Page 66 of Ashen Wings

“Well, isn’t this a surprise…the son of Shadow himself and Finnick Derald’s silver-haired bitch.” A man, shrouded by a crimson cloak, appears from the foyer at the end of the corridor. He clasps his hands and takes a step forward, his gleaming black boots clicking on the silent floor. Jace stills to a halt, his breath lapsing along with the seconds ticking by.

“I’ll admit, I’m taken aback, seeing you over your borders, King Ashborne,” the man says.

Shaken, my gaze darts between the blonde-haired stranger and Jace.

His midnight eyes sparkle with something that pricks the hairs on my arms. He isn’t the insufferable, albeit beautiful, man I’ve grown accustomed to. No. Glittering there in those inky swirls is something terrifying, heartstopping. Death.

“What are you doing here, Samkiel?” Jace’s voice is low and frigid. His grip tightens around my waist as Samkiel saunters toward us, blade drawn. The gilded sword, speckled with red gemstones, flashes with another clap of thunder as he approaches.

“Same thing you are, I’d imagine. Why don’t we go have a seat in the study, we’ll talk this out like men. Or perhaps you can’t stomach my handiwork?”

My fists curl around Jace’s tunic. Where there once was nothing, now there is only rage. An old friend. A quiet confidante. My lungs expand. My heart stammers. Relief in the face of this familiar fury sweetens my tongue.

I don’t know who this fucker is, nor do I truly care. He slaughtered Yaris. The promise is bitter and singed with violence, but I swear it anyways. His death will drip from my blade.

“Get out of my way, Samkiel, before I hurt you,” Jace growls.

“Not until you give me the girl.” Samkiel smoothes back his blonde waves.

“Over my dead fucking body.” Gruff, merciless warning threads through Jace’s words, but Samkiel merely chuckles.

“That can be arranged, King Ashborne,” he says with the snap of his fingers. Metal clanks and reverberates around us. Boots scuff. Blades draw.

Ten, maybe twenty, soldiers, donned in Smoke uniforms, appear from behind Samkiel. “Now, sit. Let’s talk this out before things get out of hand.”

Jace shifts me in his arms, drawing my ear to his parted lips slowly enough to keep from being noticed. “How many of these fuckers can you kill, Nova?”

My eyes widen. He doesn’t say, run or go find help. No. His words are the venom coursing through my veins.

My lips spread into a villainous, vengeful fucking smile.

Grief is a powerful ally, when directed correctly, and right now, those salty tears staining my cheeks are evidence enough that I’m half-fucking mad. “All of them.”

Jace lowers me, buying enough time for me to slip a shortsword between us.

“Hand your plaything over, Ashborne. I’m sure there's plenty of Shadow women, far cleaner than this one you can bury your cock in,” Samkiel says, an arrogant smirk drawing up his teeth.

I want to scream. To claw at his throat and rip out his vocal cords so he can’t ever spew such vile bullshit again, but a strong hand grips my wrist.

Jace’s eyes meet mine. “Like I said, Samkiel—over my dead fucking body.”

There isn’t time to hear Samkiel’s response.

Jace barrels down the corridor, his hands drawn and aimed straight for the man. He isn’t armed with anything but a pocket blade, the same one, I realize, he carried back at Fleetwing’s. Revenge outweighs the jolt of concern pinging through me, though. Jace Ashborne isn’t Jace fucking Ashborne for nothing. He can handle himself.

The outcry of soldiers pounds down the corridor, and I steady myself for their impending attack. I’ve been here before. Killed like this before, but this is different. Those that have fallen to my blade were transactions in the business of blood.

Yaris’s death makes this personal.

I’m going to enjoy this.

The soldiers stampede down the hall with raised swords. My mind quiets and I settle into the lethal choreography I’ve memorized.

A short-haired guard whirls his blade toward me, barely missing the crown of my head as I lunge for his dominant side. The quick jab through the seams of his chest plate has him gurgling for air. Withdrawing my blade is more satisfying though, when he thuds to the floor.

I sidestep as a second soldier attempts an attack. A glorious rush of violence courses down my veins, igniting my body until I’m a blazing fucking inferno. My attacker’s lips part when I duck and drag my blade’s edge across his throat.

My eyes jump through the chaos. Soldiers shove and claw their way toward me, but only a handful make it past the King of Shadow.