Chapter 37 #2
Silent as the predator he was, dagger in hand, Race closed the distance in a blur.
Steel hissed. The first guard barely gasped before Race slit his throat.
Blood sprayed. He shoved the body aside and met the second head-on—rammed his dagger between the ribs, twisted, and dropped the male to the stone without a sound.
He wiped his blade on the dead man’s cloak and looked back. His team waited behind Ash, her eyes wide, horror paling her face.
She should have learned by now, he would always bloody his hands—never hers.
Time was slipping away. Malcarion’s hounds were already sniffing.
Fuck crawling with stealth through this duct. He was more than a damn shifter.
“Pairs,” he snapped. “Skaldr, Rhaedra—first. Koal, you next. Ash, Attor—wait here for me.”
Without another word, he grasped Skaldr and Rhaedra by the arms and dematerialized.
They reformed in a dim, narrow alcove of the palace’s lower halls, cold stone against their backs, the air thick with smoke and the faint tang of soot—a place he and his brothers often ended up in after playing pirates or knights of the realm.
All that innocence, buried under betrayal and blood.
He shoved the memories down. “Wait here.”
Race flashed back to the aqueduct. Transferred Koal, then returned for Ash and Attor, and dematerialized them all once more. But the weight of the palace loomed above, vast and silent. Every sense screamed of danger.
Good. There was no turning back.
With her palm pressed to her stomach, Ash tried desperately to suppress the bile lodged in her throat, her body protesting the molecular travel while her mind reeled.
She’d seen Race kill in his dragon form, and it had been terrifying and surreal, a battle of gods and monsters.
But back in the tunnel? In his human form?
That was hands-on, brutal, intimate. His crimson eyes had burned in the dark, feral and merciless.
For the first time, she understood how razor-thin the line was between the man she loved and the predator beneath his skin.
She loved every jagged, dangerous part of him, but centuries of torment had left him unpredictable. Vengeance thrummed through their bond like a living, breathing thing, and she feared it might devour him before the night was over.
Tartarus had never really released him. It never would.
Not unless she had a say in it.
The gloomy corridors closed in, every shadow thick with menace. Her heart pounded, her ears straining. Everything was too quiet.
Then the rhythmic thud of boots echoed, followed by the rasp of steel leaving scabbards. A voice barked, sharp and impatient. “Search the halls!”
Race stilled. In the next breath, his enormous Gaian sword took form in his hand.
She clenched her fingers as the currents coiled at her fingertips. She wasn’t about to let Race carry the fight alone, but damn it, in this confined space, one wrong arc of lightning could hit him. She didn’t want him caught in the crossfire of her powers.
Ash grabbed one of the deadly shuriken stars from her coat pocket. The points nipped her skin, but she barely paid it any heed.
Skaldr caught Race’s biceps. “My sister,” he ground out, his voice tight. “I have to find her.”
For a heartbeat, Ash saw the boy Race had once called friend peeking out from Skaldr’s eyes. Then it was gone, replaced by grim resolve.
Race didn’t say yes. He didn’t say no. Just, “See her to safety.”
Skaldr gave a curt nod and vanished into the labyrinth of corridors, his broad frame swallowed by shadows.
“There’s been a breach,” a voice yelled. “Find them!”
Race stood between the enemy and his allies, his Gaian sword braced. At least with the beanie pulled low on his head, his identity remained concealed. A dozen or so guards surged into the lower halls, spotting them.
Ash’s heart jammed in her throat.
The leader’s thin face broke into a feral grin. “Kill them!”
Race moved, his blade a deadly streak in the dimly lit hallway. He met the leader head-on. Attor shot past her, slamming another guard into the wall, the man’s bones crunching under his weight.
Her power spiked, crackling along her fingertips, but she held back and flung the star, catching it on the chest of a mammoth-sized guard.
He snarled and darted for her.
“Eeep—” Ash threw out her hands, releasing a sharp burst of wind, knocking him off balance.
He crashed into the wall, rebounded with a roar, his sword arcing down. “You little bitch—”
“No, you fucking don’t!” Race spat, moving in a blur and cutting down the guard before diving back into the chaos.
