Warrior Fae Trapped (Warrior Fae #1)(57)

Donnie’s face ripped away from her throat. In the next second, he was standing in the aisle, claws elongating from his fingers. A terrible hiss worked around two huge fangs. His lips turned black and his perfect face turned into something inhuman.

Charity flinched back as Devon reached them, a long knife in hand.

Donnie surged toward the attack quickly. Devon, faster still, dodged to the side and struck. The knife plunged toward Donnie.

“No!” Charity screamed.

The blade rammed into Donnie’s chest, piercing his heart before he could turn away. His hiss turned into a monstrous squeal, his body writhing, his claws slashing at the air. Devon dodged around him and gripped the back of Charity’s hoodie. He yanked, impossible strength dragging her out and over the back of the chair, and threw her into the aisle behind him, shielding her body with his.

But Donnie was done. Her illusion of him shattered. His bony, greenish face howled in misery. He clutched the handle of the knife, black sludge running over his claws. He fell into a pile onto the floor as Devon held a phone to his head.

“Yeah, Dean? Yeah, we need a cleanup. I’ll text you the location… Thanks, bro, but it was a close one. All right.”

Devon faced her, muscles flexing, face a mask of rage. Their gazes connected for a long moment, the fury in Devon’s eyes like hot embers. He didn’t say a word.

He didn’t have to.

A moment later, he was walking down the aisle, not bothering to tell her to get her crap and get moving. He didn’t have to say that, either.

Averting her eyes from Donnie’s monstrous form, she reached over the chair and grabbed the laptop, which looked no worse for the mayhem it had witnessed. Charity wished she could say the same for herself.

She stuffed everything in her bag, swallowed a sob at the sight of Donnie’s forgotten backpack, no longer needed, and ran to follow Devon. Her first crush after John lay desecrated and destroyed in a pile of sludge. Loss overwhelmed her, followed by desolation. She was out of her league. Although she knew next to nothing about warrior fae, she doubted one would have fallen prey to a baby vampire. A real warrior fae wouldn’t need to be saved over and over.

She yanked her phone out of her pocket with a shaking hand. She had three missed text messages.

Devon: Should I come?

Macy: do you need me????

Devon: Answer me or Im coming.

He’d almost been too late. She did not have faith that she would’ve snapped out of it.

She had never felt so filthy and useless in all her life. She’d also never felt more scared. Samantha was still out there, and so was that elder. How long would it be before they came for Charity?

Would she be able to resist the next time?





Chapter Twenty-Six





With his heart still pounding, Devon shoved the door open and took a few steps out, glancing around to make sure nothing waited for them. He stepped to the side, staring straight ahead, and held the door until Charity passed through. He couldn’t even look at her. Not without exploding into a blind rage he didn’t understand.

A steadying breath filled his chest, the effect not relieving the constriction. Damn it, what had she been thinking? This woman had chased off an elder vamp, yet a newbie had reduced her to a puddle of sex. It didn’t make any sense.

And what the hell was with Devon’s reactions to the whole mess? He’d never before experienced the overwhelming fear that had choked him on the way to her classroom, not even in battle. Nor had he ever felt the likes of the blind, territorial rage that had ripped through him when he opened the door and saw that thing draped all over her…trying to claim her…

He couldn’t…

The sound of his teeth grinding was unnaturally loud as they stepped off the path toward the nearly deserted parking lot. Charity trudged along in front of him.

Devon flexed his fingers against the stinging regret constricting his ribcage. He was handling this badly, he knew he was. But every time he started to calm down, the image of that vampire touching Charity seared through his head.

“Where’s Macy?” Charity asked in a small voice as they came within sight of the SUV. Yasmine leaned gracefully against the door, a splatter of blood on her ample cleavage.

Since Devon had to handle Charity, he’d told Macy to join Yasmine and follow the other vamp. It looked like they’d taken care of it in record time.

“She went home after we took care of business,” Yasmine replied in a smug, sultry voice.

The invitation in her eyes didn’t stir him tonight. The one thing that could make him feel better, or at least normal and detached, wasn’t happening. The overwhelming lust issue he’d been dealing with all week, which he’d hoped to sex away tonight, was completely overshadowed by the weird residual fear pinging manically through his body.

Charity was safe! He’d done his duty. He’d protected her. His obligation was met for the night.

So why the hell did he want to wrap himself around her like bubble wrap and try to soothe her hurt away?

“Get in the car,” he barked at Yasmine.

“Hmm, yes, alpha,” Yasmine said, clearly loving the show of power. “Your house?”

He didn’t bother answering. Nor could he loosen his white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. When they got to the house, he again shoved the door open, but this time he stared at Charity accusingly as she slithered through it, a shadow of the woman he’d met at the turning party. Broken.