Page 49 of A Sword of Ice
“Don’t kill him,” she pleaded.
A muscle in his neck strained tightly and a growl rumbled through his chest. “He hurt you.”
“I said don’t kill him!” Her nails dug into the leather, ripping it and breaching the skin underneath. He felt the sharp press of her magic, threatening, warning.
“Fine,” he conceded, dropping the human unceremoniously to the ground. His legs crumbled from beneath him, and Julius was sure he heard an ankle snap. Julius’ foot connected with the sword; an abomination made of iron, he kicked it out of the human’s reach.
Iona bent, and he noticed the pull of her features, but he didn’t rush to help like instinct demanded. Her wishes were more important than his feral demands. “Where is he?” she demanded.
The human sniveled like the coward he was.
Julius couldn’t help himself after that. His foot stomped down on the man’s leg and the crack reverberated loudly through the office. Then came his cries.
“My mate asked you a fucking question,” Julius spat.
“Fuck! Fuck! Okay, I’ll tell you. Gods, please stop! I sold him back to the Kurreen. They took him to the West Isles. Fuck! My leg! My nose!”
“I want a fucking name!” Iona shouted, causing him to flinch.
“Temair Beston, okay?! He’s the whip wielder from before! The West Isles! That’s where they told me they were taking him!”
“You better pray my familiar is alive and healthy, Petey,” she threatened, her voice dark and low. “I put up with you for years because I respected your father. You attacked me, betrayed me, and sold my familiar.”
Every word she spoke fueled Julius’ anger even more. He kept them close, letting the acrimony ravage through his body, and he memorized every thread of it like he was ingraining the intricate details of a tapestry in his mind.
“I hope Mana destroys your soul, giving you no rest after you’re gone,” she spat. Cruel, offensive words to the Fae. “In case you didn’t understand that, then I’ll make it simpler for you. Rot in fucking hell.”
She started to stand and the human lunged for her, striking out with his hand, but Julius was there, using his arm as a barrier. He felt the sting of iron cut through leather and embed into his skin. He hissed a single breath of discomfort and the human’s hand fell away, leaving the knife lodged into his skin.
The human recoiled at the expression on Julius’ face. He didn’t bother to pull the knife from his arm as he bent and picked the human up by the head, dangling him between his two arms. The human flailed and cried.
Julius called forth his magic.
And he crushed the human’s head between his hands.
His palms smacked together. Brains, broken bits of skull, and blood exploded, staining his borrowed uniform. He didn’t care. All that mattered was the asshole was fucking dead.
He turned to Iona, wondering if he’d see disgust in her face at what all he was capable of. Fae were naturally stronger than humans, but he was stronger than most Fae. It was a gift from Mana, and it came at the price of his rage.
His nostrils were flaring, and he tried to keep the irrational anger in check. He grabbed the hilt of the iron dagger and yanked it out of his arm. Blood pooled from the wound and pain shot up his extremity that he ignored.
He could only stare at Iona. At the beautiful picture she made.
It was common for him after a fight to want a strong drink and a hard fuck.
Iona could give that to him, he thought.
Instinctively, he knew that, but he didn’t reach for her. She was the one who reached for him. She grabbed his arm and pulled it close, staring at the wound, her head shaking. Dark eyes were glaring at the blood like it was a nuisance.
He supposed he shouldn’t tell her she had remnants of the human splattered in her curls, then.
“You fucking idiot,” she grumbled. “You had to go and get yourself stabbed.”
He blinked with incredulity a moment before his lips curled into a smile of amusement. The rage abated. What usually took hours to leave his body left in an instant simply by looking into her eyes. “Right back at you, mate.”
“It’s just a scratch.” But he could tell that it wasn’t just a scratch. He wanted to haul her over and sit her down in front of Ryker, who’s gentle herbal smell waited for them right outside the broken door. “I can live with it. Right now, there are more important things that need doing.”
“What could possibly be more important than tending to these wounds?”
