

"Leave the runt," Armand ordered. "He's not worth the hassle." Just as I realized he spoke of Goliath, something hard struck my head. Pain exploded in my skull.

And everything went black.