Page 231 of Commanding Blood And Bonds

“Go! Dammit, Cyrus, run!”

“You didn’t leave me. I’m not⁠—”

A rumble of stone cut me off, a slow hiss silencing us both.

“Run!” she barked again—just as a blur of darkness came straight at me.

I raised a blade, but faster than seemed possible, Freya threw herself between me and it. Bone crunched as the two collided.

Her scream cleaved the air.

FORTY-THREE

SILVER LINING

CYRUS

“What the fuck is that thing?!” I barked as Freya rolled backwards, springing upright like a goddamned cat. It had been a blur of shadow and gnarled bone, without much else. She’d…saved me. Again. What the actual fuck?

“Don’t know. Don’t care. Make it dead, please,” she panted and crouched low, her canines elongating as she drew a new blade—hers had gone flying. She brought the weapon up into a defensive stance.

Canines.

I tried to pull on my magic, but nothing answered. We were close to the surface, but not close enough. My own teeth elongated, a burning pressure searing through my jaw as my eyes locked on⁠—

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah,” she huffed.

The beast rose to its full height—shadow, exposed sinew, twisted bone. Its spine arched unnaturally, taloned fingers bent at grotesque angles.

“Split ranks,” she ordered, pulling another knife from the sheaths on her ribs. For once, I had no snark left. Slowly, I slid the bow off my back and began sidestepping. The creature’s eyeless skull tracked us in a serpentine motion, its jaw opening into a broad, jagged snarl.

“Fuck me,” I muttered.

“No thanks,” she shot back, a beat before she rose and threw. The creature roared, the sound slicing through my skull and spine. Both blades hit—no hesitation, no mercy—but the damn thing surged forward anyway.

While its attention was fixed on Freya, I nocked an arrow, aimed, and prayed. Released. Missed.

Freya’s scream cut through the din, visceral enough that I felt it like a blade to the ribs, like I was the one with a slash over my chest.

Fuck this. I aimed again. This one landed, embedding in its shoulder.

It screeched at an inhuman, skull-splitting decibel that had me clutching my ears, collapsing to my knees as pressure crushed my skull. Blood hit my lips. My vision blurred, but I saw as Freya went down.

The thing backhanded her, sending her flying as her head snapped back.

Something fractured inside me, and I roared, leapt to my feet, and loosed another arrow. The thing charged. Another arrow sank into its chest. Too close for ranged shots, I flipped my grip and swung the bow like a staff. It shattered against the creature’s skull.

I scrambled, drew daggers, and slashed across its throat. Black blood gushed, but it struck again—missed. The thing collapsed with a wet thud.

And just like that, it was over.

“Holy…fuck,” I panted, chest heaving, heart a war drum in my ears. A roar echoed from the chamber below, and my gaze snapped to where Freya lay crumpled.

“Freya!”

Dead sprint.