Page 124 of Cherish

There are several guards with us now. I can tell by the sound their…shoes? boots? make as they walk us over the gravel. Plus, there are a lot of different voices all blending together.

I try to differentiate them, try to guess just how many guards they’ve put in charge of us. But the voices are fading in and out, going close and far so fast that every time I think I’ve counted everyone, I realize I’ve missed someone. Or counted someone else twice.

I guess it doesn’t really matter—it’s not like we’re about to mount an escape now that, hopefully, we’re so close to the Shadow Queen. But I’d still like to know. Maybe it’s a control thing. Maybe it’s a fear thing. Or maybe, in the back of my head, I’m trying to figure out how to get us the hell out of here if things go any further south.

The fact that I’ve got nothing doesn’t sit well with me. Especially not when so many people I love are stuck in this situation with me.

We walk forty-one steps before we turn a corner to the right. Walk another hundred and twelve steps before turning to the left. And then we go up seventeen steps, turn to the right, and walk one hundred and forty-five steps more before the guard holding my hands yanks me to a stop so roughly that I’m half afraid he dislocated my shoulder.

“Hey!” I try to exclaim, more because I’m pissed than because I expect him to understand me—or to care. It comes out like a cry of pain instead of an enraged complaint, which just makes me angrier.

And when he jerks me forward again just as roughly, I make myself feel better by fantasizing about punching him right in the middle of what I’m sure is his very obnoxious-looking face with a concrete fist.

It’s a good fantasy, but it’s not as good as hearing him suddenly grunt in pain. Twice.

I don’t have a clue what happened to him—I know I didn’t do anything—but whatever it is must have really pissed him off, because he suddenly hisses, “You’re going to pay for that.”

I don’t know who he’s talking to, but considering he’s been in charge of me since we got here, I assume it’s me. So I brace myself for the worst, expecting him to lash out at me a third time.

Instead, though, there’s a solid thump to the right of me, followed by a muffled growl that sounds an awful lot like, “Sod off.” And then a scuffle that leaves my guard groaning and, from the location of the noise, lying on the floor.

And just like that, I know exactly what’s happening. Hudson took exception to my pained gasp and—even blindfolded and with his hands tied in front of him—made sure it didn’t happen again.

There’s an even louder scuffle behind me, the sound of more booted feet rushing toward us. Then a sickening thud that sounds an awful lot like someone getting hit with a bat or another blunt object. Several times.

“Stop!” I try to yell. “Stop, stop, stop!” When that doesn’t work—when the hitting sound continues—I move toward it as fast as I can, determined to get between Hudson and whatever he’s being hit with.

“Stop!” I say again, pushing myself forward. I get a hard, glancing blow on my shoulder from what feels like a cane. I clench my teeth against the pain of it, force myself not to make another sound that will get Hudson even more worked up.

But it’s too late. He obviously heard the blow land, because even with his mouth taped up, he lets out a roar of fury that stops me in my tracks. And apparently, I’m not the only one, because the cane doesn’t land on either of us again.

Instead, there’s another scuffle that ends with the cane clattering to the ground at my feet—followed seconds later by what I can only assume is the person wielding it.

Someone lets out a sharp gasp of pain, which is followed quickly by two loud, low-pitched groans. And then the sound of a body hitting the wall several feet away.

“Hudson!” I cry out, terrified that what I heard was my mate being knocked unconscious.

But Hudson responds with something that sounds an awful lot like my name, and relief sweeps through me. At least until I hear something else collide with him.

Again, I try to get between him and the guards. But people are moving so fast and locations are changing so quickly that I can’t keep up without some kind of visual. Terror grips me, has my hands sweating and my stomach dropping to my knees, as I imagine what a pissed-off group of guards could do to Hudson.

I can’t let that happen. I just can’t. Especially not when he started this fight to try to help me. But I don’t know where to go, don’t know how to help him. All I know is that something has to give, or he’s going to get seriously hurt. We all are. Because these guards don’t seem like the type to take an insurrection lightly.

I bend down, about to say fuck it and shift into my gargoyle form before racing toward the spot most of the noise is coming from, but before I can get there, everyone freezes at the sound of a door opening.

Even before a very prim, very proper voice announces, “The queen will see you now.”

67

The Gag’s Up

and Down

It worked. Getting arrested really worked.

That’s the first thought that comes to my mind upon hearing that the queen will actually see us.

The second is that—please God—we’re finally going to get these restraints removed. The relief is so sharp I think I might cry.

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