Page 77 of Sanctuary of the Shadow
She should have driven a blade through his chest while he slept. He would have helped her sink it deeper.
The door crashed open behind him. Shouts filled the air.
Raith lurched to his feet, spinning around to face the intruders. It was Salizar, accompanied by several others. Raith recognized the blond hair of Loren in the fray. Salizar was armed with his lightning stick and a length of chain that gave off the strong scent of Air magic. They rushed into the room, coming at him. To capture him and deliver him to Darya for extermination. Just like he had exterminated Harrow’s family.
But Raith wasn’t hiding what he was now, wasn’t hopelessly wishing to be something he wasn’t. He spread his wings as wide as they would go, and the talons at the tips hit the ceiling. He flexed his fingers and lengthened his claws to their full extent. He may have been broken, but he still had one thing left to live for: vengeance.
He threw his head back and roared.
It was earsplitting, and his enemies stumbled back, hands over their ears. Salizar shouted orders to them over the din. They approached anew. Raith swept out with his claws, too lost in his rage to see who or what he was striking. Blood sprayed, painting his naked chest, painting the walls and the furniture. Screams filled the tiny room.
Salizar swung the enchanted chain, striking Raith in the shoulder. Agony erupted, his body crumpling beneath him—the weapon sapped his strength like a siphon.
He didn’t care. He would fight to his own death if he had to.
In this battle, Raith had two major advantages. One, he was a wraith—a living, breathing instrument of death—and he was enraged. And two, Salizar had orders to take him alive, which meant the Enchanter would be measuring his attacks. Raith had no such stipulations.
He swiped his claws again as the chain struck once more. More agony, more weakness. The maddened wraith roared again. The attackers stumbled, hands slamming back over their ears.
Tiny flames erupted around the room from his fury. He no longer possessed the ability to kill with a touch of Fire, but his rage still stoked it into spontaneous existence. He didn’t need the Fire to kill anyway. His claws, his teeth, and his body were sufficient. After all,hewas the weapon.
Salizar struck again. Raith stumbled back, crashing into upturned furniture. Blood poured from his chest, but he was far from done.
The next time Salizar struck, Raith caught the chain in midair. The Enchanter’s eyes widened. The chain melted through the skin of his palm almost instantly, draining his consciousness like a sinkhole sucking down water. He ignored it. With a fierce yank, he pulled it from Salizar’s grip and tossed it away.
Snarling furiously, Raith advanced on his foe.
Salizar brandished his next weapon—the lightning stick. He swung out, stabbing the staff into one of Raith’s wings. Trickles of lightning erupted from the point of contact, spreading through the leathery expanse into his body.
Raith roared in pain, pumping the injured wing furiously to ward off the staff. Still, he advanced, stumbling now.
Salizar swung, striking again. More lightning, until Raith’s entire body was coated in it. Still, he advanced. Another swing, another strike. Raith stumbled again, blackness creeping into the edges of his vision. The light of victory shone in Salizar’s blue gaze. He swung again, close enough now to stab the sharp tip of the staff into Raith’s abdomen. The agony was unbearable, yet Raith had survived worse.
His clawed hand lifted and wrapped around the staff.
Lightning shot down his arm, but he didn’t let go. Salizar’s eyes widened, but he thrust forward, stabbing the point deeper into Raith’s stomach. Still, Raith gripped the staff, fighting to retain consciousness.
It only took one second of distraction for the tide to turn.
Beside them, a man with a bleeding chest wound tried to rise and join the fight but was easily knocked aside by one of Raith’s wings. It was Loren, he dimly realized. Salizar’s gaze flicked to him for the briefest of seconds. It was all Raith needed.
He jerked on the staff, the tip sinking deeper into his own flesh. It was yanked from Salizar’s grip.
Raith caught the other end with his free hand, the one injured by the chain. He didn’t even notice because a far worse sensation quickly overrode it.
Lightning shot down both his arms like he’d stuck them into the eye of a furious storm. It traveled over his whole body, frying him from the inside out. But Raith was used to burning.
Roaring with all the fury and agony and hatred of his entire fucking existence, he used all the remaining strength in his wasted body to push the ends of the stick toward each other.
With a booming explosion and a brilliant flash of white, the staff snapped in half.
Instantly, dead silence fell over the room.
He tossed the useless halves of the staff aside. Staggering forward, black spots peppering his vision, he moved toward Salizar and wrapped a clawed hand around his neck.
A blade sank into Raith’s abdomen, just below the ribs.
Raith stumbled, glancing down. Blood flowed out around the wound, down to his hip, soaking into his pants. Magic coated the blade—he could feel whatever enchantment it possessed seeping into his body.
