My Blood Is Yours (The Summoning #1)

25. Sariel

SARIEL

E vandriel’s eyes leap to mine expectantly, waiting for me to tell him how to use the ring—but I can hear Forsythe’s beast thundering beyond the underground entrance.

With careful hands, I guide Elowen to stand behind Evandriel, out of harm’s way. Realization slackens her jaw before she shrieks her dismay.

“Dear god, what are you doing?!”

“There is no world in which I will allow someone who has threatened you to live.”

She splutters something about Foresythe’s gun, which I ignore, pinning Evandriel with a look that communicates the obvious as I herd them away from the door and against the wall.

Forsythe no longer has the element of surprise, and I am no longer bound by magic-suppressing shackles.

Frustration tightens Evandriel’s features, but he knows it’s an argument he won’t win and doesn’t have time to make.

When we’d left Forsythe’s cell, I’d felt no small amount of dismay at the idea of not being able to wreak vengeance upon him. But now, this is an opportunity I will not pass.

I can feel the spirit of death hover beside me in waiting as the door to the underground bursts open, and time seems to slow. Forsythe, in some strange half-shifted lykos, lunges towards me. It takes little effort to counter the sloppy, untrained movement to turn his momentum against him and slam his body to the ground.

In my peripheral, I see one of his hands sneak into his pocket—no doubt digging for his gun. Elowen screams my name in warning.

My grin stretches from ear to ear as my fingers wrap around his hand holding the gun and squeeze. The gun fires before he can even aim at me, shooting himself in his own leg. Maniacal laughter roars through me, muffling his cry of pain as I continue to squeeze his gun hand until bones break. He screams in protest, and it’s then I realize I have to bring this little foray to an end—before we draw unwanted attention.

Recognition wets his eyes, and I relish the fleeting moment of his swiftly approaching death. “Please, no…”

With an incredulous chuckle, I shake my head. “Perhaps if you had not threatened my soulbound , I would have considered showing the same mercy you showed me.” Which is to say—none. But at least it would have been swifter.

“Instead, I will give you an equivalent death and it is a greater mercy than what awaits your soul in hell with the God of Death.”

Terror oozes from him, his garbled screams soon drowned out by the blood flooding his windpipe as my claws extend. I slowly press my fingers into the center of his chest, guiding my magic into the movement so that I can cut through flesh, bone, and marrow until my fingers wrap around his still beating heart and remove it from his chest.

Do I recognize that this is a little over the top?

Yes.

Do I care?

Not even remotely.

I can feel the whisper of death upon my neck, but I do not fear it because I know Azrael, the God of Death, would have done precisely the same or worse.

Standing, I toss Forsythe’s heart onto the cobblestones, where they land with a soft plap, and will away the foul male’s blood and sweat coating my palms. It doesn’t quite replace soap and water, but it will do for now.

I turn to find Elowen looking a little green in the face, making a pang of guilt prick at my heart. Relief suffuses me as she rushes towards me, wrapping her arms around me. Though it is a relief felt too soon. A moment later she draws back, growling and hammering her precious fists against my chest.

“You reckless-fucking-asshole, what if he had shot you in the head again!?”

My heart melts, and I collect her wrists, pulling them—and her—against my chest before crashing my mouth against hers. Her struggles give way as her body moulds against mine, and I wrap her in my arms.

“Oi!”

The sound of another male’s voice tears my attention away as Evandriel curses. Several people are gathered only fifty feet or so away at the mouth of the alleyway. Evandriel holds his ring-hand up, impatience making the movement rigid as his eyes dart anxiously between me and the growing crowd behind us.

“Are you done swinging your dick around? Can we fucking leave now?”

My eyes flick briefly to the crowd just as two uniformed men appear.

“Repeat after me.”

The anxiety in Evandriel’s eyes is replaced by excitement and hope as he repeats the ancient words I’ve long since memorized—words that send goosebumps rising on our flesh. Elowen’s eyes are round with both hope and fear as the three of us stand arm in arm and the world around us folds away.