Shadowflame by Dianne Sylvan Page B

takes against us therefore becomes an act of war and he’ll have the full Council to deal with.”
    “What about the other girls?”
    “Unless they ask for asylum as well, things are exactly as I said before. But depending on how he reacts when he finds out about Cora, he might tip his hand and give us the opportunity to take the rest—we’ll just have to see how—”
    “Where is she?”
    David’s com chimed a second after the voice roared in the hallway, and one of the Elite said, “Sire . . . incoming.”
    Prime James Hart flung open the double doors of the audience room, scattering the Elite who were still in attendance as he shoved his way past them toward the dais. “I demand an explanation for this!” he thundered. His eyes were pure silver, practically glowing, and his teeth pressed downward, though not quite enough to impair his speech as he yelled, “You will return the girl this instant!”
    Miranda wasn’t afraid of Hart, but the sheer strength of his rage almost made her take a step back. She stood her ground at David’s side, and the Prime crossed his arms and regarded Hart coolly.
    One of these days she was going to figure out how to do that.
    “Be very careful, Lord Prime,” David told Hart. “You are not in your home territory and there are now four crossbows pointed at your back.”
    Miranda kept her eyes on Hart, but she heard the creak of wood from the corners of the room, where four Elite had appeared and were now awaiting the order to shoot.
    “This is an outrage,” Hart ground out, towering over David, who merely looked up at him with a completely neutral expression. Hart was a tall man, imposing, used to intimidating people, but he couldn’t intimidate David. It simply wasn’t possible. “Give her back.”
    “No.”
    “This is an act of—”
    “Say it, Hart,” David hissed, eyes narrowing, their blue going silver at the edges. “Say the word and I’ll have you shot before you take another breath. Start a war between us right now and it will be finished right now.”
    Hart snarled, “You had no right to steal what rightfully belongs to me.”
    “I stole nothing. Cora came to my Queen and asked for asylum. She has exposed your cruelty and your participation in illegal slavery—and we’ll see what the Council has to say now that we have evidence to back up the rumors.”
    Hart turned on Miranda. “You did this, then. I should have known. You stupid little whore—no woman takes what’s mine. I’ll teach you—”
    Hart raised his arm to backhand her, and Miranda felt David start toward them, but finally, Miranda’s rage and hatred toward this sick excuse for a man had an outlet, and she let it fly, drawing up her power and pushing —
    Hart flew backward, thrown hard across the room, and the sound of a body hitting the far wall and the crunch of breaking bones caused the Elite to freeze where they stood, staring with huge eyes at their Queen . . .
    . . . their Queen, whose palm was outstretched toward where Hart had been standing.
    She was breathing hard, but her body sang with pleasure and satisfaction, and she knew she was smiling.
    David crossed the room to stand over Hart, and she heard him say very quietly, “You have exactly one hour to leave my Haven. If you stay one moment longer, you will die. You are to leave the other three women here. Now, go.”
    He turned his back on Hart and returned to where Miranda stood; the armed Elite converged upon Hart and waited while he got to his feet, one arm sticking out at an unnatural angle, and limped away with the four crossbows still trained on him.
    Miranda lowered her hand, grounding herself, letting the excess power drain out of her. When she looked up at David he was staring at her, and to her amazement, he looked completely dumbfounded.
    “That was you,” he said.
    She nodded. “Yeah. I know; I shouldn’t have lost my temper.”
    “No, Miranda—it was you . You threw him.”
    “So?”
    “With your brain