Page 82 of Captive Bride

I rush to the corner, crouching down low, dagger clenched to the point of pain in my hand. Images of Tristan being shot play repeatedly in my mind. The blood, the way he collapsed.

I try to block them, but they swarm violently through my head, ensuring me that he’s dead. That I’m all alone. Tears flow to my eyes, and I make no effort to hold them back now.

They spill down my cheeks freely.

From outside the door, the sound of rushing feet meets me.

So they really are here then.

I flinch as the first blow lands against the polished door, followed quickly by another. Then another. They’re breaking the door down, and there’s nowhere to run.

I push myself to my feet, legs trembling beneath me.

The door gives way under one final blow, chunks of wood exploding inward.

They step through, three of them, Capulet guards. The largest stands in the center, looking expertly around the room. His eyes find me quickly, doing a quick scan of my quivering form.

“Ms. Capulet,” he says. “Come with us now.”

I point the dagger towards them, tears still streaming from my eyes.

“No,” I say simply, voice surprisingly firm.

“We don’t have time for this,” one man says to the leader who turns his attention to me.

“Come with us now!” he yells, stepping closer towards me.

“No!” I scream in return.

He moves in a flash, quickly closing the distance between us. His hands wrap firmly around my waist, lifting me, kicking, from the floor.

I fight back with all my strength, limbs flailing wildly against his hold.

His strength largely outmatches mine though, my efforts not even seeming to faze him.

I feel desperate, panicked, trapped. I lash out without further thought, driving my dagger firmly into his shoulder. It enters easily, flesh tearing against the blade’s fearsome point.

I hear his breath leave him in a rush, a groan escaping his lips.

Pulling back, the dagger exits his body with a sickening squelch, his hands releasing me in the same moment. My feet find the floor, and I hastily step back, trying to force more space between me and my would be rescuers.

The man I’ve stabbed is clearly in pain, but it won’t kill him.

He bites down on his lip, hand reaching around to inspect his newly torn skin.

“You bitch!” he manages.

I hold the dagger back out in front on me, it’s now bloody surface reflecting hauntingly in the dim lighting. My hand shakes, tears stream from my eyes in a rush.

Still, I feel nothing so much as anger. It starts as a spark in my chest, growing quickly to a smoldering mass.

“Stay the fuck away from me!” I shout.

The biggest of them takes a step towards me, his eyes shining in anger.

“You’re coming with us,” he says. “I don’t care if I have to—”

His words cut off as his head turns towards the door, drawn to the sound of feet crunching of splintered wood.

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