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“And so what? Should I love her any less? Does that make her any less of a woman?”
The guards look confused, exchanging glances between them.
Kiaran growls, and turns his horse to the side, facing the guards. Then he charges them, his stallion whinnying.
“Oh no! Kia!”
“Here comes a Drakoryas!” he roars, and the guards scatter like a flock of sparrows when a hawk dives down.
“Berserk!” people scream, starting to run and I wonder what they see. “Berserk!”
“Ari! Come on!” Taj gestures and, tightening my hold on the reins, leaning over the horse’s neck, I nudge my horse forward.
“Yah!” I cross the gate on the heels of Taj’s horse, and look over my shoulder at the mess now behind us. Guards are running in every direction, some of them screaming, townsfolk shouting and climbing over one another to get away from the rider in their center, cries of “Drakoryas” echoing.
And Kiaran…
He’s charging this way and that, his hood fallen back, the corset of the dress torn and hanging off his powerful chest, a snarl on his face and a glow about him.
There’s a wild energy surrounding him, crackling in the air, a whirlwind of darkness and light, flashes on his chest and arms. His bellow is that of a mad bull, of thunder, of a god himself.
I catch myself staring, my horse slowing down, coming to a stop. Taj is staring, too.
“Holy shit,” he whispers. “I heard stories of the Drakoryas in battle. I never thought I’d see one in action.”
“Is that normal? It feels like… like magic.”
“I wouldn’t know,” Taj says, his voice hushed, “but I’d say that the blackness writhing about him and the flashes of light aren’t quite what you’d expect from a human.”
“We’re changing,” I whisper. “Is this why the Council is so scared of us?”
“You mean they’re not just bigots and prudes?” Taj winks at me.
I shake my head.
“We should get going,” Taj says. “Kiaran!”
“Kiaran!” I yell, whirling my horse about. “Kiaran, to us! Come to us!”
At first, I think he can’t hear us and I prepare to ride back to him, grab the reins of his horse and pull him after us, if that strange whirlwind doesn’t suck me in, and I see Taj preparing to do the same—but then Kiaran wheels his horse around toward us.
His pale locks seem to have unwound, each strand standing up, a bright silver halo around his face, and his eyes look like black pits, lips peeled back, gums dark, teeth yellow and sharp, his ears long and sharply pointed.
“What…?” I pull on the reins and my mare neighs and shakes. “Kia?”
He charges toward us, and Taj swears.
“Back!” He tries to grab the reins from me, but I don’t let him. “Run, Ari!”
“He won’t hurt us,” I whisper, frozen, watching him race toward us. It’s as if time has slowed down to a trickle, and every leap his horse takes lasts a lifetime. It’s like watching death ride toward you.
Is he aware of his surroundings? Does the legendary craze that grips the berserks have a hold on him now? Will he mow us down as he’s been doing with the guards, unable to separate friend from foe?
“Kia!” I breathe. He’s charging right at us, right at me—
“Ride!” he shouts, riding right past us, one hand held high. “Ride now!”
I’m still staring at the afterimage of him, bare-chested, the blue, frilly skirt over his legs and saddle, his pale hair wild, galloping at me, and I blink dazedly, my body clenching with arousal and need. What I want…
