Page 143 of Embers of Ruin

Then…

He steps through.

For one suspended heartbeat, I don’t recognize him.

I see a man dressed in black leathers, twin swords strapped to his back. He looks like a fucking god ready for war.

I see my king.

My mate.

The man who brought this place crashing down to rescue me.

I let out a sigh of relief so profound it breaks into a sob. Tears spill down my face in endless waves. “THORIN!” I scream.

I need him to find me. I need him to get me out of here. Gods… when he said I was his… he meant it.

He’s tearing this place apart to reach me, leaving nothing standing in his wake.

Shadows coil around his boots like living smoke. They move with him, anticipating every step before he takes it. Black veins branch from beneath the collar of his vest, spreading across his throat and climbing the sharp planes of his face until they disappear beneath his hairline. His eyes…

Gods.

There is no silver.

No white.

Nothing but endless black.

He is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. And the most terrifying.

This isn’t the patient king who corrected my stance in the training yard. This isn’t the man who knelt beside flowers in the Sacred Gardens.

This is the Shadow King.

The curse made flesh.

Lightning crashes through the cavern ceiling, showering the glass cage with stone. There are no walls anymore. Nothing left but the cage and broken earth. I spin in a slow circle, trying to make sense of where I am, but there is nothing left to recognize. Whatever this place was before…

Thorin erased it.

What had been a massive iron stronghold has been reduced to ruin.

Men charge at Thorin, but his shadows lash through the air, wrapping around the rebel soldiers and hurling them aside as though they weigh nothing at all. Some manage to draw their weapons before sharp ropes of shadow slice them cleanly in half. Thorin turns his head toward one man, and he drops to his knees. Thorin raises a hand, and the man’s neck snaps. Another turns to run. He never makes it three steps before darkness devours him. The Shadow Guard pours through the rubble behind their king, fighting anyone who tries to reach him, though it hardly seems necessary. Thorin is untouchable. No one has a chance of getting close to him.

Gods. What have they unleashed?

Thorin moves through the guards with terrifying precision, his sword and shadows working as one. I have never seen anyone fight like this, and I can’t take my eyes off him. I hope the rebels are afraid. I hope they’re terrified, because they brought this upon themselves the moment they took me.

Thorin cuts through what was once a compound with terrible purpose, every swing of his twin blades ending a fight before it can begin. Where steel should meet steel, shadows intervene instead, crushing weapons, splintering shields, and swallowing magic before it can reach him. The rebels aren’t fighting a man. They’re fighting a force of nature.

I see Malveris rush toward him with outstretched hands, crimson power blazing from his palms as he charges straight for Thorin. I scream Thorin’s name because I know he doesn’t see the assault. But I didn’t need to warn him.

He turns before Malveris can reach him, and his expression is pure rage. He flicks his wrist, and blades of solid shadow tear through the air. Malveris ducks the first, and the second shatters against a burst of crimson magic. Thorin’s shadows circle him, attempting to bind his arms, but Malveris slices through them with spinning crimson disks of light. A third shadow blade slices across his arm, drawing blood before he closes the distance.

They collide, steel crashing against steel. Malveris fights with the desperation of a man who knows death is waiting if he loses. Crimson magic explodes from his free hand between strikes, forcing Thorin to break away before answering with shadows that slam into the attack and swallow it whole. The impact rattles the ground, and I brace myself against the glass.

Malveris spins, hurling another blast of crimson magic toward Thorin's chest. Thorin cuts through it as shadows coil around his sword before he drives it forward. Malveris narrowly avoids the strike, conjuring a sword from thin air just in time. Their blades lock for only a heartbeat before Thorin twists free and sends another volley of shadow blades racing toward him. Malveris dodges them but catches the last blade, which buries itself deep in his shoulder. He stumbles back, his crimson eyes blackening.