Page 36 of Ice & Steel

My children were in this house. And this man stood between me and their rooms down the hall.

“My…my husband will be home soon,” I whispered.

The man didn’t speak, but his head cocked. Like he didn’t believe me. He took a step closer, his boots heavy on the floor. Fear was a tangible taste on my tongue, like blood. My heart rattled. I stumbled back against the desk and my hand flew back and fumbled for something to defend myself.

It closed around an antique letter opener I kept there for decoration. It was varnished steel with roses on the handle. Lucien had taught me how to use a blade. How could this be any different?

I lifted the meager weapon. Crooking my elbow with the blade raised up near my chest.

The man snapped to life, coming at me so quickly I had no time to react. He seized me, spinning me around, and his hand slapped over my mouth. My ears rung and I tasted blood, my body flopping against him.

He was brutally strong.

But he was just a man and I was a woman with children to protect.

Twisting, I tore my head from his grasp and kicked back hard. My heel hit his knee, right where it bent. His body lurched and he grunted in shock.

His grip loosened and I whirled, gripping the letter opener in both hands. Our eyes locked for a half second and I brought it down viciously into the soft tissue where his neck connected to his shoulder.

His flesh resisted.

Then it gave way.

Blood swelled from the puncture. He cried out, falling backwards in shock. My thighs locked, gripping him to my body as we rolled to the floor with a crash. Heart pounding and mouth dry, I ripped the letter opener out and a soft spray of crimson showered us both. My stomach lurched and my head spun, dizziness overtaking me in a wave.

He flipped onto his stomach, kicking me off him, and began crawling towards the door.

Fuck that, he wasn’t getting to my sons.

I had to grip the letter opener with both hands. Otherwise, I knew I was too weak to drive it in. But with both arms and all the strength in upper body, I could break the skin and tear the muscle apart. I could drive it into his upper back and the nape of his neck.

I did. Again and again, blood dousing the floor and staining my hands.

Until he went still on the rug.

I’d killed someone.

I wanted to vomit, to sob, but there was no time. The letter opener clattered to the ground. Bare feet slipping in crimson, I scrambled to the bedside table where Lucien kept a pistol. It was loaded, he’d told me, all I had to do was turn the safety off.

In the hall, my bloodied feet slapped against the floor as I ran. The gun was pointed down, safety off. The only thought in my mind was getting to my sons, getting them into the car, and getting to Lucien.

Up ahead, I could see the door to the boys’ suite was still locked. I shut them in at night for safety and so the twins wouldn’t roam. Before they were awake, I usually went to flip the lock. But this morning, for some reason, I hadn’t unlocked it.

I skidded in the blood, but didn’t break my pace. I had to get to them, despite the shock making my limbs weak.

An arm like an iron band caught me around the stomach and a sharp pain seared through my neck. Like I’d been stung. My vision flashed until there was nothing but those doors in front of me.

The doors that were the last things keeping my sons safe.

Someone else had me, a different man. He was stronger than the first, his grip brutal as he wrapped a hand around my neck to keep me still.

My lungs constricted, trying to suck in air. Was it the iron arm around my chest? Or did he have his hand on my throat? I writhed, kicking back like a wildcat. The gun was wrenched from my hand and thrown across the floor, spreading a trail of blood in its wake. My heel contacted the man’s thigh hard and his grip loosened enough I could flip around.

He wore a neck gaiter pulled over his nose like the other man. His eyes were pale blue and ruthless, like he did this kind of thing all the time. Rage shot through me like a firestorm and I slashed at him with the only weapon I had left—my pointed, dark red, acrylic nails.

He stumbled, blood appearing as I caught him below the eye. I saw a flash of rage before he grabbed my arm and threw me hard. Pain shocked through me and the air left my lungs. The ceiling overhead spun hard.

I wasn’t fucking giving up. My sons were counting on me.

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