Page 142 of The King has Fallen

I was shaking. My mind shifting to battle plan.

Ten feet to my weapons. Twelve at most. I could have my spear in my hand in two or three seconds. Gault was armed, though only with blades—could he throw? I didn’t remember.Fuck!

He was two inches taller than me, slightly broader, but not as fit. He had been well trained in his youth, but he hadn’t had to meet a true challenge in probably five years and he’d slacked on training during the war. He was a thick, brute of a Nephilim, and our King for a reason. But he was staring at my mate like she was a pig on a spit, and he was starving. And her eyes were swimming in fear.

Did she really believe I’d let him take her?

I could have his throat slit in seconds—but before he could shout? Jann had taken Gall out, but had he stayed outside? Had Gault brought other guards he’d left out there who might hear?

If I let him think I would give up Yilan, he might be distracted enough not to notice before I got the blade into him, but letting him touch my mate—even his fingers on her chin—was making me murderous.

I was going to kill him.

I was actually going to fuckingkill him.

He plunged one hand into the pocket of his leathers and cast around in there so much I thought he was beginning to pleasure himself.

“Gault,” my voice was thick, my throat wanting to close as he stared at her with a sick light in his eyes.

He cursed, then looked down, dropping her chin and shoving both hands into his pockets, then others, then cursing again.

When his head snapped up, his eyes were glazed with lust—but also flashing with irritation. “Fuck. I’ve left the written message in my tent. We’ll go now,” he said, then turned for the door, snapping his fingers at me.

Relief rocked through me, a tidal wave ready to take me off my feet. But then he looked back once. “Bring her,” he said hoarsely, then reached for the tent flap. “You can leave her with me there.”

49. Judas

SOUNDTRACK:Step Into Darknessby Dubkiller and Archer

~ MELEK ~

We walked the back trails through the camp towards his tent, and I was shaking.

All around us, in every corner of the camp, the Nephilim were celebrating, cheering, playing music, dancing. They soundedhappy.

I walked this trail as if it led me to the executioner's gallows.

The fact that I was the one carrying Yilan was the only thing keeping me sane. But with every step we drew closer to his tent and the moment when he would expect me to relinquish her to his hands.

Never. Fucking. Happening.

Breath short and shallow, I silently pleaded God’s forgiveness for this treason, begging Him to understand that I could not allow her to be harmed.

In my arms, Yilan was wrapped in the fur that I’d tossed over her, and her hands and feet were released. I’d quickly returned that precious cotton to her ankle as I pretended to sort out the best way to carry her.

Now she lay in my arms, pale and silent, her head turned and looking at Gault who walked behind me so he could follow to his tent. He said he didn’t know the way. I suspected it was a ruse.

He played the thug, often. Brutish. Piggish. Selfish and petulant. He made way for people to underestimate him—and in that way, identified those who were trying to manipulate, or outwit him.

They always regretted it.

Gault was lazy and selfish. He was also sly, and very, very strong. When he was unbridled, he didn’t just cow a foe, he tore them to pieces. Literally.

He’d been born to the throne, yet he might have lost it to some of the others who were close cousins. Yet, he had ruled since his eighteenth year—when he killed his older brother—and he had faced every challenge since.

When it mattered, he unleashed. He became a roaring, ferocious beast of strength and cunning.

There was every chance this was all a ruse, all a ploy to get me alone and away from my weapons.

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