Page 91 of Silver Claws, Crimson Tears
Tahranis moves fast, catching my wrist before I can gouge them out. His grip is iron, but his smirk never falters. That arrogant, self-satisfied look feeds my fury. He doesn’t notice my other hand. Doesn’t see it slip to his waist where his dagger sits in its ornate sheath. One swift movement and the blade is mine.
Before he can react, I’ve pressed the cold metal against his throat. The sharp edge kisses his skin, and a thin line of crimson appears beneath it. His eyes widen—just slightly—before his expression smooths into practiced nonchalance.
“Your true nature reveals itself,” he says, voice maddeningly calm despite the dagger at his throat. “Beautiful.”
I press harder, drawing another bead of blood. “Show me the exit. Now.”
“Or what? You’ll kill me?” His lips curl into something between a sneer and a smile. “Then you’ll never find your way out of these mountains.”
“I’ll take my chances with the tunnels,” I hiss, my face inches from his. “Better lost than your prisoner.”
His eyes flicker with something. Amusement? Admiration? I can’t tell, and I don’t give a fuck.
“The exit,” I repeat, twisting the dagger just enough to remind him of its presence. “Or I open your throat right here and paint these lovely tunnels with your blood.”
He tilts his head, careful of the blade, studying me like I’m a fascinating puzzle. “You won’t kill me.”
“Try me.” My voice is deadly quiet, my hand steady. “I’ve killed before. What makes you think I won’t add you to the list?”
“You won’t kill me,” Tahranis repeats, his voice suddenly shifting, becoming a warm caress across my consciousness, gentle and soothing like Zephyros’s mental purr when he’s calming my fears.
Except this isn’t my dragon. This is my kidnapper.
My fingers tingle where they grip the dagger. What’s happening? Why does his voice feel like honey pouring through my mind?
—You won’t kill me.The words echo inside my head this time, not spoken aloud. My grip loosens involuntarily. Horror floods through me as I watch my own hand betray me, returning the dagger to its sheath at Tahranis’s waist as if it never left.
“What did you just do?” I stumble backward, panic rising in my throat. “Get out of my head!”
Tahranis touches his neck where my blade pierced the skin, examining the blood on his fingertips with mild curiosity. “Impressive resistance. Most minds yield immediately to my suggestion.”
“You’re a Weaver.” The realization sluices over me like ice water. “But that’s impossible?—“
“Impossible?” He laughs, the sound sharp as jagged rocks. “Because you thought you were the only one? Because they convinced you Weavers are monsters who deserve execution?” He steps closer, and I force myself not to retreat. “They lied to you, Omneira. About everything.”
“Stay back,” I warn, though my voice shakes. Without the dagger, without my powers, I’m defenseless against whatever abilities he possesses.
“I won’t hurt you.” His gaze ensnares mine. “I’ve waited too long to find you.”
“Find me for what?” My back hits the wall. Nowhere left to go.
His fingers brush my cheek, feather-light. “To show you who you really are, to begin anew.”
I slap his hand away. “Touch me again and I’ll break your fingers.”
Tahranis grins. “There she is. The fire they couldn’t extinguish. Come, Omneira. Your destiny awaits.”
32
Rhea
Ifollow Tahranis through the winding tunnels, seething with each step. My failure burns hotter than dragon fire in my chest. A Weaver who can control minds? Not just read thoughts or communicate silently like I can with Zephyros, but actually force someone’s body to obey against their will?
“Keep up,” he calls over his shoulder, not even bothering to look back.
“Go fuck yourself,” I mutter, but I keep walking. Not like I have a choice.
My fingers still tingle where they betrayed me, returning his dagger when every instinct screamed to drive it deeper. Is this what Weavers are truly capable of? Nobody ever mentioned this possibility. Not in any of the whispered warnings about my kind, not in the old proclamations condemning us to death.
