Chapter 36 #2
The twin fought with razor-thin blades that flickered with dark, dark blue power.
He moved faster than should have been possible, and opened another burning line in my skin, this time on my collarbone.
The scent of blood met the air, so thick I could taste it on my tongue, and that’s when shit hit the fan.
Kier’s growl was both music to my ears—he was alive, and okay enough to sound absolutely murderous—and an omen.
“Who,” he roared, “harmed my mate?”
The twin’s eyes widened, and then widened further until the whites protruded. He backed up with an uneven breath, staring from me to the dam road behind me. “I didn’t know she was your mate, your highness—”
“Don’t call him your highness,” Jyrard snapped, probably butthurt that I hadn’t been delivered to him yet.
Kier reached my side in a blur of rich blue skin, dark hair, and blood-soaked clothes. Light flashed off his blade like mine, but he shoved it into the sheath at his hip, grabbed the twin’s head in both hands, and snapped the man’s neck.
I blinked. Blinked again.
“Hi, darling,” I said when he whipped around to assess me, finding every slice, every bruise that lay under my clothes by some mate psychicness. “How’s your day going?”
His response was a heavy breath, like a growl.
“Use that rage to kill your brother,” I encouraged, sending a rush of love through our bond. And if he got a little of my own murderous rage, well, I was just thinking about how much I’d like to stamp on Jyrard’s decapitated head.
Valour raced past me, trailing other peoples’ blood and guts, a blur of deadly magic as she crashed into three goblins headed our way. I angled my knives and leapt into the fray, the cut on my collarbone reminding me I was injured with a fiery lick of pain. I’d endured worse.
“Stop hiding like a coward and fight me,” Kier roared, his dragon plunging from the dark sky into the crowd of soldiers, devouring men whole.
I knew he was terrified, knew there was a part of him that was still the little boy Jyrard had beaten, and I knew what Kier told me was only the very surface of what his family had done to hurt him, but anger fuelled him now.
He was powerful. And Baby was right there with him, ripping a boot from the leg of a goblin—nope, the whole foot ripped off. Of course it did.
Valour snarled. Could you focus?
She threw her flank into a brawny woman I hadn’t noticed coming towards us.
The woman uselessly stabbed Valour’s side, as if she was flesh and blood.
Valour was unharmed, but it still pissed me off.
I reached for more magic, the stone flashing at my throat, lining my blades with sheer, lightning power as I sank them into the soldier’s gut.
When she dropped, I swung myself right, sensing a disturbance in the air. My eyes widened when I saw it was the dickhead prince himself, a slimy smile on his face. Oh, yeah, I could definitely picture this guy taking out his anger on his defenceless little brother. Spineless coward.
Valour twisted towards him but I stayed her with a sharp command, bringing my own blade up to his unguarded chest. He didn’t have weapons, and didn’t shield. Arrogant, spineless coward. I gritted my teeth, ready to cut him to ribbons, but the vivid blue light winked out from my knives all at once.
The magic in my pendant died.
Valour vanished mid-snarl, the road suddenly dark.
“Zaba!” Kier roared, yanking me towards him in the bond.
“Fancy trick,” I sneered at Jyrard, making a flashy swing with my right dagger, aiming low with my other.
The blade sank into his thigh but he didn’t even flinch.
In fact, a little smile twitched in the corner of his despicable face.
He was awfully ratlike up close. No wonder Cleodora liked him.
My sympathy to rats everywhere. “Shame I still have steel,” I said with faux pity, flicking my wrist, opening a trail of blood across his crotch, finding a vein that spurted a violent spray of blood.
“Heathen,” he hissed, looking at me like I was dirt on his boot. That was fine; I looked at him like he was shit I’d stepped in.
“Sad little man who has to start a war just to feel better about his probably teeny tiny dick,” I retorted, then leaned closer, stabbing my blade into his gut. “Kier doesn’t have such problems.”
His blue face edged towards a purple shade that warmed my bitter, violent heart. I flipped the knife in my right hand, blade angled up, and went for the killing blow, but a commotion came from across the road, followed by a low growl of pain.
Kier.
It was enough to distract me for a split second, and Jyrard pounced on the weakness, knocking one knife out of my hand, grabbing my other wrist with an inhumanly strong two-handed grip.
“How does it feel being Cleodora’s bitch?
” I asked, because I was at a physical advantage but that didn’t mean I couldn’t annoy him to death.
“Does she make you beg at her feet for scraps of your own kingdom? Let me guess, if you allow her to put a collar on you and crawl around like a dog, she’ll give you Skayan? ”
His teeth came uncomfortably close to my face, and I was very aware of how quickly I could lose my nose to those sharp needle teeth. Or my throat.
“I would never judge anyone else for those kinds of desires, but you? I’ll judge the hell out of you,” I hissed, making sure tiny flecks of spit landed on his face.
A vein bulged in his forehead. Oh yeah, I was definitely annoying him to death.
