Page 54 of Beast of Blood and Ash
Omvar didn’t look at me. He didn’t dare. His focus was absolute, his body a coiled spring of lethal intent. A low, continuous growl rumbled in his chest, a sound that promised a slow, painful death.
I forced myself up, scraping my knees raw, just to see. I felt small. Exposed. Trapped.
Predator versus predator.
And I was the prey caught between them.
23
OMVAR
This bastard thoughthe could take my mate?
He was already dead. He just didn’t know it yet.
Every thought, every wound, every memory was gone. Burned away in the killing heat that roared in my blood. The world narrowed to the space between me and Draskeer. The roar that tore from my throat wasn’t a sound; it was the mate-bond given voice, a promise of annihilation that shook the stone beneath my claws.
Heat hammered the volcanic plain, the ground shivering with tension beneath the red sky. Sulfur stung my nose, the air shimmering with the poison of old eruptions and the scarlet haze of twin suns. Grit scoured my scales as the wind screamed across obsidian spires, slicing every exposed inch of flesh.
I crashed down in a storm of dust, and rock exploded outward as my wings flared. A cataclysm of fury bellowed inside me. The gash in my side wept blood, a hot, sticky track down my scales, but the pain was a distant thing, not even an inconvenience. Nothing penetrated the tunnel-vision that fixed Draskeer in my sights.
My entire being was a weapon, honed and aimed at the male who dared to touch what was mine.
He shoved her aside. Reika stumbled and fell, a small, fragile thing against the unforgiving rock.
My body jerked to go to her, but I didn’t dare. I couldn’t look at her for more than a second. To see her fear, her pain, would shatter my focus and risk it all. My gaze locked on Draskeer, a predator’s stare, absolute and lethal. A low, continuous growl rumbled in my chest. The ground vibrated with it.
I would give him a slow, very painful death.
His feet slid back, heels grinding black grit as he saw me. The arrogant smirk disappeared from his face, replaced by a flash of disbelief, then a vicious hatred that mirrored my own. Sweat gleamed at the edge of his jaw, and his tail bristled, scraping the scorched stone.
We circled. Two monsters locked in a deadly dance. The prize: a small, unbroken human, braver than any warrior I’d ever known. The heat pressed in, suffocating; the sulfur thick enough to taste on my tongue. Wind clawed at my wings, swirling dust and embers in angry spirals. I watched his every step, every twitch of claw and tail.
He let the silence stretch, then rolled his shoulders, finding his bravado. The play-actor from the arena, remembering his audience. Skorai’s dog could never resist the theater. He flicked the blade in his hand, letting the desert sun catch on the jagged edge. The scent of old blood hung on him like a shroud.
“You were always soft. Even in the pits, you never had the stomach for the real work,” he sneered, his blade glinting.
I didn’t answer. Words were a weakness I couldn’t afford. I let his taunts wash over me, fuel for the fire. The bond screamed in my blood. Protect her. End him.
He wanted me to lose control, to go wild and make mistakes. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. My claws curled into the ashen ground until the rock cracked, my arms tight, wings hunched with the promise of violence.
We crashed together, blades drawn, metal clanging so hard the echo split the sky. He pressed, I forced back, the weapons scraping scales and skin. The clangs became a drumbeat in my chest.
Fury. Focus.
Every step thundered, every breath harsh and dry as the desert wind.
He was good. Cunning. He feinted, drawing me in, and his claws caught me high on the shoulder, grating against bone. Pain, white-hot and blinding, lanced through me. I roared in agony and fury and hit back with a sweep of my tail. He staggered back.
But he recovered too quickly.
He came in low, under my guard, and a searing pain exploded in my already wounded side. My leg buckled. I went down to one knee, the world tilting, the red sky spinning. My vision flickered to gray at the edges.
Draskeer stood over me, his chest heaving, a triumphant, bloody grin splitting his face. “The great champion of Ignarath,” he spat. “Brought to his knees.”
My claws dug trenches in the stone, the ground biting back with heat and grit. My head pounded, my throat burning with each ragged breath.
This was it. He was going to end me.
