Chapter 45
The midnight breeze barely cools the flush from my cheeks when I step into the back streets.
My dagger clanks at my side with each step, a reminder that even in the peaceful quiet moonlight, I’m still taking a risk.
I should be back in the tavern rather than exposing myself to any wandering eye or Smoke soldier, but right now, the anger nipping at my heels is too much.
I need space from Jace and his gorgeous fucking face.
My mind knows he’s right. I’m safer the further apart we stay, but every other organ threatens to fail with the thought of running from him.
Never in my life have I felt this sort of longing, this agonizing gravity toward another person.
I draw in a breath, soothing the frantic pump in my chest. This fear doesn’t terrify me like it should.
I’ve met death square in the face, and my instincts don’t tell me to run.
Gods, what is wrong with me?
I turn the corner and pass shopfronts and little homes.
Sea glass chimes rustle in the coastal breeze, pricking the hair on my arms to high alert.
My eyes sweep the street. I should go back inside, trudge up the stairs and lock the doors until morning, but the thought of another sleepless night—interrupted by the incessant creaks from Jace’s adjoining room—keeps me moving.
Past the next block, the crowded buildings diminish, leaving an open view to the horizon.
Deep navy, washed in silver, laps against the line connecting the heavens to the earth.
What vast nothing waits beyond our sight?
Perhaps, Storm isn’t far enough from this life for me.
When we’ve secured the rider, and the guardian rises again, maybe I’ll use my payout to purchase a ship and sail into the hazy darkness until I’m well beyond reach.
Would that be far enough for King Ashborne?
I take in the fresh salty air and turn on my heels, boots clicking on the cobblestone reluctantly. My heart tremors in my throat when the inn comes back into sight. Back to battle, I don my armor and follow the curve of the street.
“A pretty little bitch shouldn’t stray too far into the night, Miss Lindwen.”
It takes less than a heartbeat to draw my blade and whirl around.
Blonde locks glint in the moonlight, paling them almost to my own color. A crimson cloak, marked with the Smoke insignia flashes in the shadow.
Samkiel.
“Don’t come any closer,” I growl, palming the dagger with a cold blooded grip. “I won’t hesitate to kill you.”
“Such a vicious bark without your midnight heir to protect you.” His lips spread into a vile grin.
“I don’t need protection. Did you forget how many of your men I slaughtered back in Storm?” Flashes of the carnage dance through me, staining my vision red. Standing before me is the man who killed Yaris. I take a breath, fighting the roar of wicked violence tainting my tongue.
He will die. Tonight.
“That’s why I brought reinforcements.” He snaps his fingers and a gathering crowd of Smoke soldiers appear, all donned in royal colors, all readying themselves for battle.
“Try me, fucker,” I hiss.
“Have you worked through the truth in that little brain of yours? I know, it’s hard to comprehend, but I hoped my note might clear things up.” He taps his temple, a mocking tone pitched in his words.
“And what truth is that?” My gaze jumps from soldier to soldier. There are ten, maybe twenty of these assholes? Not too bad, but with only a dagger I’m not sure I can hack my way through them all.
The inn is three blocks away, if I screamed would Jace and Isra hear me? Fuck, that back room is padded by storage spaces and kitchens. Besides, it’s on the opposite side. My scream would sound like a mere whistle in the breeze.
“So, you haven’t figured it out yet. Silver hair, purple eyes…” His knife points to each one of my features before homing in on my chest. “Are you truly just an animal in need of a cage, or is it denial, guardian rider?”
“I’m not the survivor you’re after, and even if I was, I’d never agree to whatever piss poor plan you’ve managed to wrung up. Trying to impress daddy dearest after he tossed you away like trash?”
Samkiel’s eyes flicker. Perfect, I found his pinch point.
“Yeah, I’ve learned some things about you, too, Samkiel Ashar. I know your histories. Quite the big boots to fill for a bastard son.”
His knuckles whiten around his blade. “You’re dead, stupid slut. Maybe I’ll take a taste of what’s between your thighs before I kill you. Is your cunt truly that perfect enough to tame Ashborne?”
“Oh, did I hit a nerve? Good. Next, I’m coming for your throat,” I spit.
Fortunately for me, these men are from Smoke. Even after weeks away from the faction, their combat tactics are second nature, but Samkiel’s stance suggests his training is out of military regulations. Regardless, I dig my heels into the cobblestone and raise my blade.
“Deal with her,” Samkiel commands. He sheathes his sword and sinks into the group of soldiers, now rushing toward me.
I don’t have time to track his position. A blade glints in my periphery, and I dodge before it can strike. Another comes from the opposite flank, jutting toward my rib. Then another at my knee.
My muscles move through the motion, like they’ve done time and again.
