Page 66 of King Elijah (The Zemiran Chronicles 2)

“I was, actually,” she admitted, watching Elijah raise a brow of amusement. “But I changed my mind.” She picked up her bag from the ground and pulled it over her shoulder. “We should eat, and I need to check on Bran. Thank him for what he has done for us.”

Elijah smiled and threw off the blanket to roll out of bed.

He was still naked, and she didn’t hide the fact she was staring, holding her gaze.

A slight chuckle erupted from his mouth as he walked past her and into the washroom, his shoulder brushing gently against hers.

“I’ll meet you in the kitchen for breakfast,” she said, thinking how domestic that sounded out of context.

He gave her a smile before shutting the door behind him, shooting her one last side smirk.

She walked down the hall quietly, just in case Bran was still sleeping, but his door was open.

Janelle tapped lightly against the wood. “Bran?” she called. “We’re awake now. Can we help ourselves to coffee and food?”

The only sound was the wind tapping against the window.

A sudden rush of fear slammed into her. It was an intuitive force she hadn’t felt since she was a young girl. The last time Janelle had felt that power was right before Queen Cassia’s guards marched into their tent and tore Aiden from his bed. That was right before he was sentenced to the Whispering Woodlands.

She cracked the door further open to look inside. Bran was lying on his bed with his back to the door.

“Bran?” she asked. Her voice shook.

Before she made it any further into the room, the scent of blood touched her senses; and then she saw it. Her heart filled with horror. The red-soaked sheets twisted around Bran, and a tiny dagger was lodged in his throat.

As she stepped forward, a large hand clapped over her mouth, and another gripped her waist, yanking her roughly against a man’s broad chest. She moved swiftly, about to use all the moves she had learned for a close-contact escape, but the sharp tip of another dagger pressed into her spine.

“Easy, Janelle,” a man’s gravelly voice whispered as he pressed his dry, calloused palm firmly against her mouth, muffling her scream. She knew it was one of Kieran’s men when she saw the dagger etched with the coven’s crest along the hilt.

As she lifted her leg for an attack from behind, the blunt force of an object crashed hard against her skull. She fell to the floor, slipping into darkness.

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