Page 71 of My Dark Horse Prince

I can’t even handle looking at the recovery room floor. What began as a shiny, pristine surface is now splattered and coated with intermittent pools of spreading blood.

Until now, I never realized that blood from different people would be different colors. I hate that I know that now.

“I think the last question I have is whether you want to fight me, man to man.” Grigoriy’s smile’s predatory. “Or whether I should carve you up like your friends.” The dagger’s dripping red drops onto the floor in front of Yevginiy, where it’s hanging in the air.

I pull as hard as I can to free my hand.

Grigoriy lifts his free hand and the dagger flies back to it. And then he releases me.

Yevginiy stares blankly at his men, unblinking, as if he’s in shock.

“Filth,” Grigoriy shouts. “Will you fight me? Or will you die like a cow on a block?”

I scramble backward in the bed until I’m crouched against the wall.

“Fine. I’ll just execute you.” Grigoriy walks toward him slowly, as if the fact that he no longer has his powers doesn’t matter.

“Wait.” Yevginiy turns slowly. “Who are you?”

“Your judge,” Grigoriy says, “your jury, and your executioner.” He smiles again, and there’s no doubt on his face. Not a hint of fear. Just rage. Consuming, all-encompassing rage.

A dark chill races up my spine.

Yevginiy’s scary, but at least he’s human—containable. I realize in this moment how horrifying Grigoriy the mage truly is. What was I thinking, feeling safe at his side?

The one truth with powerful men is that danger always surrounds them. He could have simply protected me. Scared them away, called the police, or warned them off. He could even have simply left me. I would have been alright with that. At least nothing would have blown back on Aleks, Adriana, or Kris.

But he couldn’t help himself.

He had to kill them all, and now he’s playing with this last one, and dressing it all up as though he’s got a right to do it because of what they did to me.

The reality is that he’s not a judge. He’s definitely not a jury. But he’s about to execute him anyway.

“Please don’t,” I beg.

I can’t help thinking of how the poor woman on the train begged Yevginiy. Unintentionally, I now sound just like her.

“Can’t you let him go?” I ask.

“Listen to your woman,” Yevginiy says. “You don’t want to kill me. I have more men back home. Lots more. They’ll come after you if you kill me, but if you don’t, I’ll hire you instead. You can have untold riches if you come work for me—no.” He throws his hands up, palms out. “Work with me. We can be partners. You can share everything I have.”

“You think I want anything that’s related to you?” Grigoriy laughs. “You’re dying today. You can decide whether you die trying to survive, chanting a rosary, or staring at me like a coward.”

Yevginiy hurls a small dagger at Grigoriy then, so fast I nearly miss it, and I remember that Grigoriy now has no magic. Luckily, he moves fast all on his own. He shifts and the knife flies past him, sinking into the wall a few feet away from me. He lunges for Yevginiy next, and they’re brawling on the floor, punching, shoving, kneeing, groaning, rolling, and smashing.

It seems like the one being broken each time is Yevginiy. Or at least, he’s the only one shouting.

I close my eyes then, but I can’t block out the sounds.

Bones breaking.

More cries.

Soft swearing by Grigoriy.

And then a soft sound of triumph. When I open my eyes, Grigoriy’s holding Yevginiy in a headlock. “They teach you these moves as self defense,” he says calmly. “But Mirdza is distressed, and I’m bored. So.” With a quick movement of his hands, he snaps Yevginiy’s neck.

Right in front of me.

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