Page 39 of The Sweetest Lies
All running away would do is buy us time.
And now is the perfect time.
Perfect indeed.
With a shove of my wings, I soar down, head lowered, diving swiftly toward my target in her fine ebony gown. The wind whips. Water burns my eyes. She’s all I see. And soon, she’ll just be a taste of vengeance at the back of my throat.
The inches that separate her from me are filled with black cloth within a split second as she twirls that gown like a cape flowing in the wind. And her hands rear up at the very last moment. And inky dark magic burst from her fingertips.
The spark of it stings my scales, heating my already-fiery body into an inferno of pain that scuttles all through me. My feet, my wings, my talons all fight at once to fling myself safely away from the scratching torture of that mystical spark.
“Cersia.” My name is a spoken claim upon my soul. There’s no anger in her tone, but there’s most definitely power. “Forgiveness is not offered twice. Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, and you’re sure to die a most gruesome death at the hands of the Night Witch.”
Roman’s palm pushes reassuringly back and forth along my throat.
He should leave. Before I get him hurt.
“Cersia,” The queen warns.
Her hands lift idly.
My spine stiffens as my wings arch out around me.
“I will not warn you again.” Her blur of a body shifts into a defensive stance.
And my fire barely crosses my sharp, pointed teeth when that inkwell of power shines from her fingertips.
But someone else is faster than all of us.
A splash of black fur washes over my vision as a creature leaps past me and slams into the slender figure of the most powerful woman in all of Hell’s kingdom. Searing red eyes and flaming fire is all I see, but I sense him as he snaps his canines down into the spindly throat of our queen.
Avian.
There’s a diligent way his body moves as he shakes her back and forth in his mouth like she’s a little chew toy set out for this hellacious beast to frolic around with. Two more hulking masses appear on either side of me, and the warmth that was settled against my back is gone as I soon realize Roman as well as Zilo are now rushing toward their friend. The pale flailing hands and long whipping locks of the queen are the only indication I have of what’s going on down below. Three of the darkest wolves of Hell have her sprawled out between them, as they growl and snap and tear at her limbs.
My gaze widens, and the haze fades just slightly. My vision sharpens into nearly crisp sight of three enormous, fiery dogs suspending a tiny woman between them, preparing to nearly split her frail body at the center.
Until magic bursts at her seams. It shockwaves out with jarring force. The hellhounds are thrown with thudding impact. It blinds me with dirt and debris until I no longer see my once-clear surroundings.
Roars of all kinds erupt. A fury of batting wings take flight around me as knifelike pain hits me from all angles.
“Get her! Get our dragon!” A familiar, cruel voice rings out among the screams of violence.
Their daggers of magic slice against my scales, burning, stinging, paining me in a thousand tiny pinpricks of agony. My tail lashes in a flame of fire that burns the smell of flesh and wings into the midnight air. Those screams slice the air with fear, anger rising with each crashing second.
I break through the layer of creatures clinging to my feet and hovering above my head. My talons claw out at anything within reach as my wings push down furiously, and I fly up in a panic to escape the pressing feel of those thousands of nails sinking into my scales. Their bodies tumble off of me, but their magic continues to sear into my flesh until it burns right through. A roar so loud it shakes my lungs as it leaves my body is all I can think about as my flight falters, and the throbbing sensation of cool wind flitting through my right wing is all I feel. Another big gush of wind force through that space, and I nearly tumble right to the dirt.
There are too many. I have to get away. I need to save myself from them before they rip me apart little by little.
With a huff of hot coals in my throat, I throw fire out at them blindly. The smell of smoke is thick in the air. With all my might, I push myself to soar higher. A stumbling pace lifts me little by little as I blaze out more and more fire, and soon a meager amount of space separates me from the others.
I search the ground for those intense hellish eyes of the High Hell.
Where are they? Where are they? Where are they?
It isn’t a mane of inky fur or crimson eyes that draws me to them. It’s the way he says my name. It’s a vow of a sentiment. It’s the sweetest voice I’ll ever hear as long as I live.
And it’s spoken with the breathlessness of death clinging to his tone.
