Page 2 of This Vicious Dream

My heart kicks in my chest, and the sudden fear slams a barrier between me and that…thing.

My hands scramble for the railing, tightening on the smooth wood.

I don’t bother using my power. Not while they’re so heavily warded.

Grappling hooks fly through the air, and our crew immediately begin slicing through ropes with both blades and power.

The distant splashes tell me some of them succeeded. But Kyldare brought more than enough soldiers with him. They swing through the air, descending like spiders on a web, boots hitting the deck.

More splashing as bodies hit the water. But not enough. A hook latches onto the railing just footspans from me and I pull my sword, slicing through the rope attached to it.

No splash. They were testing me.

Three more hooks.

I slice two of them. One splash.

Boots on wood.

My flames roar toward my attacker and the wind steals his scream.

Burning is a terrible way to die. So I push the soldier overboard as my flames engulf him.

“You’re welcome.”

The rain thickens into a relentless downpour. Thunder cracks in the distance, while the wind tears at our sails, straining the rigging to its limit. Icy droplets sting my skin, drenching me to the bone. My breath comes in ragged bursts, the cold air mixing with the heat simmering deep inside me, begging to be unleashed.

Kyldare couldn’t have chosen a better time to attack. My power churns in my chest like a caged beast, and I let it free as another soldier swings his body over the railing. But the water-logged air seems to smother every flicker of flame I bring to the surface.

My power is little more than a distraction to the next soldier, but he’s forced to dance in place as my fire slices toward his legs.

The distraction is enough.

I swing my sword, slicing through his neck. His head rolls free.

I gag.

More boots hit the deck. More soldiers fall to my sword. One of them manages to slice across my bicep, deep enough that I let out a hiss.

“Alive!” A voice roars, and the solider flinches.

I bury my blade deep in his gut.

Thank you for the distraction, Kyldare.

I take the opportunity to dart down the steps to the main deck. A soldier lunges for me, sword raised. He’s dead before he gets two steps, a blade through his back.

Lonn nods at me, pulls his sword free, and whirls, rejoining the fray. I catch a single glimpse of Daharak just a few footspans away. She fights like she’s possessed, blade a blur, footwork impeccable as she dashes across the slippery deck.

A hand clamps down on my shoulder. I turn into it, shoving my blade deep into the soldier’s thigh.

He curses, stumbling backward, and I clamp my hand tighter around the hilt of my sword. When I rip it free, blood spurts. I hit the artery.

He’s dead. Realization dawns on his face and I step away.

Blades clash. The howl of the wind melds with the screams of the dying, the clash of blades, the rumble of thunder. And still, the rain pounds us relentlessly.

The ship tilts beneath my feet and I slip, shifting to meet the next sword. Kyldare may have ordered his soldiers not to kill me, but this man is consumed by bloodlust, face twisted, teeth bared.

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