Page 29 of Princess Broken

“Figure after the swim you’re okay without a shower for now?” Flame adds. His cheeks are definitely flushing—more visible on his pale skin.

“Yes, thank you.” I hold up the shirt. “Thank you to all of you.”

Fatigue advances, clouding my mind. I’m too tired to question why I’m thanking these men. Men who’ve kidnapped me.

“I’ll take first watch,” Crusher says gruffly. “I’ll be right outside your door. No other way in.”

I nod, shocked that I actually do feel grateful that someone will be outside this bedroom door while I sleep.

For now, I have to trust their promise not to touch me.

Tomorrow, I’ll feel stronger and I’ll find a way to escape.

Chapter Eleven

Blade

Crusher lifts his favorite club chair overhead and then drops it directly facing the guest room door, not three feet in front of it. His bulky body thumps into the cushions’ already well-worn indentations.

“You really going to sit facing her door?” I step up beside the heavy armchair.

He shrugs.

“When it opens, she’ll see you sitting here, staring—”

“Point taken.” Leaning forward, Crusher grabs the arms of the big chair, lifts it under him and turns so that its back is next to her door, him facing into the living area.

Behind the bar at the other side of the room, Phil pours himself a massive glass of whiskey, and Flame flicks an endless series of matches into the fireplace. I tuck the lock of Ana’s hair into a secret pocket below my main one. Later, I’ll tie a small string around it to keep my soft treasure contained.

“Should we have a meeting?” I ask Crusher.

Although he’s not officially in charge, none of us is, Crusher’s usually the one of us who makes the decisions when push comes to shove. And the only thing Crusher likes better than pushing and shoving is, well, crushing things between his bare hands.

As Ana already deduced, the Master gave us our nicknames based on our specialities, our favorite tools for killing, and we kept using the names even after we got away from the Master, except for Phil who never took to his nickname: Boomer. Can’t say I blame him.

Me? I don’t remember having another name before Blade.

“Why a meeting?” Crusher asks.

I nod toward the bedroom door.

“What’s there to discuss?” he asks. “After what went down, it’s our duty to protect her. No way around that.”

Shifting my focus, I hear the princess breathing softly as she explores the room. While I can sense her movements, hear her breathing, her heartbeat and the blood rushing through her veins, I can’t tell what she’s doing, not specifically. Closing my eyes, I imagine her running her tiny fingers over the pieces of furniture, touching the various knickknacks that Flame chose for that room, one that’s never been used before tonight.

Since we admit so few vampires to Freetown and each of those has their own living quarters, I didn’t see the point of a guest room. Neither did Phil, who objected loudly, but I supported Flame when we voted. We ended up split two to two, but then Crusher grunted and told Flame to do whatever the fuck he wanted. So, we have a guest room, and finally a use for it.

Phil sulked for a few years, at what he called an egregious waste of money, but money is not something we’ve ever lacked. Even if we never took another contract, we’d have enough cash and gold to last for a thousand years, plenty of other properties and profitable businesses too, but we like to work. Life is boring without an occupation and our work ethic is so ingrained…I don’t think I’ve ever questioned the idea of not working until this very moment.

“Since we’re protecting her long term, will we have to pass on taking new contracts?” I ask.

“Fuck.” Crusher uncrosses his thick arms. “Guess we should chat. Guys!” He gestures for the other two to come over.

“Right in front of her door?” I glance at the thick slab of wood that separates us from the mysterious and delicate vampire who’s affected me in a way I don’t understand. In my pocket, I dig a tiny knife into my fingertip to banish those feelings.

Crusher gets up, shaking his head, clearly annoyed that I’m right again, and he strides across the room stopping at the fireplace where Flame is still playing his fire games. Fidgeting with matches, Flame is clearly on edge too, like the rest of us given this major change in our lives.

“Meeting,” I say to Phil as I follow Crusher. Phil downs his whiskey and slams the glass on the bar before following me, and then the four of us settle into the chairs around the fireplace.

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