Page 52 of On Brutal Thrones

Because if he comes through those roots, I'm going to have to use it.

7

Nyx

My fingers tighten around the dagger as Talon smiles at me, revealing teeth stained red from the blood field. I want to say something, to tell him he’s scaring me or beg him to fight whatever has taken hold of him, but the words lodge in my throat. My heart pounds so hard it seems to shake my entire body, and every breath tastes faintly of blood.

If Fenric were here, he’d know what to say. He’d find some ridiculous joke or shout at Talon until he got a reaction. If Thorian were here, he wouldn’t waste time talking. He’d already be moving, doing whatever was necessary to stop Talon before he crossed a line he could never forgive himself for.

But neither of them is here.

It’s just me.

I have to do something. My dagger is already in my hand. All I need to do is swing it, cut him somewhere that won’t kill him, hurt him enough to shock him out of this. But my muscles refuse to obey. This is Talon. I love him. I know the man crouching in front of me would be horrified if he understood what he was doing, and somehow that makes raising the dagger against him even harder.

Anger burns through the fear. This is what the gods wanted. They knew there was a vampire on our team, so they put a lake of blood between us and safety. They turned Talon’s own nature against him and made the rest of us suffer for it.

He fed from me last night. I saw him struggling today and asked what was wrong. But I still left him to fight through it, believing he could keep himself under control.

I should have known how bad it was.

The guilt twists through me, but it doesn’t lessen my anger at the gods. They knew exactly what they were doing.

I’ve hated Valtor for years. Quietly. Secretly. Safely inside my own head. But this feels different. He isn’t only the god who destroyed my family anymore. Now he’s hurting the family I found after.

Talon reaches into the hollow.

I scream and jerk backward, my shoulders striking the roots behind me. There’s nowhere else to go.

Move. My fingers clamp around the dagger. Fight.

I start to bring it up.

Talon suddenly goes limp.

His body collapses in front of the opening with a heavy thud, one arm falling into the hollow near my boots. For a second, I can only stare at him, my dagger still raised and my breath coming in short, ragged gasps.

Then I see Thorian standing behind him.

“Thorian.”

His name comes out broken with relief.

He looks terrible. Blood coats his leathers and streaks his face, mixed with dirt and sweat until I can’t tell what belongs to him and what came from the field. His chest heaves as he struggles to catch his breath, and one arm hangs awkwardly at his side.

There’s a body thrown over his other shoulder.

My stomach drops.

“Fenric?”

I scramble forward enough to see copper curls hanging down Thorian’s back, matted dark with blood and dirt.

At least, I hope most of it is from the field.

Thorian lowers Fenric to the ground with more care than I would expect from someone who looks half-dead himself. Fenric is human again, though he’s still trembling from the aftermath of going berserk. The moment Fenric is down, Thorian straightens and grabs his elbow with a wince.

“Gods,” he mutters. “What a hard fucking head.”