69. Elhyor
69
Elhyor
I can feel the smoke on my skin. It’s invigorating, and my dragon pushes against my skin to get out. It loves fire and brimstone. It revels in it, but I can’t let the beast take control. First because if it gets out, it’s going to be mayhem and even if, in true French fashion, the ceiling of the corridor we’re in is very high, I’m still larger than the corridor and I’m not sure I’ll be able to avoid crushing any of my men.
Second, there would be no way I could pass that door at the end of the corridor and evacuate Brice and his team in my dragon form.
I repeat for the third time already to any of my men in the com device to get to that damned door, but no one has managed it so far, and it’s been eerily silent on Brice’s side.
I don’t like it.
I already hate that we fell into Micha?l’s trap—even knowing it was one—but it’s even worse knowing that my friend and my men might be suffocating behind that door.
Some would say that they should have been more careful and double checked that they could escape before lighting any fire, but I understand why they did it. I would have done the same if I had been the one inside. Those servers needed to disappear for the sake of Léandre, but also for humanity and shape-shifters’ sake.
Someone willing to sell off his own daughter and then make it look like she decided to marry me on her own, and make it look like she’s a traitor, should never be in power. He never should have been in power in the first place.
And I never should have turned a blind eye to his actions. “I might never join Libération, but I sure as hell am embracing their ideas,” I think to myself as I punch one of Micha?l’s guards in the face. I then grab his shoulder and throw him on the woman right behind him. She never sees him coming and they both crash to the ground. I don’t see it though, I only hear it because I’m turning on my other side right when I release him, dodging someone’s knife that was aimed at my ribs.
I’m glad I didn’t see any gun on Micha?l’s guards since we arrived because it would be a bloodbath now.
Well, it is a bloodbath. My fists and claws are making sure of it.
But I’m pretty sure it would be way worse.
It almost looks like they aren’t even trying, like they’re stalling.
If I didn’t see more uniformed guards piling on the ground than my own men, I would almost believe it, but as it is, it looks like we’re both gaining ground toward that locked door and getting the upper hand.
From the corner of my eyes, I see Angélique run from one side of the corridor in the direction of the door.
I punch the guy in front of me and feel his ribs break under my knuckles and immediately turn on my heels. I rake my claws from his left shoulder to his stomach and the short sword he was holding above his head in preparation of swinging at my back clatters to the ground.
I’ve been switching between my fists and my claws since this battle started, meeting each of my attackers with the same kind of weapon. Not the same kind of weapon exactly, but if they’re fighting bare hands, I’m doing the same. If they use weapons, I use my claws.
I saw the doubt in some of the guards’ eyes when Angélique spoke earlier, as if some part of them believed her—or wanted to believe her—and if not using lethal weapons is their way to keep showing that doubt, I’m not about to ruin that.
I’m probably the only one doing that, but I’ll stick with it until we’re done here.
Angélique throws her dagger at someone, then punches the man in front of her in the face before grabbing his shoulders and hitting him again with her knee. But she doesn’t stop there, no, she hit him again with her elbow behind his head and in a blur she jumps over him, using his bent back as a propulsion to get in the air and catching the dagger she threw seconds before while she’s upside-down and landing with her feet directly on the chest of the guard right behind. The momentum and the strength she uses as she lands on him propels him to the ground and she doesn’t even stop before she’s running again.
It lasts only a few seconds, but all I can do is stare.
She’s mesmerizing.
The way she moves looks like a well-curated dance, but it’s so well-oiled that you don’t see how lethal she is until it’s too late.
And from the look of it, it’s too late for the two guards right in front of the locked door. In one smooth movement, she punches the guy on her right in the throat and plunges her dagger into the left one’s throat.
Her hands land on the handle right after and the woman on her left thinks she can profit from her focus on the door to attack slightly off on her side so I grab one of the daggers that I strapped to my thigh and launch it to the woman’s face but I shouldn’t have worried because at the same time my dagger hits her right in the eye, Angélique’s left boot hit her square in the chest.
I didn’t see her move, and it’s obvious that the woman who is screaming in agony didn’t either.
I hold my breath as Angélique opens the door, but instead of a colony of bats being released, more guards pour through the door.
And then I hear a distinctive click. And then others. Right behind me.