Page 27 of Taken By the Storm King

Not one of Thalassar’s people.

This creature was something else entirely---thick-limbed, broad-shouldered, its skin a dull, mottled gray-blue. Where Thalassar’s kind moved like flowing water, this thing was all harsh angles and coiled aggression. A shark given humanoid form.

His solid black eyes locked onto me, unblinking.

I took an instinctive step back.

“Well,” I muttered. “You’re new.”

His lips peeled back in a grin, revealing rows of serrated teeth.

A knife gleamed in his hand.

No mistaking that.

I didn’t wait for him to attack.

I moved.

Instinct kicked in as I spun, driving my elbow toward his face. He caught my arm, but I was already shifting my weight, using his hold as leverage to slam my knee into his side.

The impact was solid---too solid. Like hitting a wall of muscle and cartilage. He grunted but didn’t go down.

I wrenched free, twisting out of his grip just in time to avoid the downward arc of his knife.

“That the best you got?” I taunted, though my heart pounded.

He lunged again, faster this time. I dodged, but my dress tangled at my feet, the flowing fabric suddenly a liability.

His claws raked down my arm as I twisted away, pain flaring hot and sharp.

“Okay, now I’m mad.”

I grabbed a decorative vase from a nearby pedestal and smashed it across his face. The pottery shattered, cutting deep into the flesh around his eyes.

The shark-man staggered, black blood oozing from the wounds.

I pressed my advantage, dropping low to sweep his legs out from under him. He hit the ground hard, snarling.

I rolled, coming up in a crouch, ready for his next move---

Too late.

Arms like iron clamped around me from behind.

A second attacker.

Stupid. I’d been so focused on the fight, I hadn’t checked for more.

Clawed hands wrenched my arms back, pinning me. I thrashed, but his grip only tightened.

The first attacker climbed to his feet, wiping blood from his eyes. He bared his teeth in something too cruel to be a smile.

“Let me go!” I snarled, struggling harder.

The one holding me let out a low, guttural laugh.

The first attacker lifted his knife.

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