“What the hell…” I whispered.
How were they out when it was still light? Not the best timing. I had just drained a considerable amount of my magic from crafting Xarothar's den, and now ten of the vampire king’s soldiers stood before me. I couldn’t let them leave. If word got out that a witch was living in the whispering woods with a dragon, it wouldn’t just reach whoever else wanted me dead. The king and Vespera would know, and I couldn’t afford that to happen.
Then I saw him.
Magnus.
He stepped forward with that same cruel smirk I remembered far too well. A deep scar ran through his bottom lip, courtesy of my mother. Tall and lean, dressed in dark, regal armour of the King's elite, he looked like he had just stepped out of a nightmare—my nightmare. His long black hair was pulled back into a sleek ponytail, accentuating his sharp, angular face that I hated. His skin was a deathly pale, making his blood-red eyes stand out like fresh wounds.
I thought I would never have to see him again; all he did was hunt me. He and his brother had a slight obsession beyond orders; luckily, his other half wasn’t here. But now that he was standing in front of me, my chest tightened, my breath caught, and something dark slithered through me. Rage, hatred, the aching ghost of grief that never really left me.
He was the one who killed my mother.
My fists clenched at my sides, magic humming angrily beneath my skin, sparking at my fingertips.
“You are a hard witch to find, Ravena,” Magnus said smoothly, though I caught a flicker of intrigue as he glanced behind me.
He was looking at Xarothar.
I immediately stepped in front of my dragon, blocking his view, my chin tilting up in defiance.
“Well, that’s the point, Magnus.” My voice was steady, but the storm inside me was anything but.
Magnus chuckled, the sound cold and amused, as he lazily lifted a hand, signalling for the others to hold their ground.
“It’s been a while, and yet, here you are,” he mused, tilting his head slightly. “Back in the very house where your mother was slaughtered.” He laughed, and the others joined in.
His words struck like a blade to the gut, sharp and cruel. A familiar ache tightened in my chest, the kind that never truly faded. I missed her more than anything, and the very man who took her away from me was now standing in front of me. Magnus knew, and when I looked at him, I remembered the look on his face when he killed her. It had been nothing more than a game to him, and that same smirk was now curled on his lips, tauntingme, daring me to lose control of my magic. Magnus lifted two fingers as he strode forward with an air of arrogance.
“Now, I am going to give you two options,” he drawled. “Option one, you come with us willingly, and I promise not a single hair on your head will be harmed by me.”
Yeah, that’s not happening, asshole.
“Option two, we kill your dragon and drag you back broken. We may not be able to kill you, but we can get you damn close.”
He stopped midway, now just a few steps away, his presence seeping into the space like poison. Xarothar nudged my back, his concern pressing into my mind.
“I can fly us out of here.”
“No,”my gaze stayed locked on Magnus and the others.“You’re too small for that, and anyone could spot us if you fly.”
Xarothar rumbled uneasily.
“He’s going to kill you, and I can’t breathe fire yet. Not well anyway, I can’t protect you.”
“I won’t let them hurt you, Xarothar. Not because of me. Not again.”My fingers tightened around the hilt of my daggers as a slow, dangerous smile curved my lips.
“Or…” I tilted my head as I spun my dagger in my hand. “Option three. I kill you and your pathetic little followers, then send the remains back to the king as a personal fuck you.”
I had sworn I would never let that bastard get his hands on me, and I intended to keep that promise.
Magnus’s smirk barely faltered, but his red eyes darkened. With a single glance, his soldiers surged forward. The first lunged from my right—fast but predictable. I dropped in a smooth glide, pivoted on my heel, and drove my dagger upward into his spine. His body jerked as I twisted the blade, stealing his final breath as the dagger drained the life out of him. His scream choked off mid-air, and he collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut.
Another lunged at me, swinging wildly. I caught his wrist mid-strike, yanked him off balance, and smashed my elbow into his jaw with a sickening crack. He stumbled back—stunned—just long enough for me to step in and slash clean across his throat. Blood sprayed across the snow, some hitting my face as he hit the ground.
The third thought he could catch me off guard—rookie mistake. He came from behind, quiet, but not quiet enough. I turned just as he raised his sword, grabbed the hilt, and used his momentum to flip him over my shoulder. He landed hard, dazed. I straddled him, my dagger flashing against the last of the sunlight as I sank it straight into his heart. His eyes widened in shock before dulling to nothing.
Xarothars growl rumbled behind me, a deep, vibrating warning that sent a shiver through the air. My senses sharpened as I caught movement—a vampire darting toward him with deadly intent.
