Wolf’s Redemption (The Wolves of Langeais #3)

Chapter Four

Bek stared. Two men in chain mail ? Brandishing swords ? What had he said, the so-called knight ? The year of our lord nine hundred and something or other? She’d thought him delusional.

She blinked. Blinked again. Had her neighbor spiked her wine?

The younger guard gaped at her. The older one moved toward her with an oily grin and a glint in his eye she recognized all too well.

Oh, hell to the no.

She didn’t put up with this crap from Charlie. Some guy dressed like an extra from Medieval Mayhem stood no chance.

Bek pushed herself out from the corner and shoved the little disc and her phone into the pockets of her jeans, freeing up her hands. She’d learned a few things from her ex, Spider, and his crew. The life she’d once led was not for the fainthearted, and Bek was no princess. At least these guys held swords, not guns. They wouldn’t be expecting her to fight back, but there were two of them, and her only help was a guy chained to the wall. A guy who had already made it clear he wanted in her knickers.

Grandpa thrust the candle at the other guard, who was barely more than a teenager. The kid’s rapid-fire French spat bullets at Grandpa. Grandpa turned on him, snarling. The kid said no more and stepped back.

It was down to her and Grandpa.

He turned back to her, his hand reaching beneath his mail and grabbing at his crotch. Her stomach roiled and her tongue did a stellar impression of sandpaper, dry and raspy. He set his sword against the wall.

Yes.

Things still weren’t in her favor—he was bigger and stronger—but the odds had evened out a little.

He stalked toward her. Behind him, shackled Thor roared and strained against his chains. She cast a glance at him. If she could force Grandpa within his reach, would he deal with him? He had to want out of those chains, and this guy must have had something to do with his imprisonment. The enemy of my enemy is my friend and all that guff . It was worth a shot.

Bek steadied herself. She’d only get one chance at this. If she ballsed it up, he’d have her in his grasp. She took a deep breath, clenched her fist and went on the attack.

Lunging at her would-be rapist, she struck out and punched him square on the nose. Pain exploded across her knuckles, but she forced down the impulse to clutch her hand to her side. Too stunned by her assault, Grandpa had yet to react, and she couldn’t waste the opportunity. She followed through with a solid kick to his groin.

He bellowed a spray of blood and spittle and raised his fist to retaliate. She wouldn’t get a chance for another hit. Bek tucked her shoulder in and launched herself at Grandpa, throwing her whole body into the move and hitting him square in the chest. He stumbled back, right into the path of the man he’d been guarding.

A chain snapped around Grandpa’s neck and pulled tight, cutting off his air.

She stepped back, clutching her injured hand to her chest. Had she broken her knuckle? It sure felt like it.

Wide-eyed, the kid brandished his sword at her, his attention flicking between her and the prisoner. More rapid French. A few curses she recognized, but the rest she could only guess at. It didn’t take a genius to figure it out.

Grandpa’s life for hers.

Bek snatched up Grandpa’s sword with her good hand. The thing had a solid weight to it. Good. Worst case, she could swing it at him like a sharp-edged cricket bat. She gripped the handle with both hands, wincing as pain flared across her injured knuckles. She widened her stance, holding the sword out in front of her. The tip wobbled a little, and she fought to still the trembling of her hands and keep it steady.

Grandpa’s eyes bulged, his face turning a motley purple and his hands clawing at the chain. Her manacled fantasy sneered as he wrenched on the chain. A loud crack reverberated off the walls.

When he released the chain, Grandpa crashed to the floor. Dead.

Holy fu— He’d killed— How strong was this guy? Didn’t that sort of shit only happen in Hollywood?

The kid’s gaze darted about wildly, from Bek, to the chained up so-called knight, to dead Grandpa, to the steps.

The knight grinned. In his hand, he held a ring of keys.

Bollocks.

Before either she or the kid could move, he had unlocked the shackles, and they fell from his wrists and his neck with a clatter. He tracked the guard, all predatory vengeance. Death on two legs.

“Don’t kill him. He’s just a kid.” Her words were out before she could stop them.

The knight turned his intense stare on her for a split second, and Bek blanched.

The kid took advantage of the brief reprieve and swung his sword, but he was no match for medieval Thor. He disarmed the kid in seconds, and hit him on the back of the head with the butt of his own sword. The kid slid to the ground, and with him went the candle, plunging them into darkness.

Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap.