His hands tightened on my wrist, and I was so ready for him to rip the blade from my grasp that when he forced the tip towards my chest, I could only slow its path, not stop it entirely.
“You talk too much,” he sneered.
I arched my body away from my own dagger, fighting his grip on my hand with zero success.
Sweat beaded on my forehead. Now would be a great time for Baby to come charging into the fray and rip Jyrard’s leg off.
But the bridge was dark, and the sounds of weapons clashing and fists meeting flesh told me Kier still fought, but with mortal weapons, no magic.
“Not the first time I’ve been told that,” I rasped, breathless as I fought to keep that sharp edge away from my body, losing millimetres of ground with every second that passed.
A bead of sweat rolled down my nose, my arms screaming as I used every bit of strength I had.
“Can I have my magic back so we can fight like equals, or are you a coward?”
Jyrard’s snarl deepened, long canines bared in my face. I’d take that as the cowardly answer.
I kicked his ankles, aiming for his instep, but the movement jostled me closer to the dagger.
My own dagger. My pride would never recover from this.
I tried ripping my hands off the knife’s handle so I could run, but Jyrard’s caged mine in place.
The first piercing cut made me gasp. Then it surged deeper and stung like a motherfucker.
I was out of defensive moves. Out of ideas.
“Kier!” I screamed, hoping my husband could go full murder-goblin mode. Otherwise, I was going to lose my kidney. Or my life. The angle of the dagger didn’t inspire much confidence in my survival.
“He’s not coming to save you,” Jyrard laughed. It was a slimy, low laugh that reminded me of so many power-obsessed people I’d met, callous and cruel and unimaginative. They all shared the same playbook and acted out the same tired lines.
“Oh, save it,” I huffed, throwing my knee up and not surprised when he dodged the hit.
Fuck, the dagger sank deeper, at least an inch in my gut now.
I wondered if it was a direct hit over the wound he’d inflicted with his wand the last time we fought.
If you could even call this fighting. He was forcing me to stab myself, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.
“He has no magic,” Jyrard continued, because of course he didn’t know when to shut up. The rest of the dam road had fallen eerily silent, so the dick prince’s voice was as clear as a bell. I tried to hit him again; he was going to bury the knife in me anyway, so I might as well try to wound him.
I managed to drive my boot into his instep this time—perseverance always pays off—and threw all my strength into ripping the dagger free. It worked, but only because Jyrard’s attention had gone to something behind me, his mouth slack, something like unease in his eyes. No, not unease.
Fear.
It was damn satisfying to see, even if it probably meant there was a giant dam monster behind me, something lizardish and slimy. Hell, I’d ride the dam monster to freedom if I had to.
“Zaba.”
I whipped around so fast, too fucking fast because I wavered on my feet. I would have met the floor in a graceless heap if the fog hadn’t surged around my legs, steadying me. As solid and comforting as it had ever been.
The Haar stalked towards Jyrard and I, his expression uncommonly murderous. Behind him, racing closer, was Kier.
“You can… manifest him?” I asked even though he was too far away to hear.
The Haar reached my side, and I hadn’t thought it was possible for his expression to darken, but it turned from murderous to utterly lethal.
I might have enjoyed that if it wasn’t for the eruption of pain through my stomach.
I hated getting stabbed. At least I wouldn’t glow blue this time.
I wondered why he hadn’t brought his fancy new wand to this fight.
“Aw, shit,” I groaned when I saw he was looking at the hole in my stomach—and my jacket. “I liked this one.”
“Touch her,” he hissed when Jyrard came a step closer, “and I will end you, your bastards, and your entire bloodline.”
Nice. I gave Jyrard a smirk I probably should have suppressed, and scowled when I saw the fucker had my long dagger. I veered forward to snatch it back, but a cool, solid arm wrapped around my back, pulling me into the Haar’s side.
“Hi, Kier,” I murmured, smiling up at him and wondering if, just maybe, I was losing a little too much blood, too fast. “I thought you were a lizard.”
He gave me an odd look, but the murder in his milky eyes turned to affection, and then amusement when Jyrard launched himself towards us, as if he wasn’t completely surrounded by fog. Kier’s fog.
I reached up to pat his cheek. “Proud of you.”
Of course, that was when Jyrard pulled out an emerald cannon (from where? His puckered asshole?) and fired at us.
A wall of opaque mist slammed down, lighting up vivid green when the shot struck it. I flinched back into the Haar right as Kier reached us. The second his hands met my body, the mist around our legs rushed up, devouring the sight of anything else.
I had the sense of moving, a pinch behind my belly button. Or maybe that was the stab wound. The second stab wound. Gods, I really had to stop doing this, it was getting tedious now. One stabbing was more than enough.
“Safe,” the Haar said in a soft rasp as the fog climbed higher. Within seconds it was over my head, swallowing the sight of Kier, too. And it was only then that I realised what the Haar meant by safe.
When the fog fell, and I stumbled into Kier’s side, we weren’t on the dam road.
He’d taken us to the place he’d sent our people.
He’d saved us, but how would we ever get back to Lazankh?