Page 107 of Ashen Wings

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.”