The silence in the room that followed was heavier than the door Deacon had just kicked off its hinges.
It was suffocating, like there’s a vacuum sucking the air out of the room, leaving only the sound of Glenda’s ragged, panicked breathing and the low, subsonic vibration of Deacon’s growl.
Glenda was backed against the glass of the balcony doors, clutching her bleeding shoulder. The madness that had fueled her rampage was flickering, replaced by the terror of a predator realising it had stumbled into the den of a much larger beast.
“Stay back!” Glenda shrieked, waving her uninjured hand as if she could ward him off. “She attacked me! She tried to kill me! I was just defending myself!”
It was pathetic. Even now, standing in the ruins of my bedroom with a silver wound smoking on her shoulder, she tried to play the victim.
Deacon didn’t speak. He stepped over the debris of the doorframe, his boots crunching on the splintered wood. He didn’t rush. He moved with the terrifying inevitability of a landslide. His eyes were fixed on her, glinting with murderous tension.
“Deacon,” I called out, but not to stop him, but to inform him. “Be careful, she’s being desperate.”
There’s nothing more dangerous than someone who has lost everything, because they already have nothing to lose.
His eyes landed on me for a quick second before nodding in relief. It must have been that he had confirmed I didn’t have any injury, easing his tense demeanour a bit as his eyes landed back on Glenda.
“You have five seconds to surrender,” he stated, with a cold, tense, and still raging voice as he continued with gritted teeth, “Before I rip your throat out.”
Glenda’s eyes darted around the room, searching for an exit, a weapon, anything. She looked at the balcony doors behind her. A jump from this height would break her legs, maybe kill her. She looked at Deacon, blocking the only exit.
Then, her gaze landed on me. And then, it shifted slightly to the left. To the closet door.
A twisted, suicidal realisation dawned on her face. She knew she wasn’t leaving this room alive. She knew she wasn’t going to be Queen. But in her warped mind, if she couldn’t win, she could make sure we lost.
“I’m not surrendering to anyone!” she hissed, her lips curling back to reveal bloodstained teeth. “And I’m not leaving alone.”
She didn’t lunge for Deacon, nor for me.
With a scream of pure hate, she threw herself toward the closet.
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“No!” I screamed, throwing myself forward.
But I was exhausted, battered, and slow. Meanwhile, Glenda was fueled by a cocktail of drugs and adrenaline. She bypassed me, her claws extended, aiming to tear through the thin wood of the closet door where my son was hiding.
But, she never made it.
Deacon moved, and he was way faster than she.
It all happened in the blink of an eye. One second, he was standing near the door; the next, he was a wall
of muscle between Glenda and the closet.
He didn’t just block he; he caught her.
Deacon’s hand shot out, clamping around Glenda’s throat mid–air. The momentum of her charge was halted instantly. Her feet lifted off the floor as he slammed her backwards, driving her into the ground with enough force to crack the floorboards.
Then a cracking sound echoed.
Glenda gasped, the wind knocked out of her, her eyes bulging. Deacon was on top of her in an instant, his knee pinning her chest to the floor, his hand still crushing her windpipe.
“You dare,” Deacon snarled, leaning down until his face was inches from hers. “You dare go after him?”
He raised his other hand, claws extending, ready to end her. The intent to kill was radiating off him in waves of heat.
“Deacon! Stop!” I shouted as I rushed forward and grabbed his arm.
His iron tensed muscle froze at my touch, and he looked at me, growling, “She needs to die.”
It made me feel warm to know he was willing to go far and beyond for Rafael, but I didn’t want things to
end like this.
“Not like this,” I uttered, shaking my head before I shifted my eyes to Rafael, who was wide–eyed and watching the scene before him in shock. “Not in front of Rafael. I don’t want him to see killing so early, especially not ours.”
Hearing that, he blinks, and calmness settles in his eyes.
He looked at Rafael, then back at the woman beneath him.
“She deserves it,” he rumbled, but his grip on Glenda’s throat loosened just enough to let her wheeze a
breath.
“She does,” I agreed cold–heartedly. “And she will pay. But she will pay by the law. We are not her, Deacon. We execute justice, not vengeance.”
Glenda coughed, blood bubbling at her lips. She looked up at Deacon, her eyes filled with fear, but she
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was too winded to speak.
Deacon stared at her for a long moment, his chest heaving. Then, with a snarl of disgust, he grabbed her by the hair and slammed her head against the floorboards. Once. Hard.
