Page 11 of On Brutal Thrones

I stumble sideways, and Fenric catches me before I can hit the ground. His arms lock around me, crushing me against his chest, one hand coming up to cradle the back of my head. His entire body is trembling, and from how tightly he holds me, I get the feeling he’s fighting to keep his berserker at bay. He almost lost me, and I don’t think he’s forgiven himself for letting me go in the first place.

Thorian hits Eswyth.

The sound of flesh striking bone echoes through the cave. Eswyth staggers, but Thorian doesn’t give him time to recover before hitting him again. And again. The shifter fights back, but he’s exhausted, his punches lacking power and his movements slowing with every second. Thorian seems to be moving in the opposite direction, every blow landing harder than the last as fury drives him forward.

I’ve watched Thorian fight before. I’ve seen him face monsters and warlocks without hesitation, watched him bloody and furious and pushed to his limits. But I’ve never seen him like this.

Thorian drives Eswyth to the ground and follows him down, his fist crashing into the shifter’s face. Blood spatters the pale crystals beneath them just as footsteps sound from the tunnel.

Talon jogs back into view, his expression sour.

“She got away?” I ask.

“Unfortunately.” He looks from me to Eswyth, and his expression hardens. “I’ve always known shifters were stupid,” he says, stalking toward them.

Eswyth blinks through the blood running into his eyes and struggles to rise, but he barely makes it to his knees before Thorian grabs him by the throat and hauls him upright. His feet leave the ground as Thorian carries him the last few steps to the wall.

Talon circles them. “But I didn’t think you were this stupid.”

Thorian slams Eswyth against the crystals. The shifter screams as the jagged points bite into his bare back, and I imagine that blood immediately begins running between them in thin red streams.

“To threaten her?” Talon continues, all traces of humor disappearing from his voice. He gestures toward Fenric. “Do you have any idea what would’ve happened if he’d gone berserk? You and I would both be dead.”

Fenric’s arms tighten around me, and I feel the tension running through every muscle in his body.

Talon seems to consider his own words. “Well, actually, you’re dead anyway.”

Eswyth claws at Thorian’s wrist, choking, his face darkening as his feet kick uselessly above the ground. His claws rake across Thorian’s forearm, leaving bloody tracks behind, but Thorian doesn’t even flinch. He holds a powerful shifter against the wall with one hand as though Eswyth weighs nothing, his fingers tightening steadily around his throat, even in his weakened strength.

My heart is still hammering, and the scratches along my neck burn with every breath. I’ve seen what Thorian can do in battle, but this feels different. More vicious. More personal. I can’t help thinking that the difference is me. My life was in Eswyth’s hands, his claws against my throat, and Thorian had been forced to stand there and watch.

With one last desperate effort, Eswyth kicks out, trying to break Thorian’s hold. Thorian barely moves. His grip tightens, and I turn my face into the crook of Fenric’s arm just before a sickening crack echoes through the cave.

A second later, I hear the shifter’s body hit the ground.

The sudden silence is almost as jarring as the fight had been. My ears ring, and for several seconds all I hear is Fenric’s heartbeat beneath my cheek and my own ragged breaths. Then footsteps scrape against the crystal floor.

“Are you hurt?”

I lift my head.

Thorian stands in front of us, chest rising and falling hard, blood coating the hand that closed around the dagger. Gashes run along his arm. More blood is splattered across his shirt and jaw, but he doesn’t even glance at himself.

His eyes go straight to my throat.

The fury that transformed his face moments ago is gone. In its place is an emotion I almost never see from Thorian, naked and unmistakable.

Fear.

“No,” I manage, and he reaches down, taking my chin in his hand and tipping it up, looking for himself at my neck. In Fenric’s arms, with Thorian’s hand on my face, I feel strangely safe again, even in these dark tunnels.

Talon leans between the two men and gives me a quick kiss, his gaze lingering on my blood as he pulls away, “Come on. Let’s get the hell out of here and find somewhere to get everyone fixed up. Preferably not somewhere underground.”

Fenric picks up the torch from where it fell during the fight. We continue through the caves until the tunnel splits in two. One passage slopes downward into darkness, while the other climbs steeply enough that I can feel it in my aching legs.

“Vale went that way,” Talon says, nodding toward the lower passage.

Thorian studies the two openings before turning uphill. “Then we’re going this way. I can feel fresh air coming from up ahead.”