23. Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Three

Dramatic Freaking Duel

Luca has me pinned to the ground. The weight of him makes me sick. It’s a parody of what I shared with William. He tries to kiss me, his lips wet. It’s more blasphemous than having sex in the tower of a cathedral.

No. This isn’t happening.

I slam my head into his, leaving me stunned—and drawing blood. A drop of red mars his lips. He snarls, looking like a wild animal. Ambition without any trace of humanity. I fight him, using my bound fists to beat his shoulders. It doesn’t seem to make much difference, but it doesn’t stop me. I’d rather die fighting him than accept this.

A hard swipe across my cheek, the same place he hit me before.

Stars swirl in a miasma of pain.

When I manage to gain consciousness again, he’s already opened my jeans.

It excites him, I realize dimly, the way I fight him. He wants the drama of it, the same way he likes the pomp and circumstance of the secret society. It’s a form of foreplay to him. He lacks soul, so regular pleasure would mean nothing.

I can’t stop this.

I’ve failed.

My stomach turns over, but I don’t even have enough inside to vomit on him.

I close my eyes, not wanting to see.

The heavy carved door slams open, the sound echoing like a gunshot. My heart pounds in surprise. And faint hope. Luca’s face contorts with rage. And—sweet relief—he pushes off me to face the newcomers.

That’s when I can finally see.

Standing in the doorway, like an avenging angel, is William.

Shock ripples through me, followed by a surge of relief so intense it makes my knees weak. William’s eyes find mine, and the raw intensity in them steals my breath.

He’s not the academic professor now.

He’s a warrior, fierce and powerful, ready to fight the world for me.

His chest heaves, his muscles taut beneath his shirt. His hair is disheveled. The stubble on his jaw accentuates the hard lines of his face. He’s never looked more handsome, more commanding. More like home.

“Anne,” he growls, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that sends shivers down my spine. It’s a promise. The promise of safety. And retribution.

Behind him are two other men.

I recognize Professor Cormac Stratford. His rugged face is set in a scowl, his broad shoulders squared, ready for a fight. The other has the same powerful bone structure, although he’s leaner, with darker hair, and even colder eyes. I’m assuming this is Asher, the third Stratford brother. Though it’s hard to imagine this man as the author of moving symphonies. He looks like he could raze entire cities to the ground.

Luca takes a step back, his bravado faltering.

“Get them,” he says to Matteo, who stands there, empty-handed, looking torn. There’s obviously nothing he can do against such a wall of power. But he’s already chosen his side, the losing one. This is what happens when you cheat. Once you realize you can take what you want without anyone stopping you, you want more. And there will always be one more thing you’ll want, one more thing you don’t deserve that will be your downfall.

I push myself to sitting, scooting away from the men.

They’re outmatched. And they know it.

William takes a step forward, his eyes never leaving mine. The air crackles with tension, with the promise of violence. “Cover her,” he says.

Cormac seems to know what it means. He steps in front of me, a human shield. Meanwhile, Asher circles Luca and Matteo, removing a retreat.

“You’re outnumbered,” William says. “Will you submit?”

Cormac stands with his fists at his sides, clearly ready to use them. Asher says nothing, his silence chilling. There’s music even in his stillness.

“No,” Luca says.

“Then we’ll fight. You and me. One on one.”

My eyes widen. “No.”

Luca sneers. “A fair fight? You would lose.”

William steps forward, his eyes meeting mine. The air crackles with tension, with the promise of violence. He’s the calm before the storm, the eye of the hurricane. He’s the general of the army, the one who will burn the world in retribution.

The one who will reclaim the throne…for me.

“Anne,” he says, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. “Did he hurt you?”

“He—” My voice cracks. “He tried.”

His expression firms. “I’ll make him pay for that.”

“Don’t,” I say, not wanting him to be hurt. They have the upper hand. They can call the cops. They can end this, where everyone walks away safe. And alive.

“We settle this like gentlemen.” Luca smiles, as if he knows he’s won. It chills me, that smile. “Have you been practicing with the sword? I doubt it. Not much time in between writing all those papers, giving all those lectures. Fucking all those students.”

Dark eyes narrow. “Then we duel.”

My heart lurches in my chest. “This is insane.”

No one listens to me.

Asher digs into the crates, pulling out—props, basically. Stacks of hooded robes. Goblets. Eventually he finds long boxes that apparently hold swords. Good god. The secret society actually has sword fights? And how do I already know they don’t use safety masks and rubber tips? They don’t do anything half-assed. This would be real.

William pulls me to standing, his body warm and strong as he holds me. I’m shivering. Is this adrenaline? Am I in shock?

“You don’t have to do this,” I say between chattering teeth.

His brother hands him a sword, and he uses it to slice open the rope. I flinch, expecting that I would be cut by such a long, sharp blade, but my wrists are clean of blood. They’re red and bruised, though.

William holds them in his larger hands, his jaw ticking. “He got to you.”

I want to tell him that he got to me in time, that he managed to save me before I was raped…but I also know that the memory of Luca’s weight, his attempt at a kiss, his hands opening my jeans will haunt me for a long time. Maybe forever.

The truth is I’m not sure I’ll ever feel safe again.

William places a kiss on my forehead. It feels cleansing.

Then he pushes me gently back. Cormac takes a stance in front of me again. Asher stands in front of Matteo, as if keeping him from intervening to help his father—even though he looks as though all the fight has drained from him.

That leaves only William and Luca in the space, both armed.

They seem to hold the weapons with knowledge. Then again, what do I know about sword fighting? It happens in the very first scene of Romeo and Juliet, the drawing of swords. And look how that play ended. In tragedy.

“Please,” I whisper to Cormac. “Make it stop.”

He looks back at me, his eyes stormy. “This is his fight.”

