The king frowned, glanced at his men with splayed arms, all Women, so stupid, but what can we do? before again pointing at his feet. “You. Knees. Now.”

“I understand what you’re saying.” Moron. Some people drank at the fountain of knowledge. He must have gargled and spit. Then again, he might not have done even that. “That’s why I’m telling you no.”

He flashed his saber teeth at her. “But you said—”

“I lied. You’re ugly and mean and I wouldn’t give myself to you even if a flesh-eating bacteria was ravaging this world, and your cock held the only immunization.”

Confusion followed by relief bathed his monstrous features. “Cock. You. Yes.”

Of course that’s the only word he cared about. “No.”

His eyes narrowed to tiny slits, and she would not have been surprised to find a red bull’s-eye in the center of her forehead. “I make you.”

“That’s what I thought you’d say.” She lifted her chin and waved her fingers. “You’re very predictable, after all. So, let’s cut the chitchat and do this.”

Growling low in his throat, he advanced. He stretched out a hand to grab her, and she ducked, swung around and elbowed him in the stomach. He grunted, hunching over to gasp for air. The others laughed and snickered. Their merriment surprised her. She’d expected fury.

The king straightened before she could render another blow, found her with his gaze and advanced. Again, she ducked and swung; again, she elbowed him. Again, he hunched over, breathless.

This time, the guards clapped. They must think this was foreplay.

She raced behind the king before he could gain his bearings and kicked. He stumbled forward. She jumped up and, as she came down, elbowed the top of his head. He went down, face-first. The success of her moves thrilled and strengthened her, pumping adrenaline through her system. One more blow to the king for good measure, and she’d turn her attention to the guards.

Except, as she thrust out her leg to kick him in the stomach, he rolled and latched onto her ankle. With only a tug, he sent her crashing to her ass. Oxygen exploded from her lungs. Black and white winked before her eyes, little spiderwebs and starbursts.

Before she had time to act, the king swung out his meaty fist. Contact. Her poor cheekbone cracked. Skin split. Her brain rattled against her skull, and the black in her vision completely overpowered the white.

Just like that, her advantage was lost. Not that she’d ever really had one.

Crawl away. Curl into a protective ball. Something!

Too late. Another punch landed, this one on her jaw. For an endless span, pain and dizziness and nausea became her only companions. Then the spiderweb of black expanded, closing in. Don’t you dare pass out!

Another punch.

So. Much. Pain. Okay, you can pass out now.

Of course, that’s when the darkness thinned against another blast of adrenaline, sharpening her wits. Jane wanted to scream for help, but knew no one here would do anything to help her. Only hurt her further. Plus, physically, she couldn’t scream. As she’d feared, her jaw was broken.

Another punch.

More pain. No, pain wasn’t an adequate word for what she experienced. Agony, perhaps, but even that seemed too tame a descriptor.

Hard fingers wrapped around her biceps and shook her, causing the agony to radiate through the rest of her. “Look at me.”

She blinked opened her eyes. Or eye. One of them was already sealed shut, the upper and lower lid glued together, concealing what felt like a golf ball. She lay on her back, and the king loomed over her. The moment he realized she was awake, he began ripping at her robe.

He liked to fight his conquests, then. Well, she would give him one to remember. She gritted her teeth against a new onslaught of suffering and kicked him in the face. The action was unexpected, and he stumbled backward before at last hitting the floor. Somehow, she managed to pull herself into a sitting position. The starbursts returned, pushing a moan out of her.

“Hold her,” the king said with an evil grin. He rubbed at his erection. His bare erection. He’d already removed his loincloth.

Eager to please—as well as get their hands on her, she was sure—the men jumped to obey. In a blink, she was flat on her back, her hands anchored over her head and her legs pinned and spread.

Just. Like. That.

In another blink, her breasts were being squeezed and her nipples pinched. And all four giants were staring between her thighs, waiting for her femininity to be revealed.

“No,” she snapped, but the word was intelligible. “No!” Was this what Nicolai had endured?

They laughed. The king fisted the tattered hem of her robe. The rest of the fabric ripped.

Beyond the cavern, a scream echoed. Her attackers paused, frowned, looked at one another. Another scream echoed, followed by another. And another. Each was pain-filled and panicked. Were the beasts fighting among themselves, perhaps over the hags, or had Nicolai arrived?

Hope bloomed within her.

The king shrugged, his attention returning to her body. She wore only her panties now, and they already were ripped in the crotch and therefore useless as far as barriers went. He licked his lips as he stroked his cock once, twice, preparing to penetrate her.

