The Accidental Marriage: Chapter 44

Oh fuck no.

Denial screams in my head, then terror thunders in my heart. The coordinates on the phone’s tracking app lead me to a burning shed. It’s so old its door is hanging drunkenly by only one hinge. Flames blaze inside, and I rush in, realizing it could be a trap but not caring. I have to make sure my wife is safe. If she’s stuck inside, I have to get her out. No time to check for traps or wait for the fire department.

Dense smoke makes it nearly impossible to breathe. Despite the painful sting in my eyes, I keep them open and spot Lareina on the floor, tied to a chair, like I was when I was ten and Mom kidnapped me. The scene is so eerily similar, I feel like I’m back in time, twenty-two years ago.

Soot and dirt cover my wife’s face as she squints up at me. The wan smile she manages smashes my heart into shards—I know she’s trying to soothe me even though she’s the one in pain.

I try to free her, but stop when her warm blood drenches my hands. I pull her torso away from the sharp end of a nail that’s sticking out from the back. Her shirt is tattered with holes, and I pull it away from the wound so it doesn’t get stuck to her skin.

Then I see the scar on her shoulder blade—a burn that left a beastly canine mark on her otherwise flawless skin. Caught in the maw is a stylized H for the Huxley family, the one Mom put into the silver wolf head she commissioned to prove her devotion and loyalty to the family—anything to stay with Dad.

My jaw slackens as I stare at the bloodied scar. I always thought that, when I finally found Queen, I’d be elated. Instead, I’m just reeling. How could Lareina be my Queen? I’ve been looking for her for so long. It doesn’t feel real.

My hands shake. “Queen?”

She doesn’t seem to hear. Her pain-glazed eyes blink at me, but nothing seems to register.

“Queen!”

Her lips twitch. Either to say something or to smile, I can’t tell which. But she’s fading fast. A terror I’ve never known before mauls my heart.

Quickly, I rip the duct tape binding her to the chair away. She curls up on the ground like a wounded kitten. I reach for her—

“You fucker!”

At the seething voice, I turn around. Rupert Fage, in person, swinging a big branch at me. Rage sparks, blazes like hellfire. I need to pour out my grief and fury, and he’s the perfect target.

Placing my wife on the ground, I duck, catch the stick and kick him in the gut. He folds with a grunt, and I smash the back of my foot against his spine. Something cracks, and he drops to his knees. “Fuck!” he screams.

I punt him, aiming for the nose. It crunches, and he covers his face, blood gushing between fingers. The inside of the shed is hot enough to roast a swine. Flames lick the support beam across the roof.

Time to get outta here.

I pick up Lareina and carry her out. She lies limply in my arms, and I place her on the passenger seat of my Cayenne and put a finger under her nose, needing to confirm. Please, God, don’t let anything happen to her. I just found her.

Featherlight breathing tickles my skin, and I slump to my knees. Thank God.

The roof caves in. Huge chunks of the walls collapse. No sign of Rupert.

Still, I hold my wife protectively and guard her until the wailing sirens pierce the night.