Page 51 of Beast of Blood and Ash
The walls were battered, flecked with handprints and the desperate arcs of fingers dragged during the last moments of a struggle. I tasted iron on the air, thick and choking.
Screams slashed the silence. Human, Drakarn—there was no difference when the pain was deep enough. The noise rebounded, multiplied by the low ceiling, the roundness of the alcoves.
The Ignarath infiltrators came in tight formation, a hand-picked squad wielding their discipline like a chain. Not a pack of wild brutes, not a roving mob. Each movement was calculated, lines of attack closing with the cold, surgical precision only years of blood games could breed. They pressed forward, step by step, no wasted motion, no unnecessary sound.
I let the Beast of Ignarath off its leash.
My claws were for tearing.
My fangs were for rending.
There was no room for gentleness there. The old, black part of me, the one carved by Skorai’s hand, reveled in the violence.
This was what I was made for. To be the monster that hunted other monsters.
I moved through the enemy ranks like a scythe, every blow a killing strike. Bone snapped under my fists. My claws found throats, the hot gush of arterial blood painting the stones. The Ignarath fought hard but not like me.
No one fought like me.
I slammed one to the ground, felt the ridge of his spine yield, crushed it beneath my knee. Another, smaller, tried to flank me; I twisted, caught his blade, snapped his wrist, finished him with a single, silent bite to the throat.
There was beauty in it, the rhythm of destruction, a dance I’d been bred for, a language older than words. I heard Nyx’s battle cry and saw Khorlar sweep his tail to knock two enemies from their feet. We moved with the storm, unafraid of the blood, unafraid of ourselves.
This wasn’t random. This wasn’t chaos. It was a slaughter. Assassins. Their faces were stripped of joy or fear. Only focus, and the drive to kill or die.
A scream cut the air. I spun?—
Kinsley, one of the humans with courage enough to start a riot in her sleep, was being dragged away, kicking, spitting curses. Her captor was massive, scales scored by the scars of a hundred pit fights. I bellowed a challenge, a sound that would have broken a lesser Drakarn, but another Ignarath intercepted, blade flashing at my throat.
Khorlar and Nyx broke off, their priorities shifting as humans scattered, vulnerable. Nyx pulled Kira, stunned, pale, blood splashed across her face, from the clutches of a dying Ignarath.
Khorlar scooped up Eden, her arm limp and hanging, blood streaking her sleeve. The squad’s formation threatened to collapse, but they redoubled, fighting not for glory, but for their deadly mission.
A shadow flickered in the corner of the melee.
“Where did these bastards come from?” Vega seemed to materialize out of nowhere, a wickedly sharp knife clutched in her hand, blood streaked up to her wrist. Her eyes were wild, hair plastered to her temples. “Three attacked us. And now this?”
I was a breath away from responding, some growled reassurance rising in my throat, when I saw him.
Draskeer.
The same guard I’d done my best to keep away from Reika in Ignarath. Skorai’s pet bruiser, a specialist in pain. The bruise-scaled bastard.
My vision tunneled. Draskeer’s arm was a band of iron around Reika’s waist, his claws digging into her as he draggedher, writhing, into the shadows at the far end of the corridor. The panic in her eyes was a knife under my ribs.
My world snapped, crushed by the mate-bond. The fury that tore out of my chest had nothing to do with honor or Scalvaris or even vengeance.
A sound of pure, world-ending fury rose in me—no longer a warrior, but a mate being robbed.
“Omvar! Secure the others!” Khorlar’s voice was a distant irrelevance, his order drifting like wind-blown ash.
The bond screamed. A singular, burning command that superseded rank, strategy, and reason.
Find her.
Save her.
It drowned out everything else. I saw only the space where she had been, the bruises on Draskeer’s arms, the glint of his fangs too close to her skin. I couldn’t hear the battle behind me. I couldn’t hear Nyx’s shout or Khorlar’s curses.
