Page 6 of What Whispers in the Dark
I know,Thalon interrupted.
Garrik growled, stifling his reprimand for Thalon’s disobedience. He had not conserved his strength. Because directly in front of him … like a mirrored reflection … the exit of Thalon’s portal materialized. He glimpsed his shadow-self on the other side the moment the wingborne Raven passed through. Hand-delivered to Garrik’s feet by his Guardian’s gifts.
Splicing the chains in two, that portal imploded.
No doubt his screams were heard over the whole of Elysian. Like the sharpened edge of his blade, Garrik swung his arm—one lethal swipe. Slicing off the male’s wings and careening them into the decrepit water.
“You test my patience,” Garrik snarled at those remaining as he slammed his boot through the shrieking male’s skull, his voicenothinglike himself. Horrifying. Rapturous and grim. As if Darkness himself had created Garrik in his image and unleashed him.
Near the water, frost gathered on the ground. Darkness crept along the grass until it collected in a male-shaped pillar, dawning him closer.
Young voices whimpered and cried out, their faces pale and quivering and tear-drenched as a solid sword dawned into Garrik’s shadow-made palm. Out of the whorls, he stepped, a creature entirely hellish and unholy for this world. Parting the storming death-cloud for his monstrous silhouette to feather into existence.
Some of the younglings ran. All directions, chased by their broken chains.
Garrik cocked his shadowy head.
One of the three elites clenched his sword as if the physical offense could do anything to a demon. “Come on, then,” he challenged, but Garrik’s abyss for eyes narrowed on the rapid pulse of his neck.
He darkly laughed.
Did it again.
A sound that echoed through the depths of Elysian’s core and had Firekeeper’s realm cowering. Etched with nightmarish purpose and depraved pleasure.
Knowing not if it was serpent darkness or his own desire, Smokeshadows coiled around the male’s throat at Garrik’s next breath and beheaded him with a hastysqueezejust as he angled his sword to strike.
A youngling screamed. More followed. Terrified ofhim—as they should be.
He would have harbored sympathy if not for his control nearly gone. Teetering an edge that he was hopeless to avoid, as the wordskill them allsank in their claws and pulled, pulled,pulled.
From the center of the younglings and using them as a living, moving shield, the remaining two captors forced their way to the edge of the pond. Had the one not stepped aside, Garrik may have ripped both their limbs off with his bare hands. But as one jerked the chains, the other stepped into the water.
With a newborn in his hands.
“Ever watched something disappear beneath the surface? It’s a slow, agonizing thing.”
Garrik stepped?—
“One more and watch the whelp sink.” Yellow teeth gleamed, as if he had the control now. As if he expected to bargain with Death himself and live this day through.
Garrik looked him over.Slowly.Animalistic.
The faintest flicker of hesitation danced on the male’s face. A contorted smile.
What remained of Garrik’s faemanity took hold.
He threw a shield?—
Lunged—
Water surged around him. Down and down and down, into the endless black.
He stroked his palms through water as frigid as his corpse-cold skin. Kicking forward, lungs burning, reaching and reaching and?—
A flash.
A pale limb. Amber eyes. His shield wrapped around the babe—heartbeat steady and strong.
