Page 43 of White Raven

“I said get on your knees.” The man pushed his blade in enough to pierce through my bodice.

My jaw clenched, trying not to sob.

The Night Raven might have been right; I was better off being killed and eaten by the Jackals.

These men would do worse.

My limbs shaking, I lowered down to my knees. Hold your chin high, Wren. No matter what, never let them think they can break you.

The man grinned over me, stepping closer, his hand going to his belt.

“First you are gonna choke on my dick, fitte. I wanna hear you gagging.” He positioned the sword tip at my eyeball. “Any hint of teeth and I will stab you through your eye. Understand?” He undid his belt, yanking at his trousers.

Dots splattered over my vision, sound whooshing in my ears, afraid I would already breach the promise to myself.

The man’s pants dropped to his ankles, his hand gripping himself, shoving it closer to my face. Vomit pushed up from my gut, coating my tongue.

“Open your mouth.”

His hand struck hard and quick when I didn’t obey, searing pain across my face, jerking my head to the side with the force. A cry squeaked out as he clutched my head, yanking me back to him. “I told you to open your mouth!”

“And I’m telling you. You touch her again . . .” A deep, menacing voice rumbled in the room, directing all the attention back to the Northerner. He sat there, appearing calm, but that vein ticked in his jaw. “And I will shove that boiled sausage you call a dick down your own throat.”

The shock at his statement held in the room like a breath.

It was only a second, a fraction of a moment. The Night Raven’s eyes met mine, his hand clenching around something, his chin dipping subtly in silent communication.

The Northerner jumped up, gripping the knife he hid under his balled-up cloak, the same one he took from me earlier. Pitching forward, he slashed the blade across one of the villagers’ throats. A gurgling cry was drowned by the spray of blood, the villager dropping to the ground. The other three roared in anger, rushing him. The sound of clanking metal and grunts pervaded the tower, howling with the wind.

I slammed my fist into the groin of the man in front of me, doubling him over in agony. Surging to my feet, I rammed my elbow into the boy’s gut behind me. Twisting around, my fingers reached for the scythe.

“No!” he bellowed, tugging it back. The sickle flew from his grip, skating over the stone floor, glinting it with sparks. Darting for the weapon, I once again felt hands tangle into my long locks like reins, hauling me back with a yelp.

“You fucking bitch!” Junior turned red with rage, barreling for me, holding nothing back as he tackled me to the ground. The scythe just out of my reach, he smashed my forehead into the ground, leaving me dazed. He flipped me over, straddling me, his palms wrapping around my throat. “Die, hore!” The raw hatred he felt, because of the color of my hair, the hue of my eyes, vibrated through him, his hands clamping down, cutting off air, blurring my vision.

My legs kicked; my arms thrashed.

I was going to die.

“You won’t always have a weapon.” Yanric plucked the sword from my hands at one of our training sessions. “Use what is around you. Anything can become a weapon if you use enough force.”

My eyes flicked around me, spotting the overturned stone the little creature hid behind earlier this evening.

I could feel consciousness fading. My hand stretched out, struggling to reach the rock, my fingers curling around it. A bellow of rage bucked in my throat. With all my energy, I smashed the brick into the boy’s temple. His body tumbled off me, his hand releasing from my neck. Air and rage coursed through me, and I surged up with gasping breaths. The boy held his head, blood gushing from the wound. He tried to push himself back up, snarling with fury, spitting with retaliation. My fingers curled around the stone. I slammed the stone back down on him again, crushing his skull. His scream coiled in my gut, but all the trauma I had been through made me numb to his cries.

I was sick of being the prey. Tired of having no control.

I wanted to be the demon they feared.

Everything hazed around me, my brick dropping down on him over and over, the squelching of his brain finally stopping me, his body limp, his skull caved in.

“you fuckin’ hore!” The bellow tore my attention away from the pulverized meat next to me. The leader shuddered with wrath, lurching for me, his blade swiping down.

A roar shook the crumbling stone and the Northerner careened into him. A small hand knife protruded from his collar bone, trailing blood down his tunic. Both figures crashed into the ground, rolling across the floor.

Another man stood over the pair, aiming his axe at the back of the Night Raven’s head as the other two tussled. He swung it up, about to drop the blade down on my kidnapper.

I moved without thought, devoid of hesitation. Snatching up the scythe, I swung it with a venomous cry. The sound of flesh and bone crunched in the air, blood spraying over me. The villager froze for a second before half of his torso slid off, the axe tumbling to the ground along with the rest of his body.