“It’s a territorial challenge. You’ll either earn her respect or lose every one of your senses. Thenbegher to feast on you.”
“Oh …”
Interesting.
“Any last words before we wave him off?”
“Yes, actually.” I slide a dragonscale blade from my sheath. If I don’t decapitate the fucker, he might find some way to haunt me despite being suckled into oblivion.
I tilt Rekk’s head, exposing his throat, and drag the blade across his neck one swift slice at a time, severing flesh, muscle, and tendons. Blade meets bone, and rather than waste time sawing through, I set the weapon down, take his head in my hands, and jolt it to the side.
There’s a satisfyingcrack.
Utris clears his throat, watching me hack through the remaining flesh, sheathe my blade, then raise Rekk’s head like a trophy. “Much better.”
“Guessing you, ahh … spent time with one of the clans?”
Spent time with akingwho seems to have rubbed off on me, more like it.
“Could say that.”
“Well, always best to be safe.” Utris grabs Rekk by the ankles and drags him closer to the water, speaking through his teeth as he says, “Though we’ll all probably be dead soon anyway. Since the sky’s about to shit itself.”
Bit morbid. I certainly don’t plan on being dead anytime soon.
We work together, easing what’s left of Rekk’s body into the water, creating very few ripples. “For Essi and Líri,” I murmur past gritted teeth, then gently slip his head past the surface, enjoying the way it tumbles down the sloped shore and sinks into oblivion … waiting for the itch at the tips of my fingers to quell.
It doesn’t.
Movement catches my eye.
I look at the pier, now heavy with numerous white-robed folk—
“Shit,” Utris hisses, yanking me back behind the rocky outcrop. Not before I catch a glimpse of the fae they appear to be escorting—bloody and bound in ropes, gagged, being half dragged toward the boats.
But it’s his blaze of hair that has my heart pitching.
That almost looks like Pyrok … though thinner. Paler. And really messed up.
A muffled yell echoes across the water, followed by splashing sounds as daunting ripples disturb the surface.
“He’s being fed to the anthe,” Utris grinds out, tugging my arm. He edges toward the tunnel. “We have to go. Now.”
Bit hasty, given I’m not one hundred percent certain that’s not somehow the blasé, foul-mouthed male I swore off caring for.
I steal another glance over the outcrop to see the poor fuck getting shoved into a boat that’s promptly kicked into the open.
Toward us.
“Raeve.Hurry.”
“I just need a moment,” I whisper, squinting for a glimpse of the prisoner’s face while the robed individuals file back through the ornate exit—gone. In a hurry not to get eaten, no doubt.
The prisoner wrangles into a sitting position, moving in a jagged way. Like his mind is scribbling all over the place. Not the languid way Pyrok moves, but it does little to rectify my concerns.
Finally, he looks back over his shoulder toward the tunnel, offering a perfect view of his profile.
I hunt his too-fine features for any of Pyrok’s signature piercings, finding none, his skin black and blue in places. Obviously beaten. Lastly, I note his hair—shorn short at the back and sides, the rest a flop of semi-tame curls.
