Page 162 of A Song of Air
Weylyn smiled as he pushed himself up on bloody fingertips and turned to meet his mate and the absolutely lethal expression she wore.
“Do not,” she gritted out, “touch my mate.”
The king’s eyes widened as Bryson stepped deeper into the room. Her hand splayed out in front of her, pointed in the king’s direction, her brown-white eyes wearing an expression of absolute hatred.
“Do it, Weylyn,” she whispered. “The king isn’t goinganywhere.” As if to prove her point, her magic wiggled him about in a way that was mostly comical.
Weylyn smirked and prowled close to the king. He floated, his feet dangling close to the floor. From that position, the king overlooked him, but Weylyn felt far taller.
Decades of pent-up rage unleashed. The years Weylyn spent allowing himself to be humiliated by this Fae and his ilk. Years of degrading himself in the most vile of ways, of bending the knee to his sister’s murderer. It had all led to this.
And suddenly, Weylyn could not contain the feral part of him that wanted revenge any longer. He’d wanted him to suffer but now, all he wanted was him dead.
His fingers raked out, slashing across the king’s chest. Over and over again, he screamed his rage and his pain and drew blood from the monarch who had ruined his life so long ago. He scraped past robes and tunic and down to the flesh underneath and even then it wasn’t enough.
Weylyn lifted his bleeding fingers to the king’s neck, finding the grooves he’d left in the king’s skin before, inserting his nails in like pieces of puzzles that had found their way home. The king tried to move. To flinch. Bryson held him tight enough that the air seemed to seep from his lungs.
“I’m going to kill you now,” Weylyn whispered. “And your reign will finally end.”
Weylyn inhaled the fear and relished it. His smile came slowly right before he let out a cry and began hacking viciously through the king’s neck with his bare hands. The squelch of blood and the crack of bone were melodious enough to make him laugh. Once he began, he could not stop the sound from pouring out of his mouth. He laughed and howled as the first layer of flesh slowly peeled from his body.
It was not pleasant.
It was painful.
It was not a quick death.
Every layer Weylyn peeled seemed to heal as quickly as it was shed, only for Weylyn started the process all over again. And the king screamed behind a gag of wind, eyes filled with tears as the pain consumed him, until his energy seemed to wane and his flesh parted open for Weylyn to tear through.
Yet with one last surge of strength, the king unleashed his magic. It reached further than where Weylyn stood.
The king’s shadow magic shook the entire castle of Dana. It groaned and shrieked and threatened to crumble down. But Weylyn was already yanking past flesh and vein and bone, tasting the blood of the king who had killed his younger sister. It sprayed a geyser across his face and he tasted the vengeance on his tongue like a nectar. Weylyn’s smile widened as he wrenched the king’s head from his shoulders. Blood spattered. Bones cracked. It came off with a satisfying pop.
And Weylyn stepped away from the floating body, clutching the Seelie King’s head tightly in his hand. He held it up to his face, relishing in the open-mouthed expression the king wore in death.
And still it was nothing compared to what he and his court had done to his sister.
The castle gave one final groan, like the bones of it were shuddering against the king’s death. Rejoicing, even.
And Weylyn smiled and tasted the blood on his teeth.
He whirled, the king’s head swinging in his hand, and faced his beautiful, terrifying dreadful mate.
Bryson stood there, staring at the gore and the blood dripping down the throne as it pooled at Weylyn’s feet. He waited for the disgust, the horror, but she just moved her shoulders as she took the breath of relief he felt inside. Her Elemental magic released and behind him, the king’s body dropped like a sack of stones with a wet plop.
The tension he’d been holding in for years eased as he stared at his mate. She seemed to say,‘It’s okay, I’m here.’
“It is done,” Weylyn whispered. “The Seelie King is dead.”
Valerio sat at a large table with a feast before him. Servers filled his plate, piling it high with vegetables and meats and fish. He didn’t reach for his meal. He stared across the table at his friends. He couldn’t explain why there was an uncomfortable churning in his belly. Why something felt looming, a sense of impending doom that overcame him like a premonition.
He swept another glance around the table. Weylyn was predictably missing as the moment they’d arrived, his father had cornered him and demanded his presence in the throne room, while completely ignoring Valerio’s existence.
The fourth Elemental was nowhere to be seen.
He only wanted to assume that perhaps she’d gone to lay in wait for Weylyn, however he could not help but feel a thorn in his chest in regard to her. There was something about her that Valerio didn’t wholly trust. Not only because she was Weylyn’s mate, but that she’d so readily accepted him. And Valerio did not trust Weylyn, therefore he was sure he could not trust her either.
Sure, she had agreed to help them. She seemed to get along well enough with the other Elementals, but there was still something off about her. Like she did not quite fit into the fold, or at least held herself back from them partly.
