Page 53 of Spark of the Everflame

Another of the guards jabbed his blade in my direction. “Do you really think you can take us all, mortal?”

“Oh, just taking you would satisfy me enough.” I shot a sympathetic look between his legs. “That must be the first time a woman’s ever told you that.”

Quiet snickers rippled through the room.

The guard’s cheeks exploded into an angry red. He lunged for me. “You mortal slu—”

“Stand down.”

The low, thunderous voice reverberated against the stone walls.

Collectively, our eyes climbed up the twin winding staircases to the imposing figure atop the landing. Tailored black suede breeches, a jacket of deepest midnight blue edged with silvered beading, jeweled sword, ebony hair tightly bound.

Prince Luther.

“I do not give second chances at following my commands,” he barked.

His voice thrummed with an otherworldly power that filled the room with its presence. Even from across the expansive hall, I saw his icy stare settle on me.

The guards took a step back and sheathed their weapons, and the man who held Maura released her with a brutal shove that sent her cane clattering.

I held my ground.

Our eyes stayed locked as Luther stalked down the curving steps. He snatched Maura’s cane from the ground, and handed it back to her, offering his arm out to her to clutch until her legs steadied. An annoying warmth pooled inside me at the chivalrous gesture.

“Your Highness,” she stammered, “this is all a misunder—”

He raised a hand, silencing her immediately.

The warmth cooled away.

He turned and stood directly in front of me. His face was a mask of frozen calm, made all the more intimidating by the faint line of scarring that split his features like a chasm.

His focus shifted to the man quivering at my feet. “Explain.”

“We told them no weapons,” the guard grunted out, trying again and failing to yank his arm free of my grasp. “Then they attacked us.”

“Bullshit,” I seethed. “Don’t parents around here teach their sons not to put their hands on a woman without her consent?”

“Indeed, they do,” Luther responded.

My eyes snapped back up to him. “Then it seemsseveral of youdidn’t take the words to heart.”

His features remained as immovable as stone, but the sparks and shadows whirling behind his sapphire gaze had sirens blaring in my head. It reminded me so much of thevoicethat had plagued my thoughts in recent weeks—how the thrill of a fight woke it up and set it begging for release.

Luther’s chin dropped slightly. “Release my guard, Miss Bellator. His behavior will be dealt with appropriately.”

So the Prince remembered my name. I wasn’t yet sure if that was good or very, very bad.

“Diem, please,” Maura squeaked out. She sounded frantic, near tears. “Let the Prince handle this.”

I highly doubted Luther’s idea ofappropriatewould match mine, but I’d backed myself so artlessly into a corner I didn’t know what else to do.

I loosened my grip on the guard’s arms and watched with open scorn as he clambered to his feet. His face was inflamed with a scarlet mix of shame and fury. As he moved to join the other guards, he slammed his shoulder into mine, jeering under his breath, “Watch your back, mortal bitch.”

Magic detonated into the room.

Though Luther barely moved, whiplike vines of sizzling light and inky shadow shot from his open palms. They twisted in a violent frenzy as they slithered around the guard’s chest andsqueezed. His bones creaked against the mounting pressure, a choked cry whimpering from his lips.

---