Shouts and the clash of steel echoed off the walls. Her powers hummed. The men kept her behind them, guarding her flank as if she were fragile glass.
Sod being safe!
She darted forward and hurled another star. It caught a guard mid-swing as he raised his sword for Rhaedra’s head, embedding in his neck. The star pulsed, flared lightning-white, then seared him where he stood.
Rhaedra shot her a curt nod and dove back into the fray.
Before Ash could reach for another star, a mammoth-sized guard shot in front of her, his eyes flat, empty. He caught her by the throat—
Fury ignited, she slammed both palms against his chest, unleashing a surge of electricity. He convulsed, his expression frozen in a scream, then he crumpled at her feet. “Bloody wanker—”
An arm banded around her from behind, crushing her ribs before she could blink. “Heart-fire,” Race growled, his voice rough. “I need you safe, please.”
She glanced over her shoulder and smiled through her ragged breathing. “I am safe. I have you, the gang, and there’s me—oof!” She wriggled one arm free, stormlight dancing across her fingers. “See?”
“You’ll be the death of me,” he groaned.
“No,” she said, breathless. “I’ll always have your back, you great bloody bear. Now, let’s go get that miscreant, shall we?” She patted his blood-splattered chest.
With a low rumble, Race let her go.
Only then did Ash realize the fight was over. The hallway had fallen silent, the floor piled with bodies. The walls were slick with blood, and the air hung heavy with its metallic tang. Their small team stood back, waiting.
“Let’s avoid any more bloodshed, unless there’s no way out.” Race strode through the wreckage.
Thank heavens!
With a rough exhale, Ash followed.
He led them through twisting, unadorned corridors.
Each turn grew deliberate, as if he knew every one by heart, until the passage spilled into a grand hall.
Marble floors were dulled by neglect, and chandeliers sagged under dust. Faded portraits stared down like watchful ghosts, their faces scarred with strange symbols that made her skin crawl.
Race shoved aside a floor-to-ceiling tapestry and unlocked a door that seemed part of the wall, revealing a dark passage behind it—a private one, maybe? Air hissed out, stale and cold, carrying the scent of age and secrets.
A flicker of an image flashed through her mind—laughing, silver-haired boys tearing down this very corridor, their shouts echoing off the stone—then it was gone, slammed shut. Race.
His memories bled into her.
And her heart ached for him.
He slowed near an enormous, fire-scorched painting and pressed his palm to the granite next to it. The wall groaned open, revealing a narrow stairway spiraling upward. They climbed, the air thinning and growing colder with each turn, until it opened into a massive, opulent gallery.
Race’s dragon could have easily glided through it.
Dull gray dawn leaked through the towering windows. Her storm cover still held, muting the light.
Traces of grandeur lingered—gold leaf on vaulted ceilings, crystal sconces that once held magical flame. But here the destruction was different. Where the lower levels showed battle and neglect, these halls bore recent, savage defacement.
Fresh gouges scarred the murals of dragons soaring across the skies. Statues lay toppled, their faces hacked away, marble crowns half buried in rubble.
“Malcarion’s been busy,” Koal muttered, stepping over fallen marble.
“Erasing history,” Attor bit out. “He doesn’t want anyone to remember the reign before his.”
Race said nothing, his silence louder than words as he kept to the shadowed edge of the long gallery, aiming toward the far doors of the east side.
Ash followed close behind him, scrunching her face at the dust, then her nose tickled—
Oh, crap. She clamped a hand over it before a sneeze could betray them.
The passage spilled into a wider corridor, and she inhaled harshly, the sneeze dying. Portraits lined the walls, most slashed or burned. One remained untouched—three young boys with silver hair, their laughter frozen in paint.
Race ignored it.
“The throne room’s just ahead,” he said. “Through the grand hall, then the east gallery. Two turns—”
He stopped. His eyes narrowed, head tilting. Ash sensed it too, the pressure in the air, like thunder before a storm.
Boots pounded down the corridor. Too many.
Far, far too many.