Page 64 of Bound to the Dreadlord

Something inside me shifts.

A decision.

There will be no mercy.

There will be no negotiations.

House Velkiron will bleed.

I will carve through them until she is back where she belongs.

With me.

24

VEYLAN

They took her.

They took what was mine.

There is no hesitation.

The bloodlust comes swift, merciless.

I move through the stronghold like a shadow of death. The first to see me does not scream. He does not get the chance. My blade slides through his ribs, the steel singing as it finds its home in his flesh. His breath catches in his throat, eyes bulging before he crumples to the stone floor.

His blood is still warm on my fingers when I pull my sword free.

The second man is smarter—he tries to run.

He fails.

A single flick of my wrist, and a dagger blossoms in the back of his skull. He drops before he can even take his second step.

Good.

The fools thought they could steal from me, take her from me, and simply live?

They were wrong.

House Velkiron’s Stronghold is a place of cold, calculated treachery. Stone corridors weave like a labyrinth, torches flickering against damp walls. The halls stink of arrogance, of nobles who think themselves untouchable.

I will remind them what fear tastes like.

Their guards rush in. Six men.

Their leader, a brute of a dark elf, sneers, silver armor gleaming beneath the dim light.

“You dare enter our home alone, Dreadlord?” he taunts, blade lifting. “Brave or foolish?”

I do not answer.

I move.

The first dies before he can lift his sword. My blade slices across his throat, severing the words before they leave his lips.

The second comes at me fast, a spear lunging for my heart.

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