With trembling fingers, Bek reached for her phone. She turned on the torch, lighting up the room. The now free knight, if that’s what he really was, stood over the unmoving guard. His attention turned to her, his hand shielding his eyes from the glare of her phone torch.

Bek edged toward the steps, keeping the sword pointing in his direction, her eyes never leaving him. Two down, one to go.

Then her phone battery died.

Fuck.

She made for the stairs with as much speed as she dared. And slammed into something solid, something warm, and landed on her ass. Bek screamed and scrambled back. Her heart pounding, she kept a tight grip on the sword and got to her feet. She raised the weapon, waving it blindly in front of her.

A large hand clasped over her wrist.

“No, no, no, no, no.”

In a heartbeat, he’d disarmed her. Now he had two swords, and she had none. She scuttled back, her heels connecting with… something and she fell. She landed on…

Oh God. Is that the dead guy?

She whimpered, scrabbling backward until she hit a wall, two walls. She leaned into the corner, trembling, her eyes straining, but unable to make out anything in the pitch-black.

“It is not safe for you out there alone.”

His voice was close, homing in on her. Bek froze, her ears pricked for any sound.

Nothing.

She swallowed. Was he still or stealthy?

“It’s not safe for me here either,” she said.

It was a risk, speaking again, but if he answered her, she could pinpoint his location.

“You think I would hurt you?” He sounded affronted. Bek didn’t care. “I would never hurt you.”

His voice floated out of the darkness. Close. Too close. Shit. Stealthy it was.

Her fingers clenched around… She still had her phone. With a flat battery, it had but one use now. As a distraction.

Bek threw it away from her. It hit the floor off to the right with a satisfying thunk. Easing to her feet, she took a silent step to the left. Then another, and another, feeling her way along the wall with shaking fingers. She’d follow it to the stairway.

“I gave you my oath. I would not hurt you.”

His voice sounded off to the right, near where her phone had landed. Yes! She pumped her fist in silent celebration and kept following the wall. The stairs had to be close.

“You think I would try to force myself on you like that filth ?”

His disembodied voice moved closer and the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. She took another step.

Where are those damn stairs?

She kept moving, placing each foot with care, though she wanted nothing more than to bolt.

“I would only ever give you what you ask for.”

Her thighs clenched, his raspy voice sending shivers down her spine, and heat straight to her clit. She closed her eyes against the suffocating darkness and focused on calming her racing heart. The darkness was doing a number on her. That and the erotic image of him, bare chested and wielding a sword, like an actor in some period drama or action flick. Chris Hemsworth, eat your heart out.

Get a grip, Bek, and get the fuck out of here.

She took a steadying breath, opened her eyes and inched her way forward, cautious in her movements. Her questing fingers hit the cold stone wall. The corner. Thank God. She turned, trailing one hand along the wall. Was she close to the steps? Did she have the right wall?

A prickle of awareness skipped up her spine. Her heart stuttered and her muscles locked. He was right behind her. She just knew it. She could feel it.

Oh, shit.

The press of his chest against her shoulder blades and the heat from his body seeping through her cotton blouse made her tremble. His scent, deep and musky, swirled around her and his long hair brushed her shoulder.

“And you will ask,” he whispered, his breath hot on the side of her face. “Nay, you will beg for my attention.”

Bek ran. She bolted for where she hoped the stairs would be, colliding with a solid wall of muscle.

She screamed. He laughed.

Then she was in the air, flung over his shoulder like she weighed little more than an empty sack, his arm banding about her thighs.

“Put me down, you overgrown oaf!” She pummeled his back with her fists, wincing as pain flared in her injured hand. He didn’t even have the decency to grunt at her efforts.

She tried harder, kicking her feet, hoping to connect with something soft and sensitive. “As if I’d ask for it, beg for it… In your dreams, asshole!”

He chuckled. “My, you are a sassy wench.”

His palm shifted, sliding up between her thighs. Bek shrieked. “Touch me like that again and I’ll rip off your balls.”

He threw back his head and laughed. “You can try, sweetness. And I shall very much enjoy the trying.” He slapped her on the ass. “Now duck.”

“What?”

“Duck, or you will hit your head.”

Bek fumed, as the sting of his slap heated her cheek and dampened her knickers. She had little choice except to do as he asked as they climbed the steps. She’d bide her time. He’d have to put her down at some point. Then she’d show him what sassy really was.