Page 47 of Bewitching the Dragon
The butcher knife stuck into the wall shook with more and more intensity, like it was trying to break free of its prison. Not the blade she meant to summon, but no matter. Becca shouted, “Argyle, move!”
He released his hold on the warlock and dove out of the way just as the knife flew across the room and stabbed into the warlock’s back. The impact propelled the man forward onto his stomach, and Becca stepped on his shoulder blade, grasped the knife, pulled it out, and then used it to slice his head from his shoulders.
According to the spell book she’d been studying, the blade had to be infused with magic or coated with poison, otherwise it wouldn’t kill a warlock unless it was used to separate his head from his body.
“Sure would be nice if the appropriate killing method wasn’t quite so gruesome,” she noted.
A ball of red light slammed into her, and Becca screamed as pain raced through her veins. She collapsed to the floor, writhing, trying and failing to focus her magic on making it go away. All she could do was ride it out, until, blessedly, it stopped.
Gasping, and with tears streaming down her face, she pushed up onto her hands and shook her head to try to clear it. When she was able to focus, she noted that one warlock was holding Pacey with an arm around her middle and his other hand wrapped around her neck. Argyle stood across the room from them, his gaze darting from Pacey to the lead singer.
The lead singer had Rahu. He was holding the dragon by the hair with one hand, while the other held a blade against his throat.
Becca’s blade. The one Argyle gave her.
“How the hell did you get it?” she demanded.
The warlock dug the blade into Rahu’s skin. Becca could see blood bubbling next to it.
“Stop!” she cried.
The warlock chuckled and then leaned close to Rahu’s ear. “See? I told you she cared.”
Rahu didn’t react, probably because, well, there was a blade pressed against his carotid artery. Thank God she hadn’t managed to coat it with poison after all.
“Now that I have your attention,” the warlock said, “here’s how this is going to play out. Daddy over there is going to—”
“Daddy?” Becca said, automatically twisting her head to the left. Argyle shifted his gaze to her.
His eyes.
They weren’t blue—she’d gotten that from her mother. But they were the exact same shape, his thick, dark lashes were the same, those gold flecks in the middle—it was all the same.
As hers.
“Rebecca,” he whispered. Argyle.
Her father.
She fell back against the counter as her legs began to shake. “That doesn’t make sense,” she muttered.
The warlock laughed. “You didn’t know?”
He glanced at Argyle, who was standing so still he might as well have shifted into his gargoyle form. “All this time you’ve been protecting her, and you never told her? Oh, that’s rich.”
Becca shook her head. “That’s not right. I have a dad. Had.” She looked up at the warlock. “You killed him.”
“Nope. I killed your mom. Your dad’s standing right there.” He briefly pulled the knife from Rahu’s throat to use it to point at Argyle.
Rahu slammed the back of his head against the guy’s chin. It was enough impact to send him staggering a few feet backward while Rahu lunged out of reach. Argyle’s body shimmered as he hurtled himself toward the warlock.
Who plunged the magical blade into Argyle’s stomach.
“No!”
Someone screamed, Pacey, most likely, since it sounded feminine.
“Becca! Becca, look at me!”
