Penelope and Prince Charming (Nvengaria #1)(103)
“No!” Sasha rushed forward, his cry desperate. “No, you cannot kill my prince!”
Felsan started and swung his pistol at Sasha. Petri, growling, grabbed Sasha and tried to drag him back.
Sasha twisted from Petri and fell to his knees in the dirt, tears running down his face. “You cannot kill him. Do you know what this man has done for me? Damien remembered me, he came for me. He took me with his own two hands and raised me up. Any other man would have let me die forgotten, but not Prince Damien. He is the true prince.”
Felsan’s men trained weapons on him, fingers nervous on triggers. “Shut him up,” Felsan snapped at Damien.
“Sasha,” Damien said warningly.
Sasha paid no attention. “Kill me, instead,” he pleaded to Felsan. “I will die in Prince Damien’s place. I am alive only because of him.”
“Fine,” Felsan said in a hard voice and aimed his pistol straight at Sasha’s head.
An unholy shriek echoed through the woods, a cry a man might hear in a nightmare. Before any of Felsan’s mercenaries had time to react, a black streak shot through the air and struck the startled Felsan full in the chest.
Snarling and hissing, clawing and biting, Wulf, a demon once more, began to rip into Felsan.
Felsan’s pistol discharged. Damien dove for the ground, bearing Penelope beneath him. The mercenaries shot wildly, missing Wulf entirely. Egan tackled one of the men, snatching the pistol from the mercenary’s grip and using it to shoot another man who’d decided to go ahead and try to kill Damien in the chaos.
A few more pistols discharged. Blood blossomed on Egan’s arm, but this only served to enrage him. The Mad Highlander grabbed another mercenary under the arms and squeezed hard. With a crunch of bones, the man fell to the damp earth.
Wulf looked up and around, his face and sharp teeth red with blood, his lips drawn back in a snarl. Felsan was a silent and bloody mess beneath him.
The mercenaries who were still unhurt looked at Wulf, looked at each other, then turned and fled. One scooped up the man whose ribs Egan had broken, carrying him, groaning, over his shoulder.
Egan straightened up, his hand pressed to the scarlet sleeve of his shirt. “Bloody hell,” he said, looking at Felsan’s mangled body. “Now I truly will be sick.”
* * *
They carried Felsan to the river and threw him in. He’d fetch up somewhere near the next town, Damien reasoned, where the people there and their priest would bury him.
“Go find a town if you like,” Damien told Egan. “Where you can have that properly seen to.”
Egan gave him a look of astonishment. “Abandon you because of a wound that couldn’t slow down a rabbit? Don’t bleat like an old woman. The princess bound me up just fine.” He showed the bandage Penelope had wrapped around his arm.
Damien smiled to himself. Egan was fine.
Wulf, on the other hand, had disappeared. He’d glared at them all when Petri and Titus had moved to Felsan’s body, then with another shriek, he’d sprinted off into the woods. They hadn’t seen him since.
“Do not worry too much about him,” Damien told Penelope, trying to ease her concern. “These mountains are Wulf’s home. He’s safer out here than we are.”
Petri added, “He probably went to find his mum.”
Egan glanced about darkly. “So long as he doesn’t bring her back with him.”
Penelope looked grateful that they tried to comfort her, but she still worried. Damien knew he was right about Wulf—the boy had come from these mountains and would know how to navigate them alone. Perhaps when this was all over, Damien could search for him, to let Penelope know he was all right.
They walked the rest of that day and on into evening. Damien put a supporting arm around Penelope and she looked up at him with eyes dark with shock. She needed to rest, but he did not want to camp in the open. Some of Felsan’s men might return and try to murder them in the night, without sharing Felsan’s scruples about killing only Damien.
Near sunset, a carter driving into the next village agreed to let Penelope ride on his load of parsnips. Damien lifted her, Penelope unresisting, and laid her on the rough sacks. He made Sasha ride as well, even if the man insisted he was fine. As soon as Sasha climbed onto the wagon, he fell back onto the lumpy sacks, sound asleep.
When they reached the village, Damien carried Penelope into the town’s only inn and bade the landlord draw her a bath and find her a soft bed. The landlord and his wife looked closely at Damien, no doubt working out in their shrewd minds exactly who he was. The pass to Nvengaria was not far from here and the prince was expected with his princess any day.
The two said nothing, however. The wife helped Penelope bathe and tucked her into bed while the landlord brought ale and food for them all.
Damien joined Penelope in bed much later in the night. He thought her asleep, but as soon as he stripped off and climbed beneath the coarse blankets, Penelope wrapped her arms around him and drew him close, her body shaking.
“Shh.” Damien loosened her braid and smoothed her hair with his fingers. “It is over, love.”
He eased his hands to the small of her back, kneading and massaging, while he drew her on top of him. He cupped the nape of her neck and fit her mouth over his, kissing her softly. Damien explored gently, not forcing her to kiss him back, licking her mouth and the moisture behind her lower lip. He slid her legs apart, his cock swelling and stiff, and eased her down onto him.