Chapter 47 Terrifying, Beautiful, Dangerous #2
My eyes stung as I spotted two women around my age, both sliced through the chest. Deceased next to one another while still holding hands. They didn’t deserve this. They were supposed to make it to Castivian.
“You’re harder to find than I thought,” a familiar voice sounded behind me.
I swiveled, eyes narrowing on the enemy Dreamsoul.
“I’m getting bored of men chasing after me,” I snarled, wielding Singer. God, I was tired.
The Witchlord held his hands up. “Let’s make this easy and painless. You get down with me, we put you in a nice little room until the Sapphires arrive to retrieve you, and then maybe we can even have a drink.”
I charged towards him.
“Fine. The hard and painful way,” he grumbled.
“Just the way I like it,” I taunted, swinging the club.
He dodged the blow, and I fell against the roof. I winced, forcing myself to tuck the pain away until later. I jumped back to my feet, smoke billowing into the sky as nearby buildings caught fire.
The Witchlord had to be weak as well, or he would’ve already forced me to sleep. Lightning sparked between his fingers, threatening me.
I charged him, because fuck wasting time to spar. If I was going to die, so was he, right now.
His face twisted as we collided, both of us grunting from the impact. He fell on his back at the edge of the roof, and I landed on top of him.
“Just where I like my whores,” he snarled. The glint in his eyes was the same one all mindless men had when they wanted what was between my legs.
“Really?” I teased.
He hardened under me at my response.
His face reddened, lust clouding his good sense. Leave it to a man to face death with desire. Though who was I to pass up such an opportunity? Would the historians write about this moment? The Witchlord and I on the roof?
I reached for his pants, gripping his waistband. “I mean, if we’re going to die anyway.”
His eyes roamed from his sword, to my hands, and finally—my body. “You are a little whore.”
I lowered my gaze shyly, focusing between his legs. I tugged the zipper down, revealing the subpar, veiny creature within. Not appealing in the slightest. My eyes stayed locked on his face as I lowered my mouth, tongue reaching out. His eyes rolled back as I sucked down.
What a fucking dumbass.
Years worth of withheld poison erupted from my mouth. I reached for Singer, bashing the stone club onto his hand that held the sword. He screamed as I bit down on his pathetic excuse for a dick.
My poison flooded into the bite wound. He tried to yank my braid with his only usable hand.
I laughed, spitting a piece of penis onto his face.
“As if I’ve never had my hair pulled.”
Blood and poison dripping from my mouth, I pressed Singer into his shoulder, forcing him to release my braid. As the poison burned through his body, he shouted slurs and curses, the last bit of damage he thought he could do.
It was useless. Heirs did not concern themselves with the opinions of dickless men.
As he guppied on his last breath, I stood, using my arm to wipe the poison from my mouth.
I took in the disarray across the city. The gates were too crowded.
There were too many Drakers. I had no idea where any of my friends were anymore.
The people within the Waywards had given up hope.
Some retreated back to their homes, while others held their hands above their heads in surrender, begging for mercy.
Even worse, four archers were perched across different buildings, all with their elbows cranked back, aims pointed at me.
My eyes stung, a hot tear rolling down my face. Years worth of anger clawed its way up my chest.
Amzee and Beck were burned out. Riven was nowhere to be seen. We were overrun by Drakers. The gate was too small. Four arrows would go through my skull if I didn’t surrender. Worst of all, I was going to die with subpar penis breath.
The archers whistled a warning. Surrender or die.
I would rather die.
A roar erupted through the sky like nothing I’d ever heard, rattling my brain. I snapped my head to the sound, shoulders dropping.
Flying at a high speed with their wings drawn back were two bladebreathers—Valeska and Zephy.
My knees buckled.
Valeska screeched, her sights on me. “There you are,” she called through my mind.
On her back was Lady Jocelynn.
I couldn’t believe it. The woman who didn’t even want to ride to Moonhill—who had no interest in leaving Castivian. The woman who had children at home and a life to live for.
She had crossed the Sea of Blades for this. And she wasn’t the only one.
Xavian was behind her, while Trista rode on the back of Zephy.
My brother and friends were here. Lady Jocelynn was my friend, not just Xavian’s.
Zephy barked a blade out with precise aim, sending an archer to the ground before diving into the streets. Trista held on for dear life, red hair blazing behind her.
Amzee ran to him, spirits high. There was hope, and that was stronger than any burnout.
Valeska came to a halt in front of my building, flapping her wings and blowing smoke into my face. I stood frozen in awe.
She was everything I’d imagined a bladebreather to be.
Terrifying, beautiful, dangerous.
Xavian spared no time for niceties and conversations, leaping from her back to a nearby rooftop, blades in hand.
Valeska’s shimmering eyes bore into my soul as the world tore itself apart around us.
“You sent food to Moonhill?” she demanded to know.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Shrugging, I maintained my firm footing and gave her an honest answer. “I’ve been starving before.”
She lowered her wing, allowing Jocelynn to slide down.
“I stink like dirt and sweat, my Gods!” she scowled, shadows wisping around her as she made her way to the roof.
Steam puffed from Valeska’s nostrils and she pulled her wing back once more. “Your friend was very worried for you. She rode to Moonhill alone, confronting me with not a weapon in sight but her whip of a tongue.”
Jocelynn brushed herself off, refusing to look at the scene around us, complaining to herself. My heart swelled in admiration of her actions. Of Valeska’s, too.
“And you came,” I said to Valeska.
“I have come to claim you as my rider, if you will choose me, Princess Elorengail,” she said, silver scales reflecting the lightning above.
She would claim me, all because I had done something as simple as send food?
There was not a single doubt in my mind. “Then I choose you.”
Her large eyes marveled, head tilting curiously. “There are younger bladebreathers back in Moonhill, if that is what you’d prefer.”
I stepped forward, fearlessly placing my hand at the bridge between her eyes. “I choose you.”
Black, silver, and violet mist fluttered as Valeska and I became a united force, our instincts clicking together like puzzle pieces. It was so seamless, so natural. How had we not been that way my entire life?
“The wall needs to come down,” she acknowledged, our motives colliding. It was unlike anything I’d ever experienced.
Lady Jocelynn scoffed. “I’d say so. We’ll be fighting for weeks with that measly exit,” she interjected, pointing to the crowded gate.
“Get on,” she ordered, her wing lying down like a bridge. “I can’t fly long without a rider.”
I faced Jocelynn. “Are you coming with me?”
She confidently shook her head. “I do not possess the desire to ever have my feet off the ground again, thank you. I will make my way to the ship just fine.”
“It’s dangerous down there,” I warned.
She rolled her eyes. “I’m a Nightcastor.”
Fair enough.
The moment I’d been waiting my entire life for was right in front of me. Valeska craned her wing, awaiting me.
From the moment I touched her, my Nature bonded with her—fueling her. It was like a magnet. The pull was so strong that if I were to fall off, it would have had to have been on purpose.
Once seated behind her neck, I felt energized, not afraid, looking at the scene below. We were getting the rest of the Dark Natured to Castivian, no matter what.
A similar energy rolled off of Valeska—the anger she felt on my behalf.
She let out a roar that could rival the Gods, then soared full speed at the wall.