Page 15 of Bought by the Broken Beast
“Everything is fine,” Vorlag snaps. Then, a pause. A cold, calculating silence that stretches for an eternity. “Wait. Did you hear that?”
My heart stops.
“Hear what, Captain?”
“A sound. From in here.” Vorlag’s voice is closer now, right on the other side of the tapestry. “Check the room.”
The guard grunts his assent. Votoi tenses behind me, his entire body coiling like a massive predator about to strike. I can feel the low, guttural growl vibrating through his chest, a sound of pure, murderous intent.
The heavy, armored footsteps stop. Right outside the tapestry. A shadow falls over the woven fabric, blocking the faint light from the study. He is so close I can smell the oil on his leather armor. He is going to pull it back. He is going to see us.
We are trapped. We are dead.
12
VOTOI
There is no choice. No honor. There is only the human trembling behind me and the shadow of the guard falling across the tapestry. There is only the cold, clear certainty of her death if I remain hidden.
Before the guard’s hand can touch the woven threads, I explode from our hiding place.
The world erupts into chaos. The guard, his face a pale mask of shock, has no time to even raise his sword before my fist connects with his jaw. The crack of bone is a sharp, satisfying counterpoint to his strangled cry as he crumples to the floor.
“Treason!” Vorlag roars, his blade flashing in the lamplight.
I do not have a weapon. Iamthe weapon. I seize the nearest object—a heavy, ornate oak chair—and hurl it at him. It is not a warrior’s move; it is the desperate act of a cornered beast. The chair smashes into Vorlag, sending him crashing backward into a towering bookshelf. Tomes and scrolls rain down around him, a cascade of useless knowledge.
“Bella! Get back!” I roar, my voice a guttural command.
She scrambles away as Kairen, his face pale with a mixture of terror and fury, draws a long, decorative dagger from his desk.He is a merchant, not a fighter, but a cornered rodan will still bite. He lunges, the blade a silver streak aimed at my gut. I pivot, letting the blow glance off my ribs, the sting a familiar fire. I grab his wrist, twisting until the bone groans in protest. He screams, the dagger clattering to the marble floor. I shove him away, sending him sprawling over his own desk, a pathetic heap of fine silks and cowardice.
The room is a whirlwind of violence. Vorlag is back on his feet, his sword a blur of silver. He is Vakkak-trained, his movements economical and deadly. I am a gladiator, my style brutal, efficient, and forged in the bloody sands of the arena. We circle each other, two bulls in a pen too small for our rage. He thrusts, I evade. I lunge, he parries. He is the better swordsman. I am the stronger beast.
But there are others. Two more guards burst into the room, their swords drawn, their eyes wide. I am outnumbered, unarmed, and the only thing standing between them and the human.
Bella. My gaze darts to her. She is not cowering. She is not screaming. Her eyes, wide with terror, are scanning the room, her sharp mind searching for a weapon, an opening, an advantage.
She finds one.
As Vorlag presses his attack, forcing me back, Bella acts. With a desperate cry, she kicks the leg of a heavy iron brazier near the hearth. It topples, sending a shower of glowing, red-hot coals scattering across a priceless rug from the southern isles. Smoke, thick and acrid, begins to billow instantly, filling the room with a choking haze.
The diversion is the opening I need. While the guards cough and curse, their attention momentarily broken, I charge. I slam into the nearest guard, my horn connecting with his helmet with a deafening clang. He goes down. I wrench the sword from hisgrip. The weight of the steel in my hand is a homecoming, a piece of my soul returned.
“The window!” Bella screams, her voice cutting through the chaos. I turn to see her hefting a heavy, ceramic inkwell. With all her might, she hurls it at the large, leaded-glass window that overlooks the gardens. It shatters with a crash of breaking glass and splintering wood, letting the cool, rain-scented night air rush into the smoke-filled room.
Our escape.
“To me!” I roar, carving a path toward her. Vorlag, his face a twisted mask of fury, intercepts me. Our blades meet in a shower of sparks. He is skilled, but my rage, my desperation, it gives me a strength he cannot match. I drive him back, step by step, my entire being focused on the small, determined figure by the broken window.
Kairen, his courage bolstered by his guards, makes another desperate lunge, his target not me, but Bella. I see the movement from the corner of my eye. I roar, and it sound like pure, possessive fury, and abandon my fight with Vorlag. I spin, my new sword a blur, and parry the blow that would have pierced her back. The force of it sends a shockwave up my arm.
I do not give him a second chance. I kick out, my heavy boot connecting with his chest. He flies backward, his head hitting the stone hearth with a sickening crack. He does not move again.
Alarms are blaring now, a cacophony of bells from all over the estate. Vorlag and the remaining guard are regrouping. There is no more time.
I grab Bella’s waist, hauling her against my side. “Jump!”
We leap through the shattered window, landing in a spray of wet leaves and soft earth in the gardens below. We don’t stop. We run. Through the manicured hedges, across the perfect lawns, the sounds of shouting and the baying of hounds echoing behind us. We flee the estate, a whirlwind of desperation andsurvival, and melt back into the labyrinthine alleys of the Fiepakak district as the rain begins to fall in earnest.
