Chapter Twenty
Running into a wide-open forest I have no familiarity with is a disastrous idea, but going back inside where other injured animals are being kept isn’t an option, either.
I thank the stars that my body is in better shape than it has been from my grueling physical training with Maxur.
I have no doubts that I am absolutely incapable of outrunning a manticore, but with luck, I can at least climb a tree.
It has wings, you fool.
Hide, then.
My toe catches on a root and I flail wildly, finally losing my balance and falling hard to the ground. As I scramble to my feet, I smell the blood from my scraped-open palms and stinging knees. I wince but push myself forward—my magic will heal the wounds eventually.
I hear the beast crashing through the foliage behind me, and I put on a burst of speed. I have no idea where I’m going. The canopy is thick and dense, and the smell of moist earth and decomposing vegetation is pungent. I can barely get air into my lungs, my gasps ringing too loud in my ears.
In my wake, a huge crash echoes through the undergrowth, and the new sound of two creatures roaring nearly makes me stumble.
Good, if something else distracts the manticore, that’s better odds for my survival. Well, except if that something else decides to come for me . . .
Frantic, I look for somewhere to hide. Just ahead in the distance, I spot what looks like the gnarled roots of a tree with a small gap that I can squeeze through.
Relief is sweet, but much too long in coming.
I’m nearly there when a darkness devours every bit of light around me, and I nearly scream in horror, only to recognize Indira’s red scales at the very last second.
She lands in front of me, making the ground tremble.
“There’s a thing,” I babble, pointing over my shoulder. “A monster. Is Raz with you?”
Yes. He’s here. Her mental tone sounds resigned but not afraid. She glances up over my head to where the commotion is coming from and makes that chuffing amused sound again. He’s having his fun.
My brows collide. “Fun? There’s a rabid manticore back there! We have to help him.” The sound of a large tree snapping in half makes us both glance in the direction of where her mate is. “Shit, Raz!” I shout.
Your concern is touching, dear one. Indira bends her long neck so her huge spined head is once more at my level. They have likely moved a fair distance in flight, but I can carry you, if you wish it.
I glance at her with trepidation. She is Raz’s mate, but Darrius is her rider.
Wouldn’t there be rules about who can mount the king’s bonded azdaha?
But I can’t let Raz face that monster alone, not when this is my fault to begin with.
I inhale a gulp of air and nod. But instead of extending a wing for me to climb on her back, her massive hind foot stretches in my direction, scooping me up gently before she takes to the skies in a huge whoosh of air.
My stomach bottoms out as we soar upward.
We don’t fly far enough for me to get used to being carried in her claws—perhaps four or five gigantic wingbeats—before she descends into another clearing.
The place is utterly destroyed, trees ripped from the roots, branches shattered, and an enraged manticore and a smoking azdaha circling each other.
Indira releases me, though she settles her bulk defensively in front of me.
I peek around her huge hind leg. Despite the destruction and the superficial scratches on his hide, Raz’s tongue is lolling out of his mouth like a giant puppy.
He doesn’t seem like he’s fighting for his life at all.
Perhaps I should’ve taken Indira at her word.
She must’ve known her mate wasn’t in any real danger via their bond.
Or . . .
Do they know the manticore? Is it sentient like them?
Singe marks from Raz’s fire cover the manticore’s side and a bit of its thick golden mane is missing, but it no longer seems feral, the way it had earlier. I can’t help staring at how regal the creature is. It’s gorgeous in the way that wolves are—mesmerizing but undeniably deadly.
Come to see the show, little queen? Raz greets me when he sees me peering out from behind his mate’s leg.
His usual affectionate salutation is met by a vicious roar from the manticore as if it had somehow heard Raz’s mental address and didn’t like it in the least. I nearly leap a foot into the air when that golden gaze locks in my direction.
“Mine.”
That growl makes my hair stand on end. It can speak? Blinking, I shake my head. Does it still think I’m its prey?
“I’m very bony,” I call out. “And I have a sour disposition that might not suit your palate.”
Indira chuffs above me, earning herself a nuzzle from her adoring mate.
