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Sorin stepped closer to the Redcap’s meat-suit and reached out. His hand did a minute shift, allowing his claws to slip out and he pressed them to the vulnerable, soft skin under the man’s chin, forcing the man to look up or bleed.
“You foul the earth with your stench, Redcap. It’s not enough that you stole the lives of innocent children during your natural life. Now you steal the bodies of humans and use them to continue slaking your blood lust.”
Eyes so wide the white was visible around the pupil, Robin shuddered. “Lord Dragon, please...”
“Begging.”
Sorin had been about to make a comment about that himself, but he remained quiet as the woman eased closer, her scathing disregard for the Redcap painting the air in rich, vibrant color.
“You say my father died a coward as he begged for my life, and here you are, a sniveling worm begging for your own worthless life.” A sharp smile curved her lips as she sneered at the Redcap. “It’s almost funny.”
Hate shown from the Redcap’s eyes as he looked at the woman. “Shut yer stupid gob, bitch.”
Sorin, about to nudge her aside so he could deal with the insult, found himself being nudged aside. She actually pushed him back. That petite, blonde slip of a female nudged him, Sorin, the legendary golden dragon, out of her way.
It was so surprising that he could do nothing but stare, with his mouth hanging open.
The witch struck the man, the blow so swift even Sorin’s sharp dragon sight had trouble tracking it. It was a powerful blow, too. He distinctly heard the sound of a bone crunching.
She wasn’t done, either. Sorin wasn’t done being stunned, so he just kept gaping as she bent and grabbed the Redcap by the front of his shirt. Once he was mostly upright, she punched him again.
The shirt tore under the force of the second blow, so the next time, she grabbed her prey by the hair, fisting her fingers in the thin wet strands for a nice, tight grip. Cartilage crunched under the next blow. The sound of flesh splitting came on the next—and last.
The rain still pounded down on them, plastering her hair to her scalp and gluing her shirt to her skin. Dark as it was, Sorin’s eyesight was keen and he could see the rain washing away the blood on her hand, her knuckles scraped and raw.
With a cold smile, she dropped the battered man to the wet earth.
“Are you done playing with your prey?” Sorin asked, willing her to turn and face him. He hadn’t yet seen her fully, only her profile, and the decidedly excellent view of her backside and her shoulders, still heaving from her exertions—no. Probably from the emotions rolling off her in waves.
He wanted, no, needed to see her completely, gaze into the eyes of this wild, dangerous witch.
“I’m not playing,” she said in a rough voice. “I’m doing my damnedest not to start to torturing him.”
Stepping forward to look at the man still lying bloodied at her feet, he asked, “Does he deserve it?”
Her laugh was high and thin, almost panicked. “If ever a being deserved it, it’s him. But I can’t let myself cross that line.”
“I can torture him.” Crouching at the man’s feet, Sorin laid a hand on the Redcap’s ankle, dragon fire whispering out of him. His hand glowed where it made contact with the male and the Redcap arched, the pain shooting through his veins straight to his heart, the fire hot enough to cause intense agony, but not so hot it would kill.
“No. Kill him now or I’ll do it. But no torture.”
Sorin froze.
It wasn’t her words that stopped him.
She’d brushed his naked shoulder with her fingertips. Raw, visceral need punched through him and he stiffened in reaction.
“Look at me,” he ordered.
She did, but it was fleeting, a hint of vibrant green in the dark. “I don’t follow orders, dragon. Not from you, not from anyone. Kill him if you want. This is your territory and I can’t win in a pissing contest against someone like you. But if you aren’t going to kill him now, tell me, so I can get it done.”
“Look at me.”
