Deadly Vows (Lizzie Grace 6)

It was a thought that had my steps briefly faltering. Aiden’s fingers twined through mine, and a thick sense of security rushed through me. I wasn’t alone. I could do this.

We followed the guard up the stairs and then down a long corridor. Near the end was a meeting room; the muted pulse of power coming from within it told me my father, Clayton, and at least one other witch waited inside.

The guard opened the door and motioned us to enter. I took a deep breath, then disentangled my fingers from Aiden’s and led the way in.

Three men and two women were waiting for us, but it was Clayton who drew my gaze. He made no move and didn’t acknowledge me in any way, but his anger burned so fiercely it practically flayed my skin and had beads of sweat breaking out across my back.

Once again, I couldn’t help wondering why my father couldn’t see just how dangerous he was. It didn’t take psychic talents to feel his fury. It wasn’t just evident in his aura, but also in the glint of his eyes, in the set of his mouth. In the way he clenched and unclenched his fists and also in his scent, which was a weird mix of ash and fury. A volcano ready to explode, I thought bleakly.

Then his gaze moved past me, and the volcano erupted.

He was up and lunging toward us before my father or the other witch could react. Aiden grabbed me and spun me out of the way. The fist that would have smashed into my face hit his back instead. He growled low and dangerously and swung around, shielding me with his body. No further blows came our way, because we weren’t Clayton’s target.

Belle was.

But even as he lunged at her, Monty moved. He pulled her to one side, knocked Clayton’s fist away with one hand, and threw a punch with the other. The blow smashed into Clayton’s face and sent him sprawling backward. Monty took two quick steps and stood over him, his fist still clenched and fire in his eyes.

“You guaranteed Liz’s and Belle’s safety, Lawrence.” Though the words were aimed at my father, his gaze remained on Clayton and his voice was flat and angry. “Allowing this bastard off his leash is hardly keeping your part of the bargain.”

“He isn’t unleashed. At least not magically.” Though his expression and his voice remained coolly urbane, his shock reverberated. “I just didn’t expect such a violent—or physical—reaction.”

“I did fucking warn you, Father—”

“Language, Elizabeth.”

“Aside from the fact I’m an adult, not a teenager, you gave up any right to tell me what to do when you forced me to marry the prick on the floor.”

One of the women made a sharp sound of surprise. Obviously, my soon-to-be ex hadn’t been entirely honest about the reasons for the annulment, which left me wondering what he had said. I mean, how exactly did you explain an annulment after thirteen years of marriage?

Not that it really mattered one way or another, as long as it was all signed, sealed, and made official.

“He will cause no further problems, I assure you,” my father said. “Now, please stand back and give him room to rise.”

Monty hesitated and then took precisely two steps back and stood beside Ashworth, the two of them providing a physical barrier between Clayton and Belle. Although he’d mostly behaved during our first meeting, this was the first time he’d been in the same room as Belle. Who knew what else he’d do?

My father took a handkerchief out of the top pocket of his jacket then walked over to Clayton and offered it to him. “You will restrain any further urges to violence, will you not, my friend?”

Clayton wasn’t so far gone in anger that he didn’t recognize a threat, however politely it was said. He accepted the handkerchief with a nod and elegantly dabbed at his bloody and very mashed nose. If it wasn’t broken, I’d be very surprised. Monty had certainly put some force behind his blow.

My father helped him rise, then escorted him with one hand unde

r his elbow—and not for support, I suspected—over to the other side of the conference table. Keeping something solid between him and Belle was a damn good idea, but it wouldn’t matter in the long run. Once my father had returned him to Canberra and removed his leash, all the fury and hatred so evident in his aura and his eyes were going to boil all over the two of us.

Surviving it seemed to be becoming an ever-distant hope.

I flexed my fingers and firmly pushed the thought—and the fear that came with it—away. Anticipating defeat was the surest way of ensuring it. He hadn’t beaten us the first time, and he wasn’t going to do it this time.

“I think it’s best for everyone’s peace of mind if we proceed without further delay.” The older of the two women accepted a satchel from the younger woman, then spread a number of documents out on the table. “Mr. Clayton Marlowe, you first, please.”

Clayton accepted the offered pen and signed on the lines she indicated. His signature was small and mean—much like the man himself.

It was my turn next. I signed each spot, my heart hammering. I was—so close—to freedom.

My father signed as one witness, and Ira the other.

The older women added a final signature and then the documents were all stamped. One set was handed to Clayton, another handed to me, while the other two were collected by the younger woman and placed back into the satchel. “These will be filed tomorrow, but the annulment is official as of this moment. Is there anything else?”

“There is one private matter that needs to be dealt with,” my father said. “If we could have use of this room for a few minutes longer, that would be appreciated.”