The manticore lets out a noise between a whine and a growl, that very lucid, very covetous glowing gaze trained on me, its deadly tail swishing like a feline’s.
That means aggression, no? I hiss out a breath as it runs a forked tongue over its sharp canines, studying me, the intensity unsettling. Sands, why does it look so ravenous?
My father used to say back in Coban that the only way to stand up to certain predators is to make yourself as large as possible.
Knowing that Indira and Raz won’t let anything happen to me, I straighten my spine and stare the manticore right in the eyes.
Instantly, the beast goes preternaturally still, its amber irises glowing with brighter gold filaments.
Its nostrils flare at my overt challenge, and a low, dangerous-sounding growl leaves its maw.
Oh, shit.
Don’t mind him; he’s in a bad mood because I trounced him, Raz taunts. Too fast to track, the manticore fires one of its poison barbs from its tail toward my azdaha—one Raz easily dodges with more chuffing noises.
“Do you know who he is?” I ask, mind racing with possible explanations at Raz’s familiar tone and the fact that the monster is male. “Is he a corpus magi?”
Raz takes much too long to answer, and I have a feeling that the manticore is following the conversation, because those gorgeous, flared wine-red wings fold inward and his aggressive stance relaxes slightly. It’s probably just for show—a beast of prey like that never actually lets his guard down.
Raz billows a stream of smoke. Not exactly, no.
My gaze shifts to him. “What does that mean?”
It means that he’s not a shapeshifter, little queen.
The manticore roars even louder than the last time and bares his razor-sharp fangs at the azdaha. That can’t be a coincidence. He clearly doesn’t like Raz calling me that name.
“Go, R’zlek.”
They’re mostly gravelly, growled sounds, but Razulek crooks his neck and glances at Indira at the manticore’s clear command. I blink as they bend their powerful hind legs and spread their wings. Wait, what are they doing? Are they listening to the beast?
“Where are you going?” I shout, starting to hyperventilate. “You can’t just leave me here!”
Raz nuzzles my head fondly, a blast of his azdaha heat surrounding me. Farewell, Starkeeper. Tell the king to bring you to visit our nest sometime.
“I won’t be able to visit if I’m dead, now, will I?”
Both azdahas chuff, Indira’s crimson eye meeting mine. A manticore will never harm his mate.
My mouth falls open in shock, but no sound emerges for several fraught heartbeats. “Are you saying I’m his mate?”
Trust your simurgh, Raz adds unhelpfully.
Two powerful gusts of wind nearly sweep me off my feet as they take to the skies.
On a conscious level, I know that Razulek would never leave me in danger. But every nerve ending in my body is on high alert as the wind settles and silence descends on the clearing.
Taking Raz’s advice, I reach for my simurgh . . . but she doesn’t budge from her slumber, as if she can’t be bothered to protect us. Or doesn’t need to . . . because we’re not in any true mortal danger, even if that thing thinks we’re his mate. Maybe I can use that to help me get out of here.
“Good kitty.” I ease out a breath, facing him but backing away ever so slowly.
I let out a squeak as the manticore crowds my space with three bounds.
Huffing a strangled breath, I brace—for what, I don’t know—but as the creature pads around me with his leathery wings tight against his sides, his elegant leonine muzzle snuffling my torso, my hair, and my back, fear is not the first emotion I’m feeling.
It’s wonder.
My fingers itch. Would that velvety red-gold fur feel as soft as it looks?
His scent of woodsy earth, petrichor, and smoldering hearths fills my nose.
He makes a low, whining noise and bends his nose to my knee.
That pink two-pronged tongue slicks over the dried blood on my shin from my earlier fall, and a shiver runs through me as he repeats the soft swipe on my other shin. It feels . . . affectionate.
You are delusional, Suraya.
Maybe I am.
But when his muzzle traces the outer curve of my thigh to land squarely between my legs, my thoughts scatter as he presses deeper and inhales, his big body rumbling with . . . pleasure.
What the fuck?
His scent deepens and sharpens, curling into my nostrils like a drug.
To my horror, I feel myself respond. Oh, gods, no.
