Mistrals Kiss   ::   Гамильтон Лорел

“Frost,” Doyle almost yelled it, “I do not trust anyone but you and me to keep her safe. If it is not to be me, then it must be you.”

Bancroft said, “Get in and drive, Charlie.”

The younger agent didn’t argue this time; he got behind the wheel. I was still holding on to Doyle, shaking my head over and over. One of the other cops had gotten a first-aid kit out of the car. Bancroft took it and crawled into the back with Frost.

“No,” I said to Doyle. “I am princess here, not you.”

“Your duty is to live,” Doyle said.

I shook my head. “If you die, I’m not sure I want to.”

He kissed me then, hard and fierce. I tried to melt into that kiss, but he tore himself away and slammed the door in my face.

The doors locked. I glanced at the agent, who said, “We have to get you to safety, Princess.”

“Unlock the door,” I demanded.

He ignored me and started the engine, hit the gas. Just then wind slammed into the car, so hard that it skidded the vehicle to the side. Charlie fought to keep the car in the parking lot and out of the trees.

“Drive,” Bancroft yelled, “drive like a son of a bitch!”

I looked then, because I had to. The wild hunt had broken through, and it was like the moment in the cave — as if the darkness had split open and was spilling out nightmares. But the nightmares were even more solid now. Or maybe, now that I’d seen them, I couldn’t unsee them.

A coat flew over my face, and I was left scrambling at it. “Don’t look, Merry,” Frost said, his voice choked, “don’t look.”

“Put on the coat, Princess,” Bancroft said. “We’ll get you to the hospital.”

I held the coat in my arms, but turned to look back.

The police were shooting at the hunt. Mistral lit the sky with lightning, and one of the police crumbled to the ground. Was he screaming? The horror spilled over Sholto, and he was lost to it. Doyle leapt toward the tentacles and teeth, the sword glittering in the moonlight. I screamed his name, but the last thing I saw before we drove into the dark was Doyle lost under a weight of nightmares.



CHAPTER 19

FROST’S HAND GRABBED MY SHOULDER, PRESSING ME AGAINST the seat. “Merry, please, don’t make Doyle’s sacrifice in vain.”

I touched his hand, pressed it against me, and there was more blood on it. “How can I let them drive us to safety and not fight it?”

“You must. I am too hurt to help, and you are too fragile.