Changeling (Book 1) Rated R

Chapter 21

I panicked.

I lashed out with my fists and legs, determined to go down fighting.

During the struggle, my fist managed to clip the stranger in the jaw.

"Ow. Stop it!"

"Christian?"

"Shh," He hissed.

If it weren't for his body pressing me into the cool stone of the darkened chamber, I wouldn't have believe he was really there.

"What are you doing here?" I whispered.

My hands, which had been pressing against his chest, turned limp as the fight left me.

"Trying to keep you from getting killed. Again."

Footsteps padded outside the stone entryway.

"I'm not your responsibility anymore."

"Don't start. Not now."

"I'm serious. I'm..." I gestured in the dark, even though he couldn't see it. "I'm relieving you of your responsibilities or whatever. Go tell your King I don't want his protection, that I—"

"Aimee." He breathed as he cupped my face between his hands.

With one of my senses gone, the rest were amplified, including my sense of smell and in that moment, all I could smell was his minty breath and hints of his expensive cologne.

His palms warmed my cheeks, the veins in his wrists throbbing against my skin.

My hands flung up to his wrists, not only to hold him there but to anchor myself.

Was it hot in here?

Was it just me?

Wait no, fuck him.

"What?" I finally asked.

"Stop talking."

He released my face and I sensed rather than saw him turn on his heel.

I let out the air trapped in my lungs and ran the back of my hand along my forehead.

After a moment, and with a low hiss, light slowly filtered into the narrow hallway.

As my eyes struggled to adjust, I realized another stone door had opened at the end of the passageway.

"Let's go." He ordered.

Sparing one glance over my shoulder the way we'd come, I scampered after him.

The floor here was made of cement and right at the end of the tunnel, where it opened up into a vast room, all I could see were prison cells.

"We're trapped." He huffed. "Damn it."

"Look!"

In the second from the last cell, between the black metal bars, a womanly figure was huddled on a cot.

Next to her, something was bundled up.

"Mom?" I asked tentatively.

The woman didn't respond.

I padded over to her cell, yanking on the bars but the door wouldn't budge.

"Christian."

Across the room, I saw him hesitate.

He was examining a small window with bars, his hands hovering over the bars.

"It could be my mom." My eyes pleaded with him what my mouth refused to say.