What is that? Pheromones? Without thinking of the repercussions, I shove wildly at his big head, subconsciously noting that his sleek hide feels like the softest velvet, and clamp my legs together.
“Oh, no, you don’t, you furry pervert!”
But he lets out a noise that sounds bizarrely like an amused purr and rubs his giant lion’s head against my stomach.
Intense, intelligent amber eyes meet and hold mine as if daring me to push him away again, but for some reason I don’t.
Instead, I let my hands float to his mane to tangle in the soft golden mass.
As I sift my fingers through, I can feel the strength of the muscles beneath, the heat of his lion’s body like a furnace.
That purring sound grows louder, rumbling through me like a soothing balm.
My simurgh stretches lazily and undulates as though she, too, enjoys the strange connection.
I almost laugh at the incongruity of a man-eating monster making us both feel calm.
Or the fact that I’m petting it like a giant cat.
“Where do you belong?” I whisper. “If you let me go, I promise to find someone who can help you get home.”
“No,” he growls viciously, making the air shrivel in my lungs.
“Fine, you win. We’ll both stay here forever.”
My eyes flutter shut, and I force myself to think. There has to be a way out of this. But before I can come up with a plan, there’s a new presence in the glade.
Nuadar stands there with a handful of guards, including Ani, and they’re all armed.
Sensing the threat, the manticore lets out a chilling howl that shakes the ground just as a river of flame blisters his hide.
He jumps away from me, wings flaring with aggression when a spear of lightning comes at him, hitting his right side.
The scorpion barb swells and fires a dart, but a wall of ice shields the guards as they move into a defensive formation.
“Ani,” I call out in relief.
“Stay calm, Sura,” she says in a low, monotone voice. “Don’t move.”
This time, I listen. Scanning their faces, I recognize the snake shapeshifter as well as the ice and flame wielders.
Lightning dances over another guard’s hands.
A flicker of worry spills through me. Do they mean to kill the manticore?
I want to be safe, but I also don’t want him to be harmed because of me.
“Mine,” the creature growls.
Ani’s blue eyes fly wide in shock as if she hadn’t expected the monster to speak. “Ashes, that’s new,” she mutters. “Nuadar, I’ll blind him temporarily. Get the bow ready. The rest of you, in position. Remember, do not use lethal force. Incapacitate only.”
I dimly register the crossbow that Nuadar is holding, which has an arrow that is glowing green, but then four things happen in succession.
Slithery coils snake around me from behind while sunlight flares from Ani just as the beast roars in rage and attacks the serpent shapeshifter who has me in his grasp.
The manticore doesn’t even register the arrow piercing his flank.
We go tumbling to the ground, the huge snake hissing in pain when the manticore’s jaws snap tight over his scales, and I’m released from his coiled grasp.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see the shapeshifter crawl away and transform to human form, clutching his mangled, bloody arm.
His left leg hangs by a tendon. Gods, the manticore nearly bit him in half.
Three others are felled by poison darts from the scorpion tail, dropping like flies, and Nuadar looks wild-eyed with fear when the beast crunches the head off the fire-wielding guard, flames and all, and finishes a sixth with a lethal swipe of his claws.
He stalks Ani with a vicious snarl as Nuadar loads another crossbow with shaking hands, but even I can see that the manticore is too powerful.
Stars above, where is the king when his men and sister need him?
To my horror, Ani drops her hands and approaches the beast, putting herself directly in his path, voice low but audible enough to me. “Brother. Stop this.”
The earth spins beneath my feet as my brain stutters. What did she say?
“You know you’ll regret it if you kill me,” Ani goes on, her voice monotone and unthreatening.
The manticore stumbles, shaking his mane, and then roars. His front leg wobbles and then buckles, and then before my eyes, he slumps down to his side as whatever sedative Nuadar had shot into him finally takes effect.
“Sura!” Ani cries, running to my side. “Did he hurt you?”
But my mind is spinning, my gaze stuck on the enormous, unconscious form of the manticore. I half sob out a wheezing breath. “What you said . . . what you called it. Is that thing . . . the fucking king?”
She stares at me sadly, blue eyes somber. “It’s his curse.”