Moonbound To Hell: The Cursed Lycan's Mate

Chapter 14

I smiled at Nyx, keeping my voice light. “Go and officially start the party. The warriors are already going after the assassins, so nothing will happen again.”

He looked at me, clearly very suspicious. His silver eyes narrowed, searching my face for any sign of deception. For a moment I thought he might argue, but he had nothing to say to me. I gave him a sweet smile — the kind that didn’t reach my eyes. Nyx hesitated another second, then turned and walked away, his broad shoulders tense under the tailored suit.

Before leaving, he spoke to Beta Darius. “Take her to the second floor to rest.”

Darius bowed slightly. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

As we walked, I kept mapping out the place in my head. Whoever wanted Nyx dead probably wanted me dead too. The attack had been too coordinated. Too precise. I wasn’t about to sit in some fancy room and wait for someone else to fight my battles. I hated being protected. I needed to fight my own.

Darius led me upstairs to a quiet lounge area on the second floor. It was luxurious — soft couches, dim lighting, and a large window overlooking the venue grounds. I really didn’t come here to rest, so I turned to him with a calm smile. “You can leave now. I’ll be fine.”

He bowed and left without question. I knew there were guards outside the door, but if I wanted to leave, the window was my best option. I hated being caged. I had spent too many years in Thornwall fighting for every scrap of freedom.

I walked to the window and opened it. The cool afternoon air rushed in. If I left through here, I could be in the thick of it before night fell. But something told me the stairwell was the smarter move. Assassins liked shadows.

I walked back, opened the door, and thanked the sweet Goddess it was unlocked with no guards immediately visible. I sneaked off and headed toward the stairwell. If an assassin had come to this party and was in hiding, the best place was the stairwell — quiet, unseen, a perfect spot to wait for information or a second chance to strike. The royal guards had surrounded the main areas, so the attackers had no easy escape. They would wait.

As soon as I opened the door to the stairwell, I knew I was right. Ashra felt them too — a low, warning growl vibrating through my ribs.

I locked the door behind me, pulled my heels off, and drew my gown up high so the long slit wouldn’t hinder me when things got messy. The fabric bunched around my thighs. I was ready.

The first assassin came at me from above, dropping silently from a landing. He was fast, a knife flashing toward my throat. I ducked under the blade, slammed my elbow into his ribs, and swept his legs. He crashed down the stairs with a surprised grunt. I followed, stomping on his wrist until the knife clattered away.

“Nice try,” I muttered.

Ashra laughed in my head. *Too slow.*

Another one came from below — bigger, heavier. He charged like a bull. I waited until the last second, then sidestepped and used his momentum to send him tumbling headfirst into the railing. The impact made a satisfying crack. He groaned, clutching his head.

“Watch your step,” I said sweetly.

The third assassin was smarter. He waited until I was distracted with the second one, then jumped from a higher landing with a garrote wire. The wire looped around my neck before I could react. It tightened fast, cutting off my air. I gasped, clawing at the wire. My hellfire flared instinctively, burning the assassin’s hands. He yelled and loosened his grip just enough for me to slam my head backward into his nose.

Blood sprayed. The wire dropped. I spun, drove my knee into his stomach, and finished him with a fiery palm strike to the chest. He flew backward, slamming into the wall and sliding down unconscious.

I coughed, rubbing my throat. A thin line of blood trickled down my neck from the wire. It stung, but it wasn’t my problem. I wanted to find out which sick bastard wanted me dead.

Ashra pushed more power into my veins. *Three down. More coming.*

I heard footsteps from above and below. They were converging. Good. I wanted them all.

The next wave came fast — four of them this time. Two from above, two from below. I grinned. Finally, a proper fight.

I leaped over the railing to the lower landing, landing lightly on bare feet. The first attacker swung a baton. I ducked, grabbed his arm, and used his own momentum to flip him over my shoulder. He crashed into his partner. Both went down in a heap. I kicked one in the face for good measure.

“Oops,” I said. “Clumsy.”

The other two from above dropped down behind me. One had a gun. The other had claws already extended. I spun, hellfire bursting from my palms in a wide arc. The gunman screamed as his weapon melted in his hands. The clawed one lunged. I met him head-on, blocking his swipe and slamming my forehead into his nose. Blood exploded. He staggered. I followed with a fiery uppercut that sent him flying up the stairs.

The last one was the toughest — fast, trained, and silent. He came at me with twin daggers, slashing in precise patterns. I dodged, but one blade caught my arm, slicing a shallow cut across my bicep. Blood welled. I hissed but didn’t slow down. I grabbed his wrist, twisted hard, and heard the bone snap. He screamed. I drove my knee into his groin, then finished him with a palm strike to the chest that sent him tumbling down the stairs like a broken doll.

I stood there for a second, breathing hard. Blood trickled from my arm and neck. My dress was torn in places, the slit now wider from the fight. But I felt alive. Powerful. Ashra was practically singing in my head.

*More,* she urged. *Find the leader.*

I continued down the stairwell, bare feet silent on the concrete. I could hear distant fighting outside — the royal guards doing their job. But in here, it was just me and whoever was left.

A door opened below. Heavy footsteps. I pressed myself against the wall, waiting.

A man stepped into view — taller, better dressed than the others. He had a communicator in his ear and a gun in his hand. The leader I guess.

He froze when he saw me.

“You,” he snarled. “The hybrid b***h. Should have died with the others.”

I smiled. “Come make me.”

He raised the gun. I moved faster. Hellfire exploded from my palms, melting the barrel before he could fire. He dropped the ruined weapon with a curse and charged. We collided hard. He was strong, but I was faster and meaner. I raked my nails — tipped with hellfire — across his face. He howled. I kneed him in the stomach, then slammed him against the wall.

“Tell me who sent you,” I growled, pressing my burning hand against his throat.

He laughed through the pain. “You’ll never—”

I increased the heat. His skin sizzled. He screamed.

“Talk,” I ordered.

Before he could answer, footsteps thundered from above. Royal guards. Darius’s voice shouted my name.

The assassin smiled weakly. “Too late.”

He bit down on something hidden in his mouth. Poison. His body convulsed and went still.

I cursed, stepping back. The guards burst in, weapons drawn. Darius took one look at the bodies, the blood on me, and the melted gun and paled.

“My Queen… what have you done?”

I wiped blood from my arm, ignoring the sting. “My job.”