Page 181 of A Warrior's Fate

Stop, she pleaded. The tether, Kai, did too.

But Isla couldn’t hold her shift anymore.

As much as she grunted and fought, she ended up on her hands and knees, panting and shuddering as her wolf drifted out of reach, hidden away.

A glance back at the blood, gleaming with that liquid from the vial, almost led to her death.

She rolled away from the bak’s blow that she’d caught coming from the corner of her eye. The broken furniture became her cover until she reached the blade on the floor left by the other rogue. Seconds moved like hours as she spun; she had one shot at driving it into the bak’s neck. Its rough paws collided with her body, knocking her back to the ground and skewing her aim. It roared as the blade dug into its thick shoulder. Dark blood dripped onto Isla’s body.

But not enough. It wasn’t enough.

The bak hovered above. Its paws on her skin so heavy that she felt it tear, its piercing eyes cutting through her before its teeth would.

There would be no luxury of taunting this time.

The bond strained, and Isla called for her wolf. Her claws. A miracle from the Goddess. Anything.

She couldn’t die. She could not die. Couldn’t leave Kai.

Blood sprayed over her.

All Isla had seen was the glint of silver before her face, her body became coated in the warm, sticky liquid.

The bak sputtered, the gaping wound in its neck pouring blood, and collapsed.

Isla’s heart drummed against her ribcage that she swore snapped beneath the beast’s weight. She couldn’t breathe. Barely think. She only knew that she definitely couldn’t die like this. Suffocated.

She grunted as she forced the creature off, struggling for air when she’d found relief. For a moment, she lay there, bathed in the gore, choking, and staring up at the ceiling.

Alive. She was alive.

But—

Isla rose on her elbows to see what had befallen the creature and gasped.

Standing there, their own weapon in hand, was that figure.

No. More than a figure. A person. Completely cloaked in black. A hood over their head, and a mask showing nothing but their eyes.

They killed the bak.

And Isla had a vague sense it wasn’t their first time.

She didn’t move at first, couldn’t, as she stared up at them. She thought she’d been imagining things, but like the bak, when she blinked, they remained. Barely breathing themselves.

Isla ground her teeth, and rational thought eddied away as she leaned over to wrench her knife from the bak’s shoulder. She bit back against the pain and rose shakily to her feet. With the weapon in front of her face, she rasped, “Who are you?”

They didn’t answer.

With an aggravated cry, Isla rushed forward. She threw her body against them, taller than her by inches, and pushed them into the wall. Their weapon clattered to the floor, and they made no reach for it.

No fight.

But Isla didn’t care about the current passivity. She didn’t trust it.

She pressed her blade to the neck hidden beneath swathes of dark fabric, peering into darker, lifeless eyes, as she gritted out again, emphasizing each word, “Who are you?”

No response.

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