Page 28 of Claimed By the Fae Lord

It was a haunt of killers and criminals, the tavern where the Vendeca slithered through the shadows.

The pub's cacophony dulled as I stalked through it, every sense attuned to the hunt. My eyes, sharp as a hawk's, swept over the den of thieves and cutthroats.

Then, there they were—the huddle of midnight cloaks, Vendeca insignias glinting in the light from the fae lanterns. Their suspicious eyes narrowed at my approach.

My boots thudded with purpose against the floorboards. The crowd parted for me. Several of the assassins glanced at the black and gold crest on the front of my jacket.

I didn't need it, but at least they knew this wasn't a social visit.

"Talk," I growled, the word more beast than fae.

Their stubborn silence was a red flag to the bull of my wrath, and I could almost taste the tang of fear beginning to seep into the smoky air of the pub.

One tried to stand, a foolish attempt to assert some semblance of control. A mistake.

With a swift motion, my fist connected with his jaw, an audible crack slicing through the tension. He fell like a marionette with its strings cut.

"Nothing to say?" I sneered, my voice a dangerous whisper as I leaned in close to another, letting him feel the lethal promise coiled within me.

I grabbed him by his shirt, my knuckles white. I didn't enjoy brutality, but I was good at it.

"Your loyalty will cost you more than you can afford," I warned.

The pompous asshole shared a look of contempt with his cronies. Their unconscious peer hadn't been enough of a message, so I drew my dagger, not wasting a second.

My hand acted of its own accord, the blade in my grip finding its home in his traitorous heart with a precision honed in years of battles.

The body slumped, lifeless, to the floor, a silent testament to the futility of resistance.

"Next," I growled as I advanced toward another cluster of assassins.

They watched me approach, their eyes wide with the knowledge of what had just transpired. What was about to befall them.

They came at me together, perhaps thinking there was strength in numbers. I welcomed the challenge, the rush of combat.

A wicked grin split my face as I parried a thrust, spinning to drive my elbow into the gut of another assailant. "What's the matter?" I taunted. "Ten on one not good enough odds?"

But behind the jest, the clock in my head ticked relentlessly. A fury within burned hotter than the magic in my veins. I needed answers.

"Talk!" I demanded, slamming a Vendeca against the wall, the others momentarily forgotten. "Where is she?"

He spat blood and defiance, a smirk curling his lips even as fear flickered in his eyes. "Go to hell."

"Already there," I muttered, headbutting him, his nose breaking in a satisfying crunch.

"Who's next?" I spun around, ready for more.

Their answer came fast in the form of a blade aimed for my throat. I arched back, plugging the male just below the sternum and kicking his knee. He dropped immediately.

The remaining Vendeca spread out, finally pulling their heads out of their asses. It wouldn't help.

I advanced, stepping over the groaning prostrate form, feeling the pull of muscles and sinew, honed by years of training and battle. Each step was measured, calculated, knowing what they were about to do in response.

Their coordinated attack came fast. I was faster.

A curse here, a whimper there. I was a force of nature, an unstoppable storm of vengeance and wrath.

"Bastard!" growled a hulking brute who seemed to think his size would help him.

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