Villainous [Wattys 2021 Shortlist]

36: She-Wolf

Fire and hot wax met skin. He howled as she drove the wick into his eye, still kicking and clawing to free her other arm and legs.

She tore free as the first man went down. She toppled off the bed, landing on top of him, pushing the candle into his face so hard she felt it snap.

Then she bolted to her feet and streaked across the room as blood ran down her neck. Her hammering pulse only made it worse - oh, ancestors, every breath was like fire as her throat seared with pain -

Someone tackled her, bowling her over and crushing her to the floor. There was another frantic struggle - brawn against her trained skills. But only one man, this time. Delilah managed to snap his neck before he could do anything.

She heaved him off her, straining to see now the final bit of light in her room had been extinguished. The others were blundering towards her although the dagger they'd had was lost - but did they carry more blades?

Delilah figured out where she was in relation to her weapons. She dived to the left, snatching up one of her long, slender knives, and whirled just as the men closed in around her.

The stirring air, the sound of their breathing and their footsteps told her where they were. So Delilah blocked their punches and stabbed their throats. There was nothing clean or refined about this killing, but her entire body hurt all over and she couldn't bring herself to care.

When they had all dropped to the floor and their gurgling was silenced, Delilah staggered out of her room and vomited in the corridor. Then she ran.

She collided headlong with Dante's office door, rebounded, and nearly fell. She'd guessed he'd be in there rather than his rooms, awake and waiting for Hawk to return. She couldn't hear the riot any more.

There was a muttered curse, and the door opened.

"Delilah - oh, skies, Delilah, what -?" Dante grabbed her arms, his face very pale.

That was when she realised she was drenched in blood. Her hair was plastered to her head with it, and so was her nightgown - thankfully that night she'd chosen to wear one that reached her knees.

Delilah showed him the knife she carried. "You warned me - about assassination," she rasped, and collapsed against him.

The adrenalin and fear were slowly ebbing away, leaving her hollow and shocked. She rested her head against Dante's shoulder. He smelled like citrus and night air.

"So this isn't - You're all right? It's not your blood?" Dante's hands had moved to her waist to steady her, but they slid up, over her shoulders to rest on either side of her neck. Reluctantly she lifted her head back up and he inspected the cut. He swore under his breath. "They nearly slit your throat."

"Yes." She felt as fragile as a newborn fawn.

Dante clenched his jaw. He removed his hands from her, glancing once at the blood that now coated his palms, and picked up a lantern from his desk. "The bodies are in your room? Take me to them."

There was something... prickly, and fractious about Dante's mood as they hurried towards her chambers.

"What?" she asked, ignoring the pain speech caused.

"I'm thinking..." Dante shook his head as if to banish a few thoughts. "I'm thinking that something is wrong with me. Because when I realised what had just almost happened, my first thought was... To give you an Opal, so you can protect yourself. And... I can't afford to think like that, because we made a deal. The Opals are mine and I intend to keep them. You're King Gaol's daughter, while I'm the King of Vale - and no matter what happens, we'll..."