That’s what she got for helping.
“You were going to lose your shit.” She refused to glance at him, offended, not to mention a little hurt, by his reaction.
Even with someone as odd as him, she was still considered an outsider.
“I know of only one bloodline that has the ability to work metal.” He didn’t sound happy with the knowledge, either.
She wasn’t simply a descendent of noble birth, one of the twelve great families that took over after the gods were expelled, but the last descendent of the royal bloodline. It was one thing to be considered royalty, another thing completely to be next in line for the crown.
“Where are your guards?” The question was thrown at her like an accusation.
A chill snaked down her spine—he knew the truth. Her mother had been dead for years. Everyone thought the royal bloodline had died out with her, and Morgan wanted to keep it that way for as long as possible.
She stared him straight in the eye and lied through her teeth. “You are mistaken.”
He scowled at her, opened his mouth to argue when a vicious howl echoed in the trees around them, sparing her from answering any awkward questions. The guards around them snapped to attention. Instead of freezing, they tightened into a well-trained formation, watching the woods in all directions for any sign of attack. A few drew swords while others pulled bows strung over their shoulders, quickly nocking their arrows.
The movements were smooth and clearly practiced.
To her annoyance, Ward stepped protectively in front of her like she was a fragile china doll.
She scanned the forest, noting the sun now sat low on the horizon, leaving the trees shrouded in darkness. No breeze stirred the treetops. No birds chirped. A heaviness hung in the air that warned something was stalking them.
“What is it?” She had a feeling the elves knew exactly what was hunting them, but they weren’t sharing.
“The forest has changed with the fog. There are more dangerous things than the creatures who normally inhabit these woods. We lingered too long.” The accusation was thrown at her, as if she and Ward were the ones who instigated the fight.
The howl came again, much closer this time, and one of the elves broke and swore, their fear like a stench in the air.
That fear worried her.
What was so dreadful to frighten a team of trained fighters?
A dark shape separated from the shadows, and her heart leapt in her chest.
Ascher!
The elf next to her released his arrow.
Morgan threw herself forward, knocking into the elf, and the arrow pinged off harmlessly through the trees. She firmly put herself between the elf and the hellhound.
A low snarl from behind her raised the hairs on the back of her neck, and Morgan realized she’d made a mistake.
She turned slowly.
That was not Ascher.
Nerves tingled under her skin as she met the dark eyes of the hellhound. He was similar to Ascher only in that he was a hellhound. Any resemblance ended there. Instead of smelling of charcoal and fire, he reeked of smoke. He was smaller, almost scrawny, his hide dull and slightly cracked, revealing a red glow, like heated charcoal burned inside him—a sure hint that he was going feral, the beast barely holding on to his humanity.
“We want him alive.” The arrogant elf sounded smug, and her stomached flopped as she imagined what they would do to him. “The collar prevents him from being able to kill.”
Rage burned deep in her gut. They had shackled the hellhound the same way Ascher had been imprisoned, the collar requiring him to obey his master.
Like a damned pet.
“He might not be able to kill you, but he can still do damage.” She glared at the elves inching forward. “I, on the other hand, will kill you if you lay a hand on him. Understood?”
They were at a standoff, the elves eying her speculatively, assessing the threat level.
Only when the arrogant elf nodded did the others retreat.
When they didn’t move far enough way, Ward forced them back until they were out of her sight. Then, to her shock, he remained at her back, his tense body still, ready to burst into action if anyone made a move toward them.
Morgan didn’t trust many people, but having him at her back was reassuring.
If they tried anything, he would stop them by any means necessary.
The hound eyed her suspiciously, and she knew he understood what happened.
Meaning he wasn’t too far gone.
Her heart wrenched in her chest at the thought of what might have happened to Ascher if she hadn’t been there to help him.
While Ascher might be beyond her reach at the moment, she could help this stray hound.
“I met a hellhound a few years ago.” Morgan knew it was foolish, but she crouched down to meet his eyes, blocking the elves’ shot and in turn preventing the hound from launching himself at them.
She would not allow them to have this hellhound.
“He has the most vivid blue eyes I’ve ever seen.” She would give anything to be able to see them right now and know he was okay. She shook her head, wishing she could shake away her worry as easily. “For years, I didn’t even know he could change forms.”
She still felt foolish for not realizing it sooner.
Morgan held out her hands, ignoring her cuffs, and tugged up her sleeve, revealing a beautiful, almost dainty filigree marks of obsidian and molten silver swirling from the tips of her fingers and twisting halfway up her right arm. “The daft bastard even went so far as to become my mate.”
The elves behind her stopped moving at her comment, their calculating eyes on her, like the ice-cold fingers of death trailing down her back.
But her words had the desired effect.
The snarl the hound wore melted away, but the suspicion in his murky green eyes lingered.
He remained crouched, poised to launch himself at the guards and rip out their throats at the slightest provocation, slinking toward her an inch at a time.
But he was listening.
Then her eyes locked on the rusted collar clamped around his neck, and her lips curled in disgust. While Ascher managed to work around the orders he received, it had cost him. “He also had a collar…until I removed it.”
The hound stopped.
He glanced down at her cuffed hands, then gave a huffed of derision.
“Oh, of course.” Morgan concentrated on the metal, pulled the particles apart until the cuffs shattered in a shower of tarnished metal and red dust as the magic escaped.
The hound yipped and leapt back while the elves muttered and stared at her.
To their eyes, she went from being a nuisance to a valuable commodity.
Not a great place to be when she wanted to stay under the radar.
She mentally reached for her men, subconsciously seeking reassurance from them, only to come up against a blank wall.
Again.
They were alive, which was good, but she couldn’t stop probing the broken connection like a sore tooth.
“I’m trying to get back to my hellhound. He’s in danger.” And she wasn’t lying. The longer she went without seeing her guys, the worse the feeling grew.
Something bad was coming.
The hound crouched low, his murky green eyes roving over the men behind her, clearly not trusting them. Which was fine…she didn’t either.
Worse, they were no longer trying to capture the hound…as if they found much better prey.
Her.
The hound halted an arm’s length away from her, clearly unable to take the last step. His gaze flickered to the marks on her arms, before he finally shuffled forward, stopping an inch short of touching her outstretched hand.
Morgan didn’t hesitate. The instant she touched the collar, the magic from the metal crawled up her arms like fire ants, the stinging bites almost making her jerk away.
The damned thing was booby-trapped!