Beloved in His Eyes (Angel's Assassin #2)(28)

Aurora took a step toward them, her arms outstretched. Terror mingled with fear inside of her. The horses were going to reach them before they made it to the forest. Panic tightened in her chest. She signaled them to hurry with frantic waves of her arm. These women were her responsibility. Her friends. Her cousin. “Hurry!”

The horses charged across the clearing. One of her guards raced forward to intercept the intruders, his sword held high.

The man on horseback barely slowed as he slashed his sword across the guard’s throat. The guard spun in a circle, a plume of red spurting from his wound as he toppled to the ground.

Aurora gasped. The scene played out horrifically. She was stunned into immobility at the brutality.

The guards positioned themselves to protect the fleeing women as the horses thundered down on them.

Shouts of excitement from the Hungars mingled with the screams of Aurora’s ladies.

“Lady Aurora,” Adam whispered, slipping his hand into hers.

She barely felt his tug, hypnotized by the graphic horror playing out before her. The horses trampled the soldiers as if they were nothing more than a row of flowers. Some of the guards fell; one horse reared and toppled to the side with a whinny.

Aurora stepped protectively in front of Adam. “Run,” she whispered to him.

Megan had picked up her blue velvet skirts and was running as fast as she could. She passed Lady Elaine.

One and then another guard fell trying to fight off the barbarians.

One of the horses closed on Lady Elaine. The barbarian leapt from his steed, knocking her to the ground. He stood over her for a moment, a wicked grin on his face. She screamed as he dropped on top of her, ripping at her dress.

Adam tugged on Aurora’s arm. “This way.”

“Run,” Aurora whispered half in prayer, half statement. She watched her cousin run, the fear and desperation creased into the lines of her young face.

The leader’s horse came up behind Megan and he swung his blade, hitting her in the back of the head. She fell, and he rounded his horse on her, sliding from the animal to approach her.

Aurora couldn’t move, paralyzed with agonized fear. Megan! She jerked forward to go to her aid. But something was holding her back, pulling on her arm. Shocked and horrified, she looked down. Adam held her hand, squeezing his small hand tightly into hers.

“We have to leave,” he insisted, tugging her toward the forest.

Aurora looked back at the clearing.

Screams echoed through the clearing, some filled with agony, some terror. One by one her ladies fell.

Some of the guards were locked in combat with the Hungars; the clangs of their weapons mingled with the screams and the sound echoed through the clearing. One of the guards slashed at one of the horse’s legs as it galloped past him and the animal tumbled to the ground, head over heels.

Adam pulled hard on her arm. “Run,” he said urgently.

She hesitated. How could she leave her people? How could she abandon them? How could she...? Damien. Damien! She had to reach him. She had to make sure he knew her people were in danger, that Acquitaine was under attack.

“Run!” Adam called.

Aurora turned. It was too late. A large Hungar stood behind her, his face twisted with hate.



Damien led the Acquitaine soldiers back into the castle, thundering across the drawbridge, through the outer ward and finally to the inner ward. His jaw was clenched, as were his fists. They had ridden hard to the waterfall that Aurora was going to picnic at. But she wasn’t there. There was no sign of the picnic, no basket, no guards, no ladies. No Aurora. He dismounted without acknowledging little Joseph who took his horse’s reins and rushed into the keep. She had to be here. She had to... He burst into the Great Hall.

The servants looked up, startled.

Steward Thomas, a tall man with curly hair, immediately moved toward him.

Damien crossed the hall, calling, “Is she here? Did she come back?”

Steward Thomas stopped approaching and sadly shook his head. “No, m’lord. They have not returned.”

Damien felt despair threatening to drag him into the darkness, but he refused to give up hope. He whirled to find the doorway lined with peasants and nobles alike, all staring. Their eyes were blank and lost. He hated them. Looking to him as if he had the answers when he didn’t give a damn about any of them.

Gawyn moved through the crowd and came toward him, but Damien brushed past him. Gawyn put a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

“I’m going to look for her,” Damien growled. He jerked his shoulder away from his brother’s hold. Nothing was going to stop him. He would find her.

Gawyn didn’t let go, tightening his grip on Damien’s shoulder. “Something came for you.”

Damien looked at him. It was the first time he saw the apprehension, hesitation, and sadness in his brother’s eyes. He felt an abyss opening around him and steadied himself. “Show me.”

Gawyn dropped his hand and looked down. He nodded once. “In the Judgement Room.”

Damien didn’t hesitate. He moved out of the hall, past the people who congregated like vultures, waiting. They silently opened a path for him. He walked swiftly down the corridor. His senses heightened, the darkness inside of him shifting, waking. She had kept it at bay. He had always known it was still there, hiding from her light.

Damien threw the door open and entered. The room was empty and dark; only two torches flickered in the breeze from the doorway. He scanned the room. But there was nothing there. Nothing except for the chair Aurora sat in to give sentence. “Where?” he began, but then his gaze caught on something. Something golden and glittering. Every nerve froze. Every sense stopped functioning. No. He moved toward it like a statue, numb, cold, stiff. It lay on the chair where she had sat.