Page 31 of Beast of Blood and Ash
A trace of burnt musk at a crossroads was just old fear, an echo from my own skin. A faint scuff of claw on stone, but it was only a fledgling, already gone. I stalked deeper, the city’s pulse never quickening, only the hush growing heavier, pressing against my skull like a physical weight. The silence was suffocating, worse than any cry in the dark. No alarms. No foreign scent. No excuse to spill blood and call it justice.
I hated it. Hated that the only thing I could do was look, circle, and snarl at shadows. Was that all I was? An outcast with nothing to offer but nightmares and the memory of violence?
I circled back, each empty corridor feeding a fresh hunger for a fight that couldn’t be satisfied. The threat was still out there, coiled in every shadow. I found nothing. No Ignarath agent, noreason to strike. Just the city locked down tight, holding its breath.
Returning to my quarters, every bone in my body vibrated with the effort not to smash something just to prove I was still alive. Reika slept on, curled so tightly in the tangle of blankets it looked like she was trying to disappear. I sat on the edge of the bed and watched her chest rise and fall, my hands planted between my knees. I wanted to join her, to let exhaustion finally swallow me, but I couldn’t. Couldn’t let myself go soft. Not when one wrong moment meant she’d be gone.
I sat vigil. Waiting for the world to break.
Hours later, a sharp rap at the door cracked the heavy hush of the room. I rose, my blood a hot surge in my veins, my jaw set. That kind of knock signaled a summons. I should’ve expected it. After yesterday, after volunteering for duty then vanishing and stalking the tunnels dripping Ignarath blood, I was already drawing too many eyes.
I eased the door open, careful not to completely block the view of the bed. A runner handed me a piece of paper stamped with Darrokar’s seal. The Blade Council wanted a word.
Perfect. Political theater before breakfast.
Reika stirred, blinking up at me with cautious eyes. Bleary, soft, and instantly wary. The sight speared something vital in my chest.
“Darrokar wants to talk,” I told her, my voice low. “You’ll be safe here while I’m gone.”
She propped herself up on one elbow. “Are you going to leave me locked up in your rooms every day?” Her tone was brittle, somewhere between a tease and an accusation, the real question hiding just underneath.
I hesitated. Did she want freedom? Or did she want me to stay? My own instincts screamed to keep her there, locked away from the world, but I’d seen her broken by cages too many times.
“Would you like to go to the human quarters?” I forced my voice to stay gentle, though it grated against my possessive need. “If others are there and I post a guard, it could be safe.” The thought of anyone else watching her made bile rise in my throat.
She’d been caged enough.
Her eyes flicked away. “I’ll be okay.” A lie, told for both our sakes.
We stood in that awful, awkward silence, the air thick with things we would not say. I was torn between the urge to reach for her and the certainty that if I did, I would shatter something fragile between us.
Our gazes caught. I didn’t dare press a kiss to her temple, didn’t trust myself to touch her without taking more. In the end, I just nodded and turned, walking out with her scent burning a path down my spine.
The city swallowed me. The tunnels were warmer now, the light flickering with the first hints of day. I made my way to the Blade Council chamber, a vast space carved from volcanic rock where every step echoed with the weight of tradition and ancient violence. Its heavy doors stood open, and the heat crystals set deep in the walls cast long lines of light like drawn swords.
Inside, the council waited.
Darrokar was a mountain of obsidian scales and coiled authority, his massive form radiating command even at rest. Khorlar, gray-scaled and blunt as ever, stood with arms crossed, watching me with unreadable eyes. Nyx lounged nearby, his posture deceptively casual, but his gaze was sharp enough to flay a lesser warrior.
I squared my shoulders and crossed to the center of the floor, the battered insignia of Scalvaris tight around my arm, the only marker of my precarious belonging. The silence in the chamber was a physical thing, every heartbeat a drum against my ribs.
Darrokar’s voice was cold steel. “You brought a war to my city, Ignarath.” It wasn’t an accusation, just a statement of fact as heavy as a judgment.
“The war was coming whether I lived here or not,” I said, my voice a growl made careful by effort. My claws flexed at my sides.
Khorlar’s jaw worked, the ripple of suspicion and resentment never quite leaving his face. Nyx watched, a flicker of sharp curiosity under all that practiced indifference.
Darrokar’s gaze pinned me, blade sharp. “Why now? What does Skorai want? What makes these humans worth the risk?”
My chest tightened. I thought of Reika in her cage, of the way Skorai made a sport of breaking spirits. Of how he saw all things as property, as challenges to his supremacy.
“Skorai’s pride is wounded,” I said, spitting the words. I hated how close they twisted to the truth of my own failings. “He sees the escaped humans as stolen. As challenges to his power. He doesn’t care who bleeds, so long as he proves he cannot be defied.”
“Why would he risk open conflict for so few?” Nyx asked, his voice smooth as oil, his tail flicking with interest.
I faced them, rage simmering just under the surface of my skin. “To make an example. To terrify the rest. To remind us all that the cages aren’t ever empty.” Their questions were like prodding at old wounds, but I forced the words out, each one a blade.
The council circled me with words, with tactics and consequences. They spoke of risks and alliances as if this were a game of pieces, not flesh and blood. My teeth ached with the need to roar.