“Big,” he said, practically patting himself on the back. In this, he was right. His penis was thick, too thick, and as long as a battering ram. She would be torn apart.

Her hope withered, died. Tears blurred her good eye, and she whimpered, the sound as broken as her jaw. Any second now, and…

A snarl reverberated, deep and ominous. Closer now, so close.

Neither the guards nor the king looked away from her to check who had uttered the enraged warning. But suddenly Jane knew, sensed. Nicolai was here.

“You’re gonna die real bad,” she said flatly. Again, her injuries made the words incomprehensible, but she didn’t care. Saying them offered a small measure of satisfaction.

“Never die.” Still grinning, the king fell to his knees. The guards leaned closer, their hands inching up her arms and legs. Then, as the king guided his cock toward her, something swiped out faster than her eye could track. Blood sprayed. The king roared in pain and shock.

That same something—a real dagger Nicolai must have stolen from the ogres—swiped at the guards, hitting two at a time. More blood, more roars. The men fell away from her, and finally she was free. She lay there, panting, shaking. Then gentle arms were slipping under her and lifting her. She was carted to the pallet and laid down. Fingertips tenderly brushed her swollen cheek. Nicolai’s face came into view. He was covered in blood, every part of him soaked with crimson.

Flames leaped and cracked within his eyes. “Rape?”

She gave a slight shake of her head.

Those flames died, leaving something far worse: cold, merciless rage. Then he was gone.

He attacked the guards first, those who had maneuvered back to their feet, ripping their tracheas out with his teeth and spitting them to the floor. But that wasn’t enough for him, and he used the dagger to remove their heads from their bodies. Bodies he piled in the entry, effectively locking the king inside the room with him.

The two men circled each other.

“Suffer,” Nicolai said, the length and sharpness of his fangs causing him to slur the words.

“Yes. You suffer.”

“She’s mine. Mine! You will die for touching what’s mine.”

The king blinked, his head tilting to the side. “You familiar. You vampire. You…prince?” A gasp of horror accompanied the realization. “Yes. You prince. Dark prince. Majesty, I beg sorry. I thought you dead. We all thought you dead.”

Nicolai, the slave, was a prince?

The king dropped to one knee, a show of submission. “I give my sorries. So many sorries. Majesty. No offense. Take woman. She is yours.”

Nothing Jane had done had humbled the king. Nothing had evoked fear in him. Now, at the thought of battling royalty, he was on his knees, pleading.

“You die,” Nicolai said simply. The king never stood a chance. Her man removed his limbs, one by one. And though the king screamed and screamed and screamed, he didn’t once struggle. As if he knew struggling would earn him an even worse fate.

Next to go, his eyes. After that, his groin. At that point, his screams became pleas for mercy. Mercy Nicolai did not have. Oops, there went the king’s tongue. No more begging or screaming. Just whimpering.

“Nicolai,” Jane finally managed, her voice so weak even she had trouble hearing what she’d said. Fatigue was riding her hard, and she knew she wouldn’t be awake much longer.

Nicolai glanced at her, barely able to catch his breath. The need to hurt clung to him like a second skin, visible to all. Never had she seen a more primitive male, wild and uncontrollable, a Pict warrior straight from battle. A sight most people would only ever see in their nightmares.

“Need you,” she said.

“Yes.” He swung back to the dying king. With a quick flick of his wrist, he removed the man’s head, just as he’d done to the others. Then he was poised over Jane, stroking her gently. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. So sorry.”

“Will be…fine. Been…worse. Just need…you.”

The words were meant to comfort him. They failed. Absolute anguish cloaked his features. He wiped his arm on a nearby cloth, bit into his own wrist and held the bleeding wound to her mouth. “Drink.”

While Nicolai chanted words she did not understand, the warm liquid cascaded down her throat. At first, she experienced the most delicious tingling, starting in her stomach and moving through her veins. To her jaw, her arms, her legs. The tingling soon sharpened, heated, and she felt as if little molten daggers were slicing through her.

What the hell was his blood doing to her?

“Nicolai,” she screeched. “Hurts.”

“You’re healing, sweetheart. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. The hurt is good.”

Even as he spoke, her jaw snapped back into place. She screamed, the shrill sound echoing off the cave walls. The lid of her swollen eye split apart, and she groaned. At first, her vision was hazy, as if her corneas had been smeared with Vaseline, but as the heat and the daggers continued to work through her, Windex was sprayed and she could see again. Perfectly.