Wicked (A Wicked Saga, #1)(101)

Uh.

"It's rather . . . abrasive," he added, almost as an afterthought.

I blinked, kind of stunned because there was a good chance that the prince of the Otherworld just insulted my hair color. Frankly, I couldn't believe I was even standing in front of the prince. "I'm not here to talk about my red hair."

He stared at me with icy eyes. "You're here to fight me then?"

"I'm here to end you."

A soft, musical laugh radiated from him. "You humor me, and I am feeling . . . kind." He spoke the last word like he was unfamiliar with it. "I shall let you live."

When he stepped to the side, I blocked him. His gaze flicked to the stake I held, and his lips curled into a slow, utterly creepy smile that did nothing to add warmth to his face. "A thorn birch stake from the Otherworld, I assume?"

"You betcha."

"You think just because you hold one of them that you can use it successfully against me? That is silly." He dipped his chin and long strands of black hair fell against his chest. "And fatal."

My heart was thundering in spite of my words. "You talk a lot."

He drew back, surprise flashing across his features. "I do not wish to harm a female," he said in his weird accent. His cold gaze drifted over me. "I find that there are more pleasurable things to engage in with the fairer sex."

"Ew," I spat. "Gross."

He lifted a dark brow. "My kindness is rapidly diminishing."

There was a significant part of me that wanted to turn and run. This was the prince, and despite the situation I just put myself in, I wasn't stupid. Trained as I was, squaring off with the prince was tantamount to suicide, but my duty—what I'd been raised to do—was that I never ran from the fae. I had committed an act in the past that had gone beyond dereliction of duty, and I would not do that again.

I held my ground.

The prince sighed heavily then snapped forward, gripping my wrist. The contact made me gasp. His skin was cold. "I give you one last chance." He increased the pressure on my wrist, but I held on to the stake. "You will not like how this ends, my lovely little bird."

"I'm not your anything, buddy."

"Too bad." Then he pushed me with just a flick of the hand, but it was enough force to send me skidding across the carpet.

Apparently, his creepy Casanova speech wasn't all pageantry. I caught myself before I fell. He hadn't hurt me, and it seemed like he was giving me one last chance, but too much was at stake for me to turn and run. "What did you do to Valerie?"

"Who? The little girl who was just here?" He tipped his head back. "I did nothing. I think she is . . . perhaps intelligent? She knows we cannot be stopped."

"No." I shook my head as fury built inside me. "She would never willingly help your kind. She must've been compelled to do so."

"If that makes you feel better."

Holding on to the disbelieving anger, I launched forward and spun to my left. I swung with the stake, but the space where he'd stood was empty. I stumbled back. "What the . . .?"

"Too slow."

I spun around and found him standing there, a small smile on his face. I dropped, sweeping my leg out, but hit nothing but air again.

"You cannot fight me, little bird."

Now I was starting to get irked. Jumping to my feet, I spun, about to deliver one hell of an awesome roundhouse kick, but the prince popped out of existence and then his arms were around me. He lifted me off my feet like I was nothing but a small child troubling him.

"I no longer have any more patience," he said into my ear, sending an icy chill down my spine. "Or kindness left in me."

Oh damn.

Throwing my head back, I hit his chin, snapping his head to the side. The prince dropped me and my knees cracked off the floor. I lifted my head to find him standing directly in front of me.

Double damn on a Sunday.

There was no time to react. His hand was suddenly around my throat, and he lifted me clear off the floor. I swiped out with the stake, grazing his chest. Blood hissed out from the shallow wound, bubbling like lava.

Speaking in a language I didn't understand, he caught my wrist holding the stake and twisted until my hand opened despite my frantic attempt to hold on to it. The stake slipped from my grasp, falling harmlessly from my fingers, and then both hands were around my neck.

I'd taken my last breath before I realized it. Panicked, I kicked at him and clawed at his grip, but his fingers dug in deep. "Fly, little birdie."

I was suddenly soaring backward through the air. I hit one of the empty folding tables, toppling it over. I landed on the floor on my side, dragging in deep breaths around the pain lancing up and down my ribs.

Jesus, I could barely breathe through it. I pushed onto my forearms, my body trembling with the effort to stand. My chest felt too constricted as I lifted my head. One second he was across the room and the next he was right in front of me. Reaching around blindly, I grabbed a metal chair and swung, crying out as the pain in my side knocked the wind out of me.

"Please," the prince said, catching and ripping the chair out of my hands.

Blazing pain rushed across my jaw and the side of my face as I was served an epic backhand with a metal chair. I stumbled to the side, dropping to my knees. Blood pooled in my mouth, spilling out between my lips—my torn lip. Something—his foot?—slammed into my stomach, flipping me onto my back. Before I could taste the raw fear building in the back of my throat, the panic that surely came seconds before you knew you were in trouble, there was a flash of bright light behind my eyes as another wave of pain burst along my cheek.