Chapter 14 Rhyland
Rhyland
The red-haired bastard lunges at me with a roar, his fist connecting with my jaw with enough force to snap a mortal's neck. But I'm no mortal, and I've taken more brutal hits from toddlers.
I retaliate with a snarl, my fist slamming into his gut and doubling him over. I follow up with a knee to his face, feeling the satisfying crunch of cartilage.
But Bloodbane is tough, and he's back on his feet instantly, his eyes blazing with fury. He comes at me again, this time with a wicked-looking dagger.
I dodge the first swipe, feeling the blade whistle past my ear. But the second one catches me across the ribs, opening up a shallow gash that starts oozing blood.
Fuck. That's going to slow me down.
My anger skyrockets, a white-hot fury burning through my veins. I need to get to Dani, find her, and make sure she's safe. But this asshole, this fucking Bloodbane, is in my way.
I try to reach for my telekinesis, to slam the fucker against the wall and hold him there until I can rip his throat out, but there's nothing. Still cut off from my abilities, leaving me with only my brute strength.
But I don't need my powers to deal with this piece of shit. I've got centuries of Viking combat training and rage that could level mountains coursing through my veins.
I roar, which shakes the very foundations of the tavern. And then I'm on him, tackling him to the ground with enough force to crack the floorboards beneath us.
My fists are a blur as I rain down blows on his ugly face, feeling his bones shatter and splinter beneath my knuckles. The wet, meaty sound of flesh splitting open fills my ears, and I can feel his blood splattering against my skin, hot and sticky.
But I don't stop. I can't stop. Not until this fucker is a broken, bloody ruin beneath me. Not until I've made him pay for every second he's kept me from getting to Dani.
The realization hits me like a punch to the gut, stealing the breath from my lungs. The attack on us—the tavern, Bloodbane, and his goons... sent by the Sea Witch. Just how much does she already know, and what will she do?
Panic claws at my throat, a sickening knot of fear and dread that threatens to undo me.
I lose myself in the violence, in its pure, primal rush. I'm a man possessed, a berserker lost in the throes of battle-rage. There's nothing but the pounding of my fists, the crunch of bone, and the coppery scent of blood in my nostrils.
There are too many of them, and they keep coming, wave after wave of Bloodbane's goons pouring through the door.
I can feel myself starting to tire, my muscles screaming in protest as I keep swinging and fighting. Bloodbane is a mess beneath me, his face a ruin of shattered bone and pulped flesh, but still he struggles, still he tries to sink his blade into my flesh.
Bloodbane reaches for my throat, digging his meaty hands in, choking me as I continue to rain punches.
I bare my fangs, ready to rip his fucking throat out and be done with this prick, but before I can strike, something hard smashes into the back of my skull. The impact sends me sprawling off Bloodbane and onto the floor.
Sunovabitch!
Stars burst in my vision, and everything spins. The room tilts and sways, but through the haze, I see Bloodbane scrambling to his feet, seizing the opportunity to run for it.
My head throbs, and then I feel a firm hand clamp down on my arm, hauling me up.
It's Erik, his face grim. "Enough," he shouts over the roar of the chaos around us. "We need to leave. Now."
Fuck playing it smart. Fuck regrouping and plotting and scheming. The only thing that matters now is blood, hot and wet and gushing down my throat as I unleash hell on these bastards who dared to fuck with what's mine.
Control snapped—now all I want is blood.
I'm moving, a blur of speed and savagery, as I tear through Bloodbane's goons like a whirlwind of death.
I don't think, don't hesitate, don't hold back. I let my vampire instincts take over completely, unleashing the beast within to wreak bloody havoc.
My fangs sink into throats, tearing through flesh and muscle, the coppery taste of blood flooding my mouth.
My claws rip through bone and sinew like they're made of paper, splattering blood and viscera across the walls, the floor, my face, hands, and clothes.
The scent of it, thick and heavy, fills my nostrils, but I barely notice.
All I can focus on is the savage joy of the kill, the primal rush of rending my enemies limb from limb.
I haven't fed like this since the Werewolf massacre back home. When I took out half of Marcus's pack—draining them until nothing was left but husks.
The memory of that night flashes through my mind, vivid and bloody. The scent of fear was thick in the air, the sound of screams and snarls echoing through the forest. The savage joy of the hunt, of the kill, of feeling my enemies' life force flowing into me with every frenzied gulp.
It was a slaughter, a bloodbath of epic proportions. I tore through those wolves like they were nothing—like they were less than nothing. I reveled in their terror, pain, and knowledge that I was the apex predator, the monster that even monsters feared.
It was glorious and terrifying, and it was everything I am, everything I was made to be.
A killer. A destroyer. A fucking force of nature.
And now, as I tear through Bloodbane's men with the same ruthless efficiency and savage glee, I feel that old bloodlust rising inside me once again.
It's like a drug, like the sweetest ambrosia. The more I kill, the more I need to kill. The more blood I spill, the more I crave.
It's a vicious cycle, a never-ending spiral of death and destruction. And some dark, twisted part of me loves every fucking second of it.
Screams fill the air, high and shrill and full of terror, as the patrons and pirates witness the slaughter unfolding around them.
They've never seen brutality like this, never witnessed such raw, unbridled savagery.
To their mortal eyes, it must seem like the end of days, like hell itself has opened up to swallow them whole.
But I don't care. Let them scream.
All I see is red; all I can taste is the coppery tang of blood on my tongue. I'm lost in the frenzy, the savage joy of the kill, and nothing else matters.
Dimly, I'm aware of Erik joining the fray, his sword glinting in the lantern lights. We move together like a well-oiled machine, a duo of death and destruction that leaves nothing but broken bodies and shattered bones in our wake.
Gideon and Izabelle are there, too, their swords flashing as they cut down any fucker stupid enough to get in their way. But they're just background noise, barely registering in my blood-soaked haze.
There's a feeling deep in my gut, something primal and urgent, like a siren's call. It's a sickening sensation, a twist of pain and dread that lashes at my insides like a whip.
But I ignore it, push it down, and lock it away. I can't afford to be distracted, not now, not when I'm lost in the throes of bloodlust and savage fury.