Page 117 of Hateful Prince
Dahlia stepped forward again, and for a moment I worried she’d jump to my defense without all the facts. I almost stopped her, but she said, “You’re the Belladonna witch? You’re here to strengthen the spell.”
“What spell?” Kingston asked. “I thought you were just doing some witchy yule ritual?”
“The one that keeps us all prisoner,” Dahlia said, arms crossing under her breasts.
“You didn’t tell me it was a Belladonna witch,” I said, connecting the dots Dahlia had already put together.
“I didn’t know it was relevant.”
“Wait just a second. I’m not keeping anyone prisoner. I’m just upholding a centuries-long tradition my coven has been part of. Once a decade, the head of the Belladonna coven is charged with returning to Blackwood to perform a ritual that will strengthen the protective wards that keep the humans from stumbling past the gates. We’re keeping people out, not locking them in.”
“Are you sure about that?” Dahlia asked, one brow raised.
“Of course! Why would we do anything different?”
“I think you and Sorcha need to have a little chat.”
“Ugh, don’t bring me into this,” Sorcha groused. “The facts speak for themselves. I already did my part.”
I could tell my mate wanted to press the issue, but before she could, the doors to the ballroom swung open and Joffrey announced, “Enter.”
“Excellent. I call dibs on the first dance,” Caspian crooned, snatching Dahlia before I could and ushering her into the ballroom.
A soft snarl of frustration left me at their retreat, but if I was being honest, my Berserker was focused on other things.
“It’s all right,” Kai said, patting my shoulder as the others followed behind them. “You’ll get your turn with her.”
“We’ll make sure of it,” Hades said.
I shook my head, muttering softly, “That’s not what I’m worried about.”
Chapter
Thirty-Six
HOOK
“Bad form,” I growled, eyes locked across the room where the god of the underworld had stolen my dance partner. “Did no one ever educate you on the meaning of the word dibs? Allow me to illuminate you. Dibs. Noun. The right to share or choose something.” I stamped my foot in absolute consternation, my ire swelling by the second, along with the ever-present madness. “Vis-à-vis, I chose her and that’s my dance you stole, you absolute rotting wanker.”
“You know, once upon a time, we could’ve made quite the bargain to ensure he suffered a drawn-out, painful death.” The voice came from my left. A tall man with long purple locks and a tumbler of whiskey in his hand stood leaning against the wall next to me.
“Why not now? Go on. Strike him down.”
“No. Shan’t.”
“Well, why the bloody hell bring it up then? Who are you anyway?”
The man laughed, then stopped as suddenly as he’d started when I didn’t join in. “Oh, you really don’t know. I’m Pan.”
I blinked at him. “Is that supposed to mean something to me, mate? I didn’t shag you once upon a time, did I?”
Giving an indignant huff, he pushed off the wall and stood to his full height. “You would be so lucky.” Then, under his breath, he muttered, “Honestly, I get no respect. Give up your horns and sacrifice it all to save the world, but no one remembers your name.”
“Everyone knows my name. I’ve been immortalized.”
“In a children’s story. It doesn’t count.”
“Ah, but you have heard of me. Point made, Captain Hook wins the day.” Then, standing at attention as if struck by a bolt of lightning, I gasped. “Wait a bloody second. I’m Hook and you’re Pan.” Reaching for the cutlass that wasn’t there, I unsheathed my weapon. “En garde, you scallywag! Thought you’d catch me with my pants down, did you? Well, not today.”