Page 111 of Silver Claws, Crimson Tears
I throw down the shovel with a clatter and march toward the Claws. Wind magic crackles through my fingertips, blowing my hair back.
“You want to see special treatment?” I ask.
The brave one—a thin man with patchy stubble—tries to move faster, but he can’t outrun me. I reach out with my power, creating Vortex Lift beneath his feet. The air compresses and spirals, launching him three feet off the ground. He screeches like a harpy, arms and legs flailing wildly. His companions freeze, mouths hanging open.
“Help!” he cries.
“What’s wrong? I thought you wanted my attention.” I twirl my finger, spinning him in midair. “This special enough for you?”
The rush of power feels intoxicating after so much shoveling. I swing him perilously close to the stable wall, the vortex responding to my slightest thought.
“Please!” he wails as I flip him upside down, his face turning scarlet as blood rushes to his head.
I laugh, surprised by how good this feels. Not just using my powers but watching someone else squirm for a change. Hisfriends back away, their expressions shifting from mockery to contrition.
“Not so chatty now, are we?”
A chorus of screams erupts from the other side of the stables, cutting through my moment of vindication. The sound isn’t playful or startled.
It’s pure terror.
Unceremoniously, I drop the Claw into a hay pile and whip around. The screams continue, desperate and getting louder. My heart thunders against my ribs as I sprint in that direction. Rounding the corner of the stables, I skid to a halt as the impossible unfolds before me.
Screechclaws. Inside Fort Ashmire.
The far end of the courtyard has erupted into chaos. Three harpies with curved black steel blades swoop through the air, their feathered bodies casting dark shadows over the cobblestones. Claws scatter in panic, their blue uniforms flash against the stone as they flee in every direction.
One harpy—larger than the others with blood-red feathers cresting her head—fixes on a gray-haired Claw stumbling across the yard. She dives with terrifying precision, talons extended.
“No!” I scream, but my voice drowns in the cacophony.
The Screechclaw sinks her talons into the man’s shoulders. He screams as she lifts him skyward, blood streaming down his uniform. Twenty feet up, she releases him with a cruel shriek of glee.
Rushing forward, I thrust my hands in his direction, summoning a strong Vortex Lift beneath the falling man. The wind coalesces, catching him mere feet from the ground. His descent slows but he’s still falling too fast.
“Hold on!” I push more power into the vortex, my muscles straining with effort.
The man lands hard but alive, rolling across the stones with a groan instead of shattering his skull.
I pivot toward the Screechclaw, rage burning through my veins. Wind gathers at my fingertips, condensing into a deadly spear of compressed air. I launch one, then form another and hurl it too. One, two, missing as the harpy banks and rolls.
“Die, you bitch!”
The third spear strikes true, piercing the junction between wing and shoulder. The harpy wails, spiraling downward in a flurry of crimson-streaked feathers.
Zephyros’s voice crashes into my mind.
—I am coming!
Through our bond, I feel his rage matching mine as he speeds toward the fort, wings breaking the clouds like thunder made flesh.
The three remaining harpies wheel in unison, their beady eyes fixing on me with laser focus. I’ve just become their primary target.
“Come on then,” I snarl, planting my feet wider. The harpy closest to me—smaller than the leader but with wicked speed—darts forward with a screech that pierces my eardrums.
I summon a violent gust, channeling it directly at her face. The air compresses into a battering ram that smashes into her, and sends her tumbling backward with a satisfying cry.
“Is that all you’ve got?” I taunt, the fire in my veins making me reckless.
