Torn (A Wicked Saga, #2)(61)

Springing back a step and keeping my eye on the prince, I went to reach for my other dagger. “Where is he?” I asked.

“He’s a bit . . . occupied at the moment.”

I brandished the dagger and willed my hand to still. “What does that mean?”

Drake continued to smile as he stepped forward.

“Is he alive?” When he said nothing, I almost lost it. “Answer me!”

“The last time I checked.” He shrugged one shoulder. “That could change at any moment.”

Oh my God. The bubbling panic almost pulled me under. “You better pray he’s still alive.”

A smirk replaced the cold smile. “And if not?”

I didn’t answer. Instinct screamed that I should run, should get as far away from the prince as possible, but he was my only link to Ren—if Ren was truly still alive.

“You have to admit this was impressive,” Drake said. “If it wasn’t for the stupid cup of coffee, you wouldn’t have known.”

“I would’ve figured it out.” And I would have. Hopefully before things progressed further than they had already. I should have caught on immediately. There had been warnings that this wasn’t Ren from the moment he showed up at the Square. His speech patterns. The fact he hadn’t driven. The way he tasted of—oh God—of winter mint. The coolness of his touch.

And the fact that he’d killed Henry without remorse.

“Would you have figured it out with my tongue in your mouth or while I was thrusting between your legs?” he asked. “Because when I f*cked you, it would have been me and not this pathetic excuse for a creature.”

I didn’t think.

Reacting out of pure, unadulterated fury, I launched myself at him, sweeping the dagger in a wide arc. The prince darted to the side, but I’m fast when I’m angry. I caught him over the chest, tearing his Henley and drawing dark, shimmery blood. He might have looked like Ren right then, but he wasn’t. I moved to strike again.

Drake made a sound that raised the hairs along the back of my neck. His hand snapped out. One second I was bringing the dagger down, the next I was thrown backward. I hit the wall, but didn’t drop the dagger, and before I could move, he was on me.

He caught my right wrist and pushed forward, pinning my arm and body to the wall. “You would have known it was me when you starting coming,” he said, his lips glancing over the curve of my cheek. “And you were so close earlier, weren’t you?”

Red-hot anger flooded my senses. “I thought it was Ren. You disgust me.”

“Keep telling yourself that.” His teeth caught the fleshy part of my ear, and I shrieked again.

“Let go of me,” I growled.

“I do not think so.” His head lowered, and I sucked in a shaky breath. A moment passed and he lifted his head, leaving a cold chill racing down the side of my throat. “You want this body and form. I am not sure why, but if this is what it takes—”

The only weapon I had was my head, so I slammed it forward into his jaw. A burst of pain momentarily stunned me. He swore violently, but he backed off. I cocked my arm back and threw the dagger, knowing it wouldn’t kill him but would do some damage.

The dagger flew true, embedding itself deep into his chest. A raw curse exploded from the prince as he reached up, grabbing the handle. He tore it out and threw it with enough force that the tip pierced the tile. The handle vibrated.

Oh crap.

Bending down, I reached for the thorn stake. My fingers brushed the smooth length a second before a hand curled around a knot of my hair. The prince yanked me to the side and pushed with enough force that I skidded across the kitchen floor. A burn of pain radiated down my hip.

Drake caught my booted foot and lifted it so high that my back hit the floor. Material ripped as he tore several inches of my pant leg. He gripped the thorn stake and threw it across the room. It hit the wall near the fridge and fell to the floor. He dropped my leg. “You are not stabbing me with that.”

Dammit.

I flipped over and leaped to my feet. Standing up, I grabbed the coffee cup off the counter and threw it at him. He dodged it easily. Ceramic and coffee exploded onto the wall.

“Really?” He laughed.

Diving for the stake, I screamed in frustration when his arms encircled my waist. My nails dug into him as he dragged me out of the kitchen. I kicked my legs out, catching the black metal lamp. It fell to the floor, the white shade caving in.

“Why are you even fighting me, Ivy? You know you cannot win.”

Bull. Shit.

I let myself go limp. Drake wasn’t expecting that move, and his arms loosened a bit, so I slammed my foot down on his and thrust my elbow back into his stomach.

“By the old gods, you are testing my patience.” He dragged me to the right and wrapped his arm around my chest, pinning my arms.

Then I was flying.

I hit the couch and landed face-first in the back cushions. For a moment I was stunned, and then I flipped onto my back. I started to swing my legs, but Drake was there, standing over me and then on me. A heavy hand wrapped around my throat.

Thrashing, I kicked out and beat my fists on his arms. I lifted my hips to throw him, but his weight was too heavy and there was no moving him. The heaviness caused pressure to clamp down on my chest. I went wild, my panicked instinct taking over. I went for his eyes with my nails, but he kept his head back.