Page 156 of Dhampira

Sweat beaded my brow. My boots scuffed on the stone as I pushed and pushed and got nowhere.

Footsteps sounded on the other side. Jumping backward, I glanced around for a place to hide.

The door opened, and a knight looked me up and down. “What do you think you’re doing?” Looking over his shoulder, he raised his voice. “Hey! I’ve got the princess—”

The hobflies rushed him, swarming his head.

He flailed his arms, trying to bat them away. “What the—? Get the fuck off me!” The knight stumbled backward.

The hobflies buzzed as they flew toward his eyes. He crashed to the floor, his head bouncing off the stone with a sickening crack. He went still.

I raced forward with the army of hobflies at my back. Sir Gawain stood guard between the rows of cells, his chestnut hair shining in the torchlight. He darted blue eyes from my face to my bloody gauntlet to the cloud of hobflies behind me.

“Princess…” he said, his throat bobbing.

“I’m going to be queen before this day is over,” I said. “Will you serve me, Sir Gawain?”

His lips parted. A ring of keys hung from his belt.

“You know every inch of the Drakhold,” I told him. “I’ll need someone like you on my council.” Did I know the slightest thing about a royal council? No. But it sounded good. Hopefully, Sir Gawain thought so, too.

He stared a beat longer. Then he reached for his keys. “This way, Your Highness.”

Moments later, he pulled open a cell door. Lorcan rushed over the threshold and grabbed my arms.

“You’re well?” he demanded.

“Yes,” I said. “Except for the gauntlets. I saw my mother in the mirror in my room. I have a root vor. It’s irata, which also means ‘mirror.’ And I think I can travel through mirrors now, but I’m not sure. Werewolves attacked the castle. They’re fighting alongside the witches outside. Rasimir is there, too.”

Lorcan stared at me.

“A lot happened since I saw you last,” I added.

“Sounds like it.” Lorcan’s eyes dipped to my breastplate, and masculine satisfaction and something undeniably sexual gleamed in the dark depths as he lifted them again. “I like the dragon.”

BOOM. The dungeon shook, and dust sifted from the ceiling.

“Any plans to let me out of here?” Vander called from behind a cell door on the opposite side of the corridor. “Or are we waiting for the dungeon to cave in first?”

Sir Gawain hurried to the cell. The second the door swung open, I was in Vander’s arms.

“Are you all right?” I asked, his agony in the courtyard still fresh in my mind.

Pulling back, he grinned. “Not a scratch on me.” He looked me up and down, an appreciative glint entering his eyes as he took in my armor. He thumped a soft knuckle against my breastplate. “I like this.”

“I love you,” I blurted, swinging my gaze between him and Lorcan. “I love you both. I didn’t say it before because we were busy, but—”

“Very busy,” Vander said.

“—I wanted to make sure you both knew.”

Vander’s smile was equal parts sweet and wicked. “I never doubted it.” He brushed the knuckle he’d thumped against my breastplate under my chin. “And I love you, too, Corinthe. Probably since the first time you punched me in the face.”

“Understandable,” Lorcan muttered.

Vander leaned in, and I thought he’d kiss me, but instead he murmured, “It’s all right if you love me more than you love Lorcan.”

Lorcan bristled.