Page 41 of Bound to the Dreadlord

He is not looking at me like a pet anymore.

He is looking at me like something else.

Something dangerous.

Then there’s a blur of movement. Another assassin lunges from the shadows.

Veylan barely has time to react.

The blade sinks into his side.

He lets out a sharp intake of breath—the first sound of pain I have ever heard from him.

Blood.

Dark and rich, it stains his tunic, slipping through his fingers as he snarls, turning in a vicious arc, his blade gutting the next assassin before he can pull back.

Another.

Then another.

They keep coming.

Veylan moves like a storm, unstoppable, unrelenting, cruel in his precision.

But there are too many.

His movements slow.

His injuries pull at him.

They are going to kill him and then they will kill me.

No.

My pulse slams against my chest, my body acting before my mind can catch up.

Another one comes for me.

I feel his presence before I see him.

A breath. A shift of air.

I turn my head and sing.

Louder this time.

Not a whisper. Not a plea.

A command.

Stop.

The assassin freezes.

His sword slips from his grip, his body locked in place, his mouth parting in silent terror.

His breath comes fast, rapid. His muscles tremble, resisting—but he cannot move.

---