Page 220 of Brimstone
A trail of black smoke slashed through the air to my left. A male had been standing there. Now he was three wet pieces of meat, smoking on the floor. The female standing on my right stepped forward, gritting her teeth, her hand still gripping my shoulder, but a second later her whole arm was thumping to the floor. Khydan swept Nimerelle through the air, both male and sword flowing like liquid smoke. He moved too fast to see, but Iknew what was coming next. The female who had lost her arm was about to find herself headless. But . . .
“Enough.”A different voice this time. Slightly higher in pitch, but no less commanding.
My knees buckled.
I dropped, agony exploding in my kneecaps as they struck stone. Khydan hissed as he, too, fell to his knees next to me. I couldn’t move. Invisible pressure encapsulated my body, rendering me immobile. My hands wouldn’t respond. My arms hung pinned to my sides. My chest was so tight I could only expand my ribs an inch, barely allowing me to breathe.
I didn’tneedto move to speak to Khy.What the fuck is going on?
It’s okay. Don’t panic. Just try to stay calm.
Areyoucalm? You justkilledsomeone and disarmed someone else!
Despite everything, Khydan’s mouth twitched.Disarmed? You’ve been spending too much time with Swift, Osha. You’re cracking jokes now?
I’m being serious! You just attacked two people.
Slowly, his hint of a smile faded, leaving behind cold, hard fury as he scowled up at the strangers who surrounded us.Well. They shouldn’t have touched you if they’d wanted to live, should they?
The male hadn’t made a peep when he’d died. The female, who was still on her feet next to me, hadn’t made a sound when Khydan had taken her arm, either. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see that she was suffering. As she held her bleeding stump, she shook violently, tears tracking down her cheeks, but her jaw was clenched shut as if she didn’tdarecry out.
Legs came into view. A torso. A tall, thin male with sunken black pits for eyes. A moment later, he was followed by another tall male, almost identical in features and stature, except that hiseyes were glowing red coals. Long black hair hung down their backs, knotted into the most elaborate war braids I had ever seen. They were dressed for battle.
On the right, the male with the black eyes spoke first, revealing himself as the owner of the deeper voice. “Look, Githrand. The old one has brought us some new toys to play with. Warm bloods.Yvelians.”
The red-eyed male sniffed, his upper lip curling in disgust. “That one isn’t Yvelian.”
“Oh? Really?” The male regarded me with a curiosity at war with Githrand’s distaste. Gods, but their features were strikingly similar. Surely theyhadto be brothers. “And what might she be, then?” he pondered.
“I know not, Crave. But there’s a scent on her that I dislike.”
“It’s called soap. Maybe you ought to try it.” Khydan had warned me not to say anything, and then he came out withthat? He wasn’t that stupid. This was something else. A tactic designed to . . . what?
The males didn’t look at either of us, didn’t even acknowledge that Khydan had spoken, but the look they shared implied that he had just made our situation significantly worse. A laughable thought, really, considering how bad our situation already was.
Next to me, Khydan tensed, his back stiffening as he straightened. Nimerelle was still in his hand, the end of the blade resting on the ground. The god sword rattled, as if the piece of Mirelle’s soul that lived inside it was doing her best to shatter the magic holding us in place and get back to the business of killing.
Red, burning eyes drifted slowly down to look at the sword. “Where did you getthat, pet?” Crave might have asked in a disinterested way, butdamn, was he interested. He cocked his head to one side, narrowing his gaze as he studied the sword, even going so far as to take a step toward the god sword. As hecame forward, the female with the bleeding stump let out a tiny whimper. She took a step back, away from Crave, and scores of eyes widened as the crowd realized what she’d done. Some of the strangers gathered around us even looked down at the ground, as if they didn’t have the stomach to watch what would happen next.
Crave just smirked coldly at the female, then ever so slowly crouched down and turned his head so that he was eye-to-eye with Khydan. “I repeat,” he said icily.“Where did you get the sword, pet?”
Anger roiled in my mate’s eyes, plain as day. A muscle ticked in his jaw as he spoke through gritted teeth. “It was a gift from the gods.” He still couldn’t lie, even here. He had no choice but to tell the truth.
“Hmm.” Crave arched an eyebrow down at Nimerelle, for a second revealing the hunger that he was trying so carefully to hide. “You see this, brother?” He spoke loudly for show, so all could hear. “A weapon from one of the dead houses. Older than the halls of this kingdom and theirs combined, and he expects us to believe that the traitor godsgaveit to him.”
“It’s just a sword,” Khydan growled.
Crave huffed down his nose, looking at Khydan, a sour smile twisting his mouth. “That sword could end worlds in the right hands. If it’s what I think it is, it is one of the forgotten blades of our ancestors . . . andyoudo not have the right to wield it.”
“Is that so?” Khydan answered Crave’s smirk with one of his own. “You should probably go ahead and take it, then.”
“Mm. Yes.” Crave nodded enthusiastically. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“I reallywould.”
Crave made a sucking sound, rocketing to his feet. There were golden clasps on the straps of his leathers. They gleamed like someone had spent hours polishing them. Crave let out abark of laughter, drawing his own sword that hung at his waist. It looked very similar to Nimerelle from where I was kneeling. A little smaller, perhaps. Less beautifully made. In short, the sword in Crave’s hand was a very poor imitation of Nimerelle. The male held the weapon aloft and pointed it at Khydan’s god sword. “I can scent the magic on that thing,” he said. “It smells like death.”
“You’re afraid to take it from me, then?” Khy suggested. As soon as he’d uttered the accusation, Githrand launched into action. He let out a raw shout, tearing around his brother to get at Khydan, but Crave calmly grabbed Githrand by the arm and held him tight.
