Page 91 of Claimed By the Fae Lord

“I know.” Not only that, but the Anuban was weaving a spell.

In a moment's breath, a shadow detached from the melee, a figure charging towards me with lethal intent. My muscles tensed to react, but then, out of the corner of my eye, came another.

Then a third. Then more.

Suddenly we were the focal point, the fighters falling under the witch’s incantation, bearing down on us and ignoring the other berserkers still cutting them down.

“First team, find the witch!” my father bellowed. “Second team, get to Raina!”

I spun to deal with the closest, pulling my short sword and using my less dominant hand to deal with the other.

"Liam!”

I glanced over at Gunnar’s urgent yell.

Like I was watching the scene play out in slow motion, I saw Raina dispatch two attackers as something dark flew through the air directly on course for my chest. She shifted and threw up a wall of ice.

The projectile came through, like the barrier wasn’t even there. Raina, already sprinting towards me, jumped.

“Raina! No!” My warning came too late.

My brain rejected it all. The gruesome skewering sound. Her body folded over as her feet stumbled backwards until she crashed into me, the impact sending a jolt through me fiercer than any spell.

"Raina!" I screamed, my voice raw.

Her small frame had taken the blow meant for me, a blow that should have never reached her. They needed her alive. They were here to take her, not to kill her.

No, this was not happening. I lowered her to the ground, looking for the weapon but I only found an oily stain covering the wound in her chest. A wound that wasn’t bleeding.

Dread latched onto my heart with icy fingers. Her eyes were open, lifeless, staring up at nothing.

My shaking fingers felt around for a pulse.

Nothing.

I put my face close to hers, praying to feel her breath.

Nothing.

Nothing but ice cold lips already turned blue.

The beast inside me rose, demanding control. For the first time ever, I didn’t have the strength–or the will–to stop it.

My muscles expanded, clothing tightened, stitching popped at the seams. A bigger, badder, crazed version of myself arose.

The world blurred into a palette of rage and blood. A guttural roar ripped from my throat, matching the anguish that had taken root in my chest.

My grief morphed into a force of nature, a berserker's wrath that I had kept chained within, now unleashed. Instead of pushing me out completely, the beast left me with some semblance of awareness, just enough to let me know we were ending those who dared to harm what was ours.

My sword swung with savage abandon, each stroke cleaving through armor and flesh as if they were nothing but shadows. Enemies fell left and right, their faces indistinct, their cries unregistered.

I was no longer Liam, the Drótinn’s son, King Nox’s head guard; I was a storm, an oncoming tornado, indiscriminate and unstoppable.

It wasn’t enough. My beast howled for more.

Each death felt like a hollow victory, their defeat doing nothing to fill the void that Raina's fall had left inside me.

Shouts and cries rose and fell, but I paid no heed. Fae kept coming at me. I kept slicing.

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