He’s wrong, of course. It belongs to William. It also belongs to me.

They decide what happens because they’re bigger and stronger. And older. They get to dictate to me, to protect me the way they choose. They get to strip me of choice in this moment. The knowledge rises like bile. There’s nothing I can do to protect William from this.

The first clash of steel on steel echoes through the basement, a harsh, jarring sound that sets my teeth on edge. I feel like I can’t watch, but I can’t look away either. Two men circle each other, their movements fluid.

They both look skilled.

They both look deadly.

The fear in my gut turns to ice.

Luca lunges, his blade slicing through the air—and against William’s arm. Blood wells up, staining the crisp white of his shirt. My heart stops, then starts again, pounding in my ears. I take a step forward, but Cormac holds me back.

“Trust him,” he growls.

William doesn’t even flinch. He just keeps fighting, his expression never changing. He’s a machine, cold and calculating, his every movement precise. He forces Luca back, step by step, their blades clashing again and again.

The air fills with the harsh sound of their breathing, the ring of steel. Luca stumbles. William uses the moment to stab forward, slashing a precise line across his cheek, his right cheek, the same one where Luca hit me. He falls back, his sword clattering to the ground.

William stands over him, his blade at Luca’s throat, chest heaving.

Luca looks up, his eyes wide with disbelief. He’s not used to losing. As a narcissist, he probably assumed it couldn’t happen. I didn’t want this fight, but I can’t help but be glad to see this evil man fall.

“Do it,” he says, snarling.

Do what? He’s already beaten?

The basement echoes with the harsh rasp of their breathing.

My blood runs cold. He wants William to kill him.

He wants to make him a murderer.

Maybe he wants his head on fucking pike. Even his death has to be dramatic.

“No,” I say, striding forward, putting a hand on William’s chest. I’m close enough to the sword that it makes me feel sick, but I also can’t let it happen this way. I don’t care about what happens to Luca, but it will destroy something inside William to do this.

“He deserves it,” Williams says.

“Don’t you see? He wants this. Death by dramatic freaking duel. It would be the crowning achievement of the Shakespeare Society. Take it away from him. That’s what he doesn’t deserve.”

William’s sword presses against Luca’s neck, the tip drawing a bead of blood.

Luca grits his teeth, his face a mask of defiance. “Finish it,” he spits. “Are you going to let a little girl tell you what to do?”

William’s lips curl into a sardonic smile. “Yes. I believe I am.”

He lowers the sword, stepping back. His eyes meet mine, and the intensity in them sends a shiver down my spine. Relief floods through me like a tidal wave. He’s bloodied, his shirt stained red, but he’s alive.

Asher moves in to make sure that Luca doesn’t get up.

“Anne.” William’s voice is a low rumble, a sound that makes my heart flutter.

“I was worried for you.” The words escape my lips like a secret.

His hand cups my cheek, his thumb brushing away a tear I hadn’t realized had fallen. His touch is electric, setting my skin on fire. “I wouldn’t leave you.”

You already did.

The words don’t belong here, in this moment, even if they’re true.

His lips claim mine in a kiss that’s fierce and possessive. It’s a brand, a promise. His tongue invades my mouth, tasting, exploring. I melt into him, my hands gripping his shirt, holding him close. The kiss deepens, becoming something wild and untamed. I can feel his heart pounding against my chest, echoing my own.

He pulls back, his breath ragged.

Luca stirs, his body trembling as he pushes himself up from the ground. My heart stops. His face drips blood, making him a gory mess, defiance in his eyes. Cormac steps forward. “Thank God. Even I couldn’t kick a man when he’s down. So I’m glad you got up.”

Before Luca can fully stand, Cormac’s fist connects with his jaw. The sound is sickening, a brutal crack that makes me wince.

“That’s for leaving college students in fucking fountains,” he says over the prone body.

Luca doesn’t stir.

There’s only one student that’s happened to recently, and that’s Daisy. The memory of her, soaked and shivering, flashes through my mind, making me shiver.

William’s eyes search mine. “He touched you.”

I nod, unable to find the words. He did more than touch my body. He dirtied my soul.

His thumb brushes my lower lip, a soft, tender touch that sends a shiver down my spine. “You’re going to heal. That’s a goddamn promise.”

Heal. I don’t know what that would look like, especially since my wounds go so much deeper than tonight. He takes my hand, his fingers intertwining with mine. His grip is firm, steady. He leads me away from the chaos, away from the violence. Away from Luca and Matteo, who are now nothing more than shadows in the night.

We step out into the cool night air, the stars shining brightly above us. The night is quiet, peaceful. It’s as if the world has been holding its breath, waiting for us. It looks almost pretty, as if this is a romantic date instead of a bizarre rescue. How perverse. And how appropriate to everything that our relationship has been.

He turns to me, his eyes black in the moonlight. “You’re safe now.”

“I’ve never been safe. I doubt it’s going to start now.”

He leans in, his forehead resting on mine.

The sound of sirens cuts through the tension, growing louder as they approach. William’s hold on me tightens, his voice a low rumble in my ear. “Hold on, brave heart.”

The ambulance pulls up outside, its lights casting a red and blue glow through the open basement door. Paramedics rush in, their faces set in professional concern. They ask if there are injuries inside. Injuries like a man cut with a sword and then knocked out cold.

“There’s a man inside who needs medical attention, but she needs to be looked at first.” He uses his professor voice, which means they listen.

“I’m not that hurt.”

“No arguments. I’m about two seconds away from locking you away where no one can find you, kidnap you, drag you into cold fucking cellars.”

I open my mouth to protest, but the look in his eyes stops me. He’s not just concerned; he’s scared. Scared for me. The realization sends a warm rush through me, and I find myself nodding, acquiescing, allowing medics to press ice against my cheek.