Glenda’s eyes rolled back in her head, and she went limp. Unconscious.
Deacon stood up, shaking his hand as if he had touched something filthy. He kicked her limp body away from the closet, putting distance between the threat and his family.
“Kaelen!” Deacon roared, his voice carrying down the hallway.
Seconds later, Kaelen appeared in the doorway, breathless, and with his weapon raised. He took in the scene… The shattered vanity, the unconscious Glenda, and the ruined room, all in a single glance.
“Secure her,” Deacon commanded, pointing at Glenda. “Iron chains. Wolfsbane dampeners. Put her in the deepest cell in the dungeon. If she wakes up, sedate her. If she tries to escape, break her legs. But keep her alive.”
“Right away, Prince,” Kaelen said, motioning for two guards behind him to drag the fallen woman away.
They hauled Glenda out of the room like a sack of trash. I didn’t watch her go. I turned immediately to the closet.
“Raf?” I called out, my voice trembling. “Baby, it’s safe. You can come out.”
The door creaked open slowly. Rafael stood there, pushed back among the winter coats, clutching the small fruit knife so hard his knuckles were white. His eyes were huge, filled with tears he hadn’t shed yet.
“Is… is the bad lady gone?” he whispered.
Deacon dropped to his knees, ignoring the blood on his clothes, and opened his arms. “She’s gone, soldier. She’s never coming back.”
Rafael dropped the knife and bolted. He slammed into Deacon’s chest, burying his face in his neck, and finally, finally let out the sob he had been holding in.
“I was brave,” he cried, his small body shaking. “I was brave, like you said!”
“You were the bravest wolf in the pack,” Deacon choked out, wrapping his arms around the boy and rocking him gently. “I am so proud of you.”
I joined them on the floor, wrapping my arms around both of them, resting my head on Deacon’s shoulder. We were a mess, bloodied, bruised, my wedding dress destroyed, our home wrecked.
But as I rested, surrounded by his arms and hearing his steady heartbeat, knowing that Rafael was safe, I knew we had won. The storm had broken against our walls, and we were still standing.
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Chapter 192
Elena’s POV
The immediate aftermath of successfully arresting Glenda was a chaotic blur of movement, lights, and noise. The power was restored sooner, indicating that Keeler’s men must have found Glenda’s sabotag point, and the sudden brilliance of the palace lights was almost painful after the red gloom of the emergency system.
When we got back, the ballroom that once beamed with elegance and joyful celebration had become a disaster zone with the floor covered with blood, shattered glasses and spilled wine. Every table was either totally wrecked or overturned with plates and foods scattered in a mess.
In short, the entire feast was ruined, and the place was bustling with doctors and guardo rushing to tend to the quests and round up the remaining rogues.
“Let’s go Descon uttered, guiding Refeel back to get rested while Kaelen went on to secure the perimeter of the Familly wing
I walked beside them, holding on to Deacon’s arm for support as I finally felt the strain on my muscles.
My ruined wedding dress, stained with blood and dirt, was a casualty, but one I wore with a strange sense of pride.
We took Refeel to the private infirmary wing, where the physicians immediately checked him. He was physically unharmed. He’s just terified, exhausted, and running on pure adrenaline. Once he was declared sate and given a mild sedetive, he finally succumbed to sleep, clinging to my hand until he was
Only then did Descon allow the doctors to tend to us.
I was treated for a severe bruise on my jaw, deep cuts on my hands from the glass, and various scrapes and sprains from the fall, Deacon, having fought dozens of rogues in human form to protect the guests, was a meas. He had deep lacerations from wolfsbane blades on his arms and chest, requiring immediate cleaning and stitching.
I sat on the edge of the examination table while a physician worked on him, cleaning the wolfsbane residue from a cut near his ribs. Deacon didn’t flinch, his eyes locked on mine.
You should have left,” he said, his voice husky with pain and adoration. “You should have hidden.”
And let her get Rafael? I shook my head. “Never. Besides, I told you I wasn’t leaving you. I’m your Princess, Deacon. I don’t hide. And just like you, I’m a warrior”
He smiled, a tired, genuine smile that made the exhaustion in his eyes more visible. “My great warrior”
Tam,” I smirked, gloating, which made both of us laugh.
The doctor finished stitching him and wrapped his torso in bandages. Deacon, in a clean black robe, shrugged, his movements stiff but powerful.
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Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
