by Lyn Brittan
Seljuk stopped the car, urging on his own transformation. If the bastard wanted to die here, fine. He almost didn’t feel Amber’s hand wrench something from his neck.
Almost.
Her hand stopped his own death lunge just as she tossed him the poison canister, which he deposited into the throat of the Carthaginian. Seljuk gritted against the pain as Crispin’s jaw snapped shut over his arm. With his free hand he tried knocking Crispin’s jaw open. The bastard didn’t let go, swinging his head from side to side in a death grip. Blood shot everywhere, his blood. Seljuk reached back for the gun and racked the slide against the headrest, but Crispin went slack before a single shot was fired. His human form slowly returned and revealed a trail of foam in the back of his throat.
Crispin, Prince of the Carthaginians, was dead.
Epilogue
Seljuk was going over the finer points of grilling with Amber, while Oristad and Fergie argued in the distance.
“You think they’ll ever get along?” Amber asked, rubbing her very pregnant belly. She’d decided that being five months pregnant with twins was harder than anything she’d gone through in the previous months.
Seljuk flipped the salmon and took another swig of beer. “Nope.”
“Me neither. You going to rub my feet tonight?”
“That’ll cost you.”
“I’m sure it will,” she said, leaning into him.
“They had sex last night.”
Amber choked on her lemonade, quite literally spitting out a garbled ‘what’ in the process.
“Yeah. And I moved the scrolls to a facility in Vegas. Closer, but far enough.”
She was still recovering and not giving a single fuck about the scrolls. “They had actual sex?” “Been having sex.” He grinned, then paused and turned more serious. “I put the info about the scrolls on the bathroom counter. Give it a read, memorize it and burn the paper.”
She’d just taken another swing of lemonade when Seljuk, whom she now decided was determined to kill her with shock added, “Oristad read them.”
“And?”
“Just a history of the war. Crazy. All of that for a history book. We’re not telling anyone of course,” he said and kissed her on the forehead. “Now remember what I said, read and destroy after we finish our meal.”
“Oh, does it really matter?” she asked and gave him another squeeze.
“Course it does. The prince might want revenge one day.”
More sputtering, and more wasted lemonade. “He’s dead.”
“Well, yeah. He’s dead, but that’s the thing about princes, right? They always come in twos.”
The End
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Other Books by Lyn Brittan:
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Evernight Publishing
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