Page 90 of Nyx
Adrenalinecoursesthroughmyveins as I charge after the motherfucker who hurt Nyx. Letting him run probably wasn’t rational, but I wanted him to experience this. The thump of earth under his feet, and the wind against his face. That fuckingtasteof freedom before I take it away.
Retribution makes me singularly focused on Andon as he runs, but it doesn’t make me careless. The training I’ve had with Ronan and Elas means the motions come naturally, and I won’t do anything to risk hurting myself. Nyx wouldn’t survive it, so I do what I always do.
I scheme and play it smart.
After pacing this camp for the last day, I’m familiar with its layout. Andon darts past the rift and into the open field, but he doesn’t know what I do. The terrain is absolutely littered with holes and ditches, and they’re hidden by the bursts of tall, yellowing weeds. I smile, and get ready.
Only a few seconds into his mad sprint, he stumbles, and before he can right himself, I’m on him. I swing my weapon with a snarl, catching him in the shoulder with the tip of my blade. It’s no longer dull like it has been for training, but sharpened to a point that slices through his skin easily. The fabric of his shirt peels away to show me the rush of blood that pours down his back, and he roars as he regains his footing.
Any hint of smugness is gone as he looks over his shoulder at me, and the fear in his eyes makes this vengeance burn hot in my stomach. He turns forward and runs, putting a desperate burst of energy into his movements before he finds another hole. His leg bends unnaturally, and his knees hit the dirt with a thud before he twists to watch my advance.
“Please,” he begs, and I laugh, kicking his spine so he lands face-first on the dirt. Dust clouds around him as he chokes, and he wedges his hand underneath him in an attempt to push himself up. “You don’t understand,” he coughs.
“I understand plenty.”
“It was leadership… orders! I was just following orders! Have mercy.”
“Did you ever showhimmercy?” I demand as I kick his shoulder and flip him to his back. His eyes dart to where Nyx stands with the others. “Don’t fucking look at him!” I bellow as I drop to shove my knee into his sternum. Breath leaves him in a wheeze as his wide, black eyes snap back to mine. “Did you showanyof them any sort of mercy?”
“No,” he whispers.
“Ronan was right. I should put you in that cage,” I snarl. “Come to feed you once a week. Give you just enough to keep you holding on to your pathetic life. I should stretch it out for fuckingyearsso you understand a fraction of what he suffered through.”
Andon jerks his body off the ground and tries to headbutt me, but Elas loves that move, too. I’ve learned the telltale signs of those flexing abs, and instead of my face, he meets my elbow. The splintering crunch of his nose makes me smile again.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Hanging on to that hope that someone might finally come for you? Weak men always fear death, and you’d fight so hard to hang on to your pathetic life. How long do you think it would take your mind to break?” I drag the tip of my dagger along his cheek and watch the slice form on his blue skin. The red contrasts beautifully as he flinches, beading to join the drip that’s oozing from his nostril. “How many months…yearswould it take for you to snap?”
“Please,” he begs again, but I click my tongue and shake my head.
“I could do it, you know. But you aren’t worth the effort.”
“Wh-what?” he stutters.
“You’re nothing but a nightmare, and I won’t let you haunt his dreams anymore.” With a single swipe of a steady hand, my aim is true. It’s unceremonious, far quicker than he deserves, and his eyes grow unnaturally wide as my blade moves across his neck. Crimson, nearly black blood flows freely, and I sit back in satisfaction to watch.
Andon opens his mouth to talk, to plead for his useless life once more, but all that comes out is a series of wet gurgles. His eyelids flutter, trying to stay open as I lean in closer to his ear.
“No one will remember you. You’ll be nothing but bleached bones lying forgotten in this field. Take that to your grave.” Life fades from his eyes until they’re empty glass marbles, and I sit back and wipe my blade clean on his shirt. I stand and walk towards the others without so much as a backward glance.
Nyx’s face is unreadable, and I hesitate as I get closer. My eyes shutter and my heart sinks as he stares, and I look down at myself to take in my condition. Blood streaks my dagger while a few droplets stain my clothes, and for a terrifying moment, I wonder if this is too much. If I took it too far and showed him too much of my anger, or worse… scared him.
“Sirrha?” I whisper, my voice shaking as my eyes lift back to his. I tuck my dagger into its sheath, trying to hide what he’s seen. If I hide it, I can pretend it isn’t there. Deny this anger that burns as hot as an iron inside me, and how it demands I scorch the earth to make his captors pay.
But Nyx doesn’t shy away from me. He runs towards me and trusts me to catch him as he flings himself into my arms. My hands are steady on his thighs as they wrap around my middle, and my laugh is a broken, relieved thing as he grabs my face and pulls me in for a kiss.
“Did I scare you?” I ask when we come up for air.
“No,” he says as he presses a fingertip against my lips. I kiss it, and he grins as he taps me with the next one, collecting kisses on all four of his fingers and his thumb. “No, you could never scare me, katsurrel. You protect me, always. He can’t hurt anyone now.”
“Reyes, get your weapon out,” Ronan suddenly warns, and the tone of his voice makes me immediately obey. I put Nyx on the ground and grab my dagger, tucking him behind me as I advance toward the others. “We aren’t alone.”
“Andon said he’d escaped with someone else,” Xeni murmurs.
“He also said they were dead,” I respond.
“Show yourselves,” Ronan bellows, and there’s such command in his voice it makes my spine snap straight. Footsteps beyond the trees make their way closer, and figures emerge into the sunlight. Two humans walk forward with their palms exposed, and I stand in front of Nyx to hide him from their sight.
“We mean you no harm,” the male says. He isn’t an imposing figure, barely taller than I am, but the lines in his warm tawny skin tell me he’s older. The woman beside him is in her twenties, and is small and feisty. Once-pale skin is now pink-tinged with either exertion or sunburn, and she has a head full of shockingly red hair. Both of them wear guns on their hips and swords on their backs. “We are pursuing a prisoner.”