The sound of dying men dissipates into the night as I slash and hack and slaughter. No longer am I Nova, but a violent, brutal extension of the dagger I wield. They underestimated me, and for that I feel like grinning. Blood sprays across my brow, staining my loose strands red.
How many have I killed? There’s too much chaos, too much carnage, and my eyes still search for Samkiel. He’s the target, not these half-grown fucks playing pretend in brass chest plates.
Another soldier charges me, his weapon aimed directly for my heart. I sidestep, barely averting his attack, but in the blur of crimson cloaks, I don’t see the spear drawn, awaiting my mistake.
Agony explodes through my side. Flesh squelches and warm, wet blood seeps into my tunic. My body spasms, and pain flurries my vision. My knees crack on stone as I fall, mouth gaping.
I’ve been wounded enough to know this puncture isn’t lethal, but it hurts like a bitch. The first soldier rushes me, forcing my dagger free with one quick jab to my wrist. The second, binds my hands and rips my hair back, forcing my chin up.
“I’ll admit, I’m disappointed.” Samkiel chuckles from the shadows. His eyes linger on the blood trail down my split lip.
“Jace will rip your heart out and feed it to you bite for bite,” I cry, the maddening bloodlust taking my reins.
He kneels beside me, brushing a thumb across my lip before clamping his grasp down on my jaw. “Tell me, Miss Lindwen. Where’s your dragon?”
The spit I aim in his face is bloody. “I’m not the guardian rider. How embarrassing, to have spent all of your father’s stipen chasing the wrong survivor.”
Samkiel’s eyes bounce between mine, inspecting the scar down my brow. “Do you truly not know?”
“Know what? That your father massacred my people, my parents, and now enslave whatever few remain? Fuck you.” I’m growling like a cornered cat, but this outburst of lethal fury feels so fucking good.
Maybe not in this life, but the next I’ll see to it that every Ashar pays for the actions of their predecessors.
A darkness slithers awake in my chest, like a serpent ready to strike.
“And here I thought you were more than just an uneducated street rat. What a shame it is to be mistaken.” He sighs and straightens back up. “Kill her.”
The soldier holding my hair tugs harder, ripping strands from my scalp. I bite down the grimace as my chin tips up, exposing the soft vulnerable artery under my jaw. A second soldier draws a dagger from his side and holds it against my neck.
This execution isn’t one I take gracefully. My eyes don’t flutter closed. No prayers to Astora or Morvayne spill from my lips. I rip and thrash and scream against their hold. Sweat follows the curve of my spine, and my chest heaves with sheer animalistic will.
Now would be a perfect time for a certain blood hungry soulless rider to swoop in, but the night is still. Moonlight washes over me in silvery hues, bleaching the violence painted on my limbs.
“You’ll pay for this, Samkiel Ashar. So will your father.”
But Samkiel doesn’t respond. He simply turns his back and escapes into the shadows from which he came.
The soldier digs his knife into my skin, slicing an angry cut across my throat. I thrash against his partner’s grip, blind and panicked with self-preservation.
Before the blade reaches my carotid, I unleash one final scream into the night.
Not just a scream, but a roar, shaking the very cosmos from the skies.
Every death, every loss, all of the pain I’ve collected throughout my life pours from me with unstoppable force.
I ball my fists together and thrash at the soldiers.
A third, then fourth, grip my limbs, grunting and grimacing at the last burst of strength radiating from me.
“Hold still you stupid cunt,” the first soldier says. I throw my head back and hard bone meets cartilage with a nauseating crack.
“Fuck! My nose. She broke my nose!” Hands loosen their grip around my hair, but another set swiftly replaces them. A knife burrows through my side. Pain erupts from the site and courses through my body, spreading a coppery warmth down my tunic.
The unseen soldier pulls his knife from my flesh and my thoughts shift to panic. Unlike before, this pain is a lethal one. The blade was too close to any one of my vital organs. The horizon dips and my limbs heavy.
Fuck, this is bad.
But boots thud. Then bodies. My wrists release, and I fall to the ground.
It isn’t midnight eyes or chestnut curls that greet me when I force my lids open. No. It’s silver.
Silver and violet, like a reflection in a rain-soaked puddle.
“Can you get up?” a soft, feminine voice asks. My throat burns, hoarse and ragged as I attempt a response. There's too much blood pooling around me. Too much motion in my vision.
“Fuck, okay. Hold on,” she says. Slender hands grip my wrists and I’m thrown upwards. Pain shoots through me like I’ve been freshly impaled again, and a groan pours from my throat.
“Just hold on. I’ll get you inside.”
The world tilts, and a shoulder juts into my abdomen. I gag on the blood sputtering from me as my anonymous rescuer flings me over her chest and hauls my dying ass back toward the inn.
“Who are you?” I manage, choking on saliva.
“A survivor like you.”