Page 231 of Bitten & Burned
A sharp crack pierced the silence behind me. I spun in time to see another enemy crumple in a heap at my feet, Vael’s hands still outstretched, his shoulders rising and falling with heavy, deliberate breaths as he caught my arm and pulled me along.
Two more broke from the fray, sprinting toward us. Pain flared hot in my leg with each step as Vael urged me forward.
Just before they reached us, a blur carved through the space between. The impact sent both attackers flying like ragdolls, and when my vision caught up, Cassian was crouched low, one fist pressed into the ground. He rose in a single, fluid motion, spitting something red and stringy from his mouth as fresh blood, not his, streamed down the front of him.
“Keep going,” he urged, voice rough but steady.
Nearby, I heard, rather than saw, Anton. His voice cut through the noise, low and savage, curling around each word like a promise. “Go ahead. Try to run. Your legs won’t work. Yes… That’s it. Now pick a god, and pray.”
The words sent a shiver down my spine, though they weren’t meant for me.
Another shape ran past, the air displaced by its speed, and in its wake came Dmitri, eerily silent and unstoppable. He caught his target mid-stride and tossed him like a ragdoll, the body hitting the ground with a bone-snapping crunch. Dmitri didn’t linger; he was already moving, already hunting the next.
Suddenly, a hand closed on my arm, making me flinch, but when I turned, my tension eased.
Quil.
His grip was firm but not painful, his fingers grounding me.
“Shh…” He angled his head, eyes scanning the dark. Then, without warning, another one of them exploded from the blackness, claws bared, snarl ripping the air apart.
“Don’t fucking start,” Quil growled, his dagger flashing silver in the fractured light as he met the lunge head-on. One slash, two, then a third—each cut carving into the attacker until he stopped advancing. The man staggered, choking, and collapsed to his knees at Quil’s feet. “I said, don’t start,” he muttered, his voice cold enough to frost the air.
We continued, Vael and I, moving steadily toward the looming front doors of Dun Drummond. The manor’s silhouette rose out of the darkness, but we weren’t even close yet. There was still a long stretch of gravel and lawn to cross.
I sighed, the sound catching on my breath as my leg throbbed harder, a deep, pulsing ache that made my stride falter. “Fuck,” I hissed, the pain spiking enough to grind me to a halt.
“What?” Vael asked, turning sharply, but he didn’t have to bother with the question because his nose had already caught it. I saw his expression tighten in the dim light just before the sigil flared again, the searing burn almost knocking me sideways. It was bleeding again. Gushing now. The scent was sharp and metallic. It spilled into the air like a beacon, overpowering everything else.
Vael moved toward me in a blur, ready to scoop me up, but before his hands could close, something else seized me from behind. My knees buckled, and my face slammed into the cold, unforgiving ground.
Pain radiated from my chin and mouth, back down my neck.
I grunted, the sound torn from me as my teeth cut into my lip, tasting blood while I was wrenched backward, dragged off the path and into the terrifying darkness beyond the lantern light.
Maniacal laughter erupted around me, overlapping voices in different pitches. High, low, broken, but all wrong, all feral.
Hands came from every direction.
Grasping and squeezing.
Nails digging into my skin.
Yanking hard enough to tear fabric and scrape flesh.
I fought to keep my footing, but the press of bodies drove me off balance. It was all I could do to bend, reach for thedagger hidden under my skirt, and slash at every hand that dared come close.
They screamed when the enchanted witchsteel broke their skin. The sound was sharp and wet.
One of them even struck me. A backhand full of rage—but before he could draw away, I caught his wrist with my blade. The hiss of the enchanted metal meeting blood was almost instant, followed by the satisfying sizzle that spread up his arm.
I grinned and felt my blood dripping from my mouth. None of them touched me anymore; all of them were writhing unseen on the ground.
They’d all die and no one would see. A befitting end.
Suddenly, a strong pair of arms closed around my waist, the grip unyielding yet careful, and I was lifted and carried away from the screaming heaps on the ground.
“You alright, Mishka?” Dmitri’s voice was a low rumble in my ear, grounding me.
