Ryker had fought outnumbered before. He'd never fought outnumbered while babysitting a glowing, comatose woman whose body kept doing things nobody asked it to.
Three fae came from the left. Two dropped from above. He shoved Guinevere behind him, and his blade moved in a blur.
Some were humming. Others were narrating. A few were having full-blown conversations that Ryker would edit when he retold this story at every pub for the rest of his life.
"She's burning so hot… Her cunt will taste like liquid gold."
"My dick will glow for centuries. Hold her down, brothers."
They kept coming in droves, and the math was getting worse.
"She tastes like stolen power. Old blood before the fall."
"Her mind is clinging to him. We'll tear those memories out one by one."
Maddox heard every word and his blood went from hot to volcanic. His claws punctured his own scales. His wings beat harder, faster, eating the distance between them.
