Page 67 of Doyle

Glenn nodded, seemingly less frightened of the dragon shifters now. He hopped off his stool, thanked me for the drink, and left with Ivan.

I turned to Doyle, telling him what Glenn had revealed to me.

Unthinkingly, I found myself approaching Doyle, lifting his shirt gently to trace the large bandage covering his side.

"Does it hurt?" I asked, concern lacing my words.

Doyle took my fingers and kissed them.

"I was hit with a nasty hex, but don't worry, I'll recover. It will just take some time to heal,” he said.

We sat at the kitchen counter, and I made us both coffee.

As we sipped our drinks, Doyle recounted everything that happened in that hatch.

I had a feeling Doyle downplayed certain aspects of the encounter just so he wouldn’t worry me.

Either way, the fight sounded like a close call.

Picturing Doyle hurt or dying in some underground tunnel terrified me to pieces.

I shivered, and Doyle got off his stool to hug me from behind, his warmth soothing my nerves.

"The coven knew taking another shifter would push Doyle and the others into action," I thought, feeling a surge of anger and fear.

The witches also lured Doyle and Ivan to a location where shifting would be a deterrence, not an advantage.

The realization made my blood run cold.

They were getting smarter, more strategic. The thought of losing Doyle because of their dishonourable tactics left a pit in my stomach.

I leaned back into Doyle's embrace, needing his strength to calm my racing thoughts.

“They won’t get away with this,” Doyle murmured into my ear, his voice a steady anchor.

I nodded, drawing comfort from his presence, but the worry still lingered.

“Say, what do you think about staying the weekend at the cabin and forgetting about everything for a moment?" Doyle asked.

When I looked at him, I saw a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

"I think that sounds perfect," I agreed.

Maybe a quiet weekend away with Doyle was exactly what we both needed.

I woke up disoriented, my back and limbs aching. When I tried to sit up, my head bumped into something cold and unyielding.

I reached out, feeling the familiar chill of metal bars. My heart raced as I rubbed my eyes, forcing myself awake.

This couldn’t be happening. I was back in a cage—a place I swore I'd never return to.

Panic surged through me. This had to be a nightmare. I was safe now, wasn’t I? With Doyle, far away from this hell.

But the sound of footsteps descending the stairs made my blood run cold.

I tensed, dread clawing at my insides, and when I looked up, I saw Morgan standing there, a smirk on his face and the key to my cage dangling from his fingers.

"Liliana needs you," he sneered, unlocking the cage door. "Don’t give me any trouble, or else..."