Page 65 of Bound to the Dreadlord

Too slow.

I catch the shaft, twist, and slam it back into his chest. Bones crack. He gasps, his mouth opening like a fish out of water before I slam my boot into his face and send him into the stone.

Blood spatters the walls.

Three left.

They hesitate now. Good. They should.

The leader, to his credit, does not waver. He snarls, lunging for me. His sword sings through the air.

Steel meets steel.

The clash shudders through my bones.

I give him one second of hope.

But I rip it away.

My second blade plunges into his stomach.

The moment his body slackens, I rip my sword free and let him fall.

The remaining two do not wait.

They drop their weapons and run.

I let them.

I want them to carry my name in their screams.

Let them tell their lords that Veylan Drazharel is here.

Let them know that death follows in my wake.

That he is coming for her.

I move deeper into the stronghold, hunting.

Velkiron’s stronghold is different from my own. Too polished, too refined. A house built on experimentation, on forbidden blood magic that has twisted the very walls themselves. The energy here hums, sickly and unnatural.

It grates against my skin.

But I do not care.

She is close.

Her presence pulls at me.

Then, I hear it.

A scream.

Not loud. Not terrified.

But defiant.

My hands tighten around my sword.

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