Page 68 of A Dance With Fire
His hand went to the Fire Dancer’s, and he gently touched her wrist, drawing her attention towards him. With a jerk of his chin to indicate she should follow, he started forward, and she did what he asked.
He was glad she was obeying his silent commands, but he should have known it wouldn’t last.
At the first shout and sound of clashing battle, she broke away from him and ran into the camp.
He knew his prince would want him to follow her, but Ryker wasn’t her fucking babysitter. If she wanted to disobey orders and get herself killed, that was her own fucking problem. Not his. His problem was making the humans pay for what they did. To Des. To Orna. To Mairin. They would all taste the rage of his vengeance and his sword would mete out punishment in swift, agonizing blows. And when he found Orna, he would heal her and take on pain as a penance for all he’d done and all he would do.
Not out of guilt for the lives he took. He would never feel guilty for taking a human life. Not again. Not after all they’d done. Because once their souls were reaped by their devil and the blood cleaned off his sword, he remembered Mairin and the guilt hit him. He mourned her and the deaths of his own people, and he took the pain that came with his magic, because if the price to pay was his own agony in order to save one more life, then he would accept his punishment tenfold.
So as Shula ran away and met the violence head on, Ryker forced himself away from her and with a growl that shook the ground, charged towards a soldier and swiped the blade across his throat.
Blood ran red and slid against his leathers. Ryker didn’t watch as his dead body tumbled to the ground because he was already turning away to meet the next human. The iron debilitated him, slowing what would have been otherwise quick, blurred movements. It didn’t matter, though. He was still a warrior at heart. Still strong, and he took down the humans. One after another, they fell to their deaths.
Iron met steel, and the pulse of the substance made him grit his teeth with discomfort. He tried to ignore it. Tried to push past it, but it was strong.
Beyond the fray he could make out the bodies of his own people. Uric slashed his way through the darkness like a demon of legends, the steel glinting against his black eyes. Clay battled next to Valerio. Whatever flaws Clay had, like that big fucking mouth of his, he was a fighter.
His gaze darted around, frantically searching for any sign of Orna among the chaos. What he saw instead made him freeze.
“Clay!” he shouted.
The Fae in question jerked his head up in time to see Ryker gesture across the camp. He turned and cried out Shula’s name.
Ryker let out a roar and started towards her, and in that moment, he made a mistake. He let down his guard and a moment later, felt the sting of iron slash through his side.
* * *
Shula had never experiencedthe chaos of a battle. At least, not like this. This was brutal. It was watching bodies skewered with steel and fall in a spray of blood and earth. Shula stayed out of the battle, sticking to the shadows and keeping her eyes out for Orna. As much as she wanted blood and vengeance, Orna was more important and she had to find her.
She weaved her way past tents and tried to remain as inconspicuous as possible, but a human caught sight of her and charged.
Shula had never fought before. She was a dancer, not a warrior, and the one time she’d seen blood had been at the hands of an emperor’s soldier, a human who wore leathers just like the one charging after her. As he charged, her mind flashed back to that moment. So similar to this. Only then, the old human woman had placed herself before Shula.
But Shula wasn’t a little girl anymore and she reacted on instinct. She cried out her rage as she ducked away from him. Her knife could never be a match for his sword, but she had to try. She lifted her weapon and slashed out at him. He dodged and slapped the side of his sword against her wrist.
Agony radiated up her arm and the dagger clattered from her grip. She dropped to the ground at the swing of his sword and scrambled for her knife when she felt a yank on her ankle haul her backwards. She screamed and kicked out her feet but was tossed to her back.
The human loomed over her, pointing his iron weapon against her throat. An evil sneer marred his face as he lowered himself to the ground to straddle her waist.
“I’ll kill you, you Fae bitch.” She felt the press of iron against her throat sting and draw blood.
No!
She bucked against him and threw her hands up, scratching his face.
The taste of smoke pressed through her lungs, rising until she nearly choked. Something stirred inside of her, like dying embers suddenly sparking to life. Her palm slapped up and connected to his cheek and in a moment, all the rage and fire inside flared at the tips of her fingers.
The human screamed as she scorched his face. The stench of charred flesh reached her nostrils, but she didn’t care. All she could think through was her own rage, to make him pay. For what they did to her parents. For what they did to her.
A scream erupted from her lips as the power surged through her veins and all over her body, so hot, so unimaginably hot that the iron pointed at her neck suddenly erupted into flames and slowly began to melt. She didn’t feel the sweltering drip of it slide onto her body. She was already on fire. Her entire body combusted, covering her from head to toe.
She saw the moment the human’s eyes widened and fear consumed him.
It consumed him just before the fire did.
She pushed herself to her feet, looming over his body as he incinerated within seconds. She pulled away and when the flames died down, all that was left of the human was marred flesh, charred remains.
She heard the distant shout of her name, but the roar of flames in her ears was louder than any voice. She turned full circle. Humans were rushing towards her, wielding iron in their hands.
