Page 7 of Chained to the Champion
I almost spat something back, but I heard it, a shift in the wind, the drum of beating wings. The world shrank to a blade’s width, every sense on a blade’s edge.
“Down.” My snarl was more threat than word. “Two Ignarath.”
She slid her knife out and crouched, eyes narrowed, murder in her stillness.
My mind raced, marking escape and kill-zones. “Stay behind me and put that thing away. They see you, you die. That simple.”
She bristled, met my eyes with open defiance, but slipped the knife away again.
The two Ignarath cut across the sky, wings out wide, showing off. The big one had a whip wrapped around his wrist, promising stinging violence.
They landed with a flourish. They weren't wearing guard uniforms, but that didn't matter. Everyone in Ignarath was a threat.
“State your name.” The big one’s voice was all bark and bone. “You don't belong here. And what’s thatthing?”
It took everything in me not to growl and lunge at them. Howdarethey presume. But I had to play this right.
I dropped my eyes, played the lesser. “I'm a trader. Raiders took my cargo, and thisthingis all I managed to salvage.” Inodded Vega's way but didn't dare look at her. I needed her to trust me, to play along. We could still save this. “They call themselves humans. Aliens from some savage world. I heard the council likes toys.”
It tasted like acid and defeat.
The smaller one sneered. “Why not crawl through the east gate, trader?”
“Where do you think I was going?” I let my gaze flick to Vega. She didn’t move. “I just wanted one last moment to … enjoy this thing.”
They exchanged a look of disgust.
The little one spat at my feet, and his hand went to his blade, muscles tensed for violence.
I watched his eyes, read the twitch, and barely got a warning out before it erupted.
The big one lunged, whip uncurling from his wrist with a crack that split the air. Sun flashed along its length, and I twisted beneath the lash. The tip caught the edge of my bad wing—pain, fiery and blinding, kicked through every rib. I roared, fueled by spite and adrenaline, and drove forward. My claws found his forearm, wrenched the tender joint with all the hate pent up in me. Something gave with a wet, soiled click. He shrieked and spat broken teeth into my face as his whip tumbled from useless fingers.
His tail lashed low. I took the hit on my knees, legs crumpling for half a breath, hard grit chewing at my scales. I punched upward, claws digging into the chord of his neck, feeling the pulse thudding there, wanting to rip. He swung a fist, catching my cheek, but the blow only dragged me deeper into bloodlust.
Metal hissed. The little one darted for Vega, fast, all sinew and wicked steel. His blade flashed, an arc slicing for her throat. She twisted, rolled with a dancer’s beauty, and let him overextend. Her elbow cracked into his ribs. He doubled, andshe pivoted, leg sweeping his feet from under him. He hit the ground hard; she followed, driving her blade into his thigh to the hilt.
His scream ripped through the rocks, higher than any war cry. He didn't drop the knife. Vega snarled, teeth bared, and twisted the blade, turning his cry to a bubbling, ragged moan punctuated by curses in Ignarath dialect.
The big one thrashed under me, trying to buck free. I hammered his wrist with my heel until bone crunched. His other hand fumbled for the whip, too slow. I snatched the coil and snapped it across his face, split a scale, tasted his blood on my tongue. He rallied, slammed his skull into mine. Spots burst in my vision, but I clung on, forehead grinding down into his jaw. Cartilage crumpled; he spat blood and bile, face slick and trembling now.
The little one, leg pumping hot blood, went for Vega’s eyes with clawed fingers, but she caught his hand, twisting until knuckles turned white. She planted a knee into the meat of his tortured thigh again and again, drawing fresh shrieks from between his chipped fangs. But even wounded, he was Drakarn. His wings flared. Sand exploded into the air, spraying Vega’s face as he heaved her sideways and sprung, using the last surge of agony to launch himself out with a broken, lurching flap, wild blood streaking down his leg.
My own enemy bucked beneath me, fury giving him strength, but I locked my claws in the hollow of his neck, pressed until his scales changed color. He gurgled, spat more defiance. “Coward! Traitor?—”
“Keep talking,” I hissed. “I’ll peel your tongue from your mouth.”
He stilled, hatred burning in his golden eyes. For a moment, the world held its breath. Vega and I, panting and blood-smeared, Ignarath blood soaking the sand between us, broken bodies steaming in the fierce light.
With one last shove, I slammed his skull against the ground. He stopped fighting. My claws still dug in until I was sure he wouldn't be getting up again.
Vega crouched low, knife ready, watching the one who’d fled become nothing but a smudge on the sky.
Blood dripped off my knuckles, hot and sweet and proof we were still alive.
Her blood hit my nose, thin, metallic, too close. Instinct yanked me toward her, nearly shoulder to shoulder. “Are you hurt?” My voice rumbled, lower than a growl.
She rolled off the stone, breath heaving. “It's just a scratch.” Her palm dug into her shoulder, blood slicking her clothes. “I’m fine.”
