Page 30 of Rescued By Her Guardian

“Let’s go,” he said, and raced through the portal to get his mate back.

Frost’s magic tingled, the feeling of biting ants crawling up his arms, and he knew that the magical tracker he’d had Azure coat the Northernmost portal with had been activated again. Someone was coming through.

He turned to the images on the screen, the invisible cameras watching the perimeter of Northernmost showing him when a small group came through the portal.

He recognized the group as the ones that had gone through with the elf who was in his dungeon. The males all looked angry, which delighted him on a cellular level. And also gave him an idea.

“Azure!” he barked his number three’s name.

The male hurried into the room, ever the eager beaver to do whatever Frost wanted. Sometimes it irked him, but now he appreciated how fast the male was.

“What can I do for you?” he asked, slightly out of breath.

“Bring the elf topside, I want to take her magic and turn her.”

“Wait, the female?” Azure frowned, his gray skin pulling around his mouth. His dark eyes, ringed with purple because he was a warlock-turned-evil, were filled with uncertainty. “I thought you wanted to save her for after the solstice. It’s less than two weeks away. We’ll have to?—“

Frost slashed his hand in the air and Azure stopped speaking, his teeth clicking as he closed his mouth.

“Get the female. Meet me at the entrance. Now.”

The male darted away like his ass was on fire.

At least he could hustle.

Jack stared at the video feed. His brother met the shifters along with other guardians—shifters and elves—and they marched toward the edge of Northernmost. They’d cross the border and leave the safety of the town, and then they’d be at Jack’s door in an hour.

Of course his brother stopped at the perimeter of the town. He was too scared to be ambushed. Rightly so, of course. Jack would absolutely slit his throat in a heartbeat if he had the chance.

But no matter. He would show the Guardians he was more powerful and dangerous than his brother. While they grieved the loss of the elf, he’d strike again, the plan nearly ready.

Smiling to himself, he left his office to meet the Guardians marching toward him to save the elf in the dungeon.

Jack would be ready for them.

It had taken a while of sitting on her bottom and staring at the frosty stone walls of her cell before she’d come up with a plan to get out. And it had come because she’d gotten a splinter running her hand aimlessly along the edge of the cot.

It was made of wood and was the most uncomfortable piece of furniture she’d ever sat on in her life, but it would be useful nonetheless.

She ducked under the cot and lifted it off two of its legs to get a good look at the underside. It was made of slats that were nailed to a wooden frame. The slats were thinner than the frame and legs, so she aimed for them when she kicked the cot. Her foot immediately hurt, as her boots were soft fabric and lined with wool.

Better a broken toe than a life of dark magic and servitude to Jack Frost.

After repeated kicks, several curses of thetinsel!variety, and what she was certain were at least two broken bones in her right foot, she heard the satisfying crack of one of the slats. She pulled the broken slat free and set the cot back against the wall. Taking the slat to the stone, she used the rough-hewn surface like sandpaper to sharpen the jagged edge.

She hadn’t seen anyone in a while and had no idea how long she’d been in the cell, so she worked as fast as she could in case someone came to check on her. After some work, the slat had a sharp, pointed tip and a tapered edge that would surely do some damage. It wasn’t as if she was prone to violence, and the thought of hurting someone made her stomach roll. But the people who worked for Frost were evil and couldn’t be redeemed, a sad truth. Once he stole their magic, there was no hope to return them to their former life; they became a shell of who they were, loyal to Frost above all else.

She heard a door creak open and sucked in a sharp breath.

Her hands were trembling as she climbed back onto the cot and gripped her sharpened slat in her right hand, pressing it against her calf to hide it from view. Resting her head on her bent knees, she slowed her breathing even though her heart was pounding furiously and pretended to be asleep.

Heavy footsteps drew closer and a scuffing sound alerted her to someone stopping in front of her cell. She didn’t move a muscle even though adrenaline was coursing through her veins.

“Get up.”

She stayed still, not even flinching, for which she was pretty dang proud of herself.

He smacked the bars. “Get up, damn it.”

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