Page 85 of Blackthorn


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“It’s a symbol, sweetness. If Stringer has it, then he’s won. This crowbar is excellent for blunt force trauma, but it lacks charisma.” He swung the crowbar to demonstrate. Point made, he rested the crowbar on his shoulder. “Will you come with us?” Draven asked Hal. “I know I’m not in the position to make promises, but—”

“For now,” Hal said, interrupting.

“Do you need clothing or…anything?”

Hal snapped off the leg of a table and gave it a test swing. “I’m good.”

“You may want pants.”

Hal shrugged one massive shoulder. Stubborn orc.

Charlotte laid a hand on his arm, stopping Draven’s growl. “I shall avert my eyes.”

Raised voices in the corridor outside made them fall silent.

Draven crept to the door to listen. Stringer had discovered their escape. “Find them!”

Hal rushed forward, pushing past Draven. His bellow echoed off the stone walls and shook the foundation of the Aerie. The first wave of traitors fell to Hal’s makeshift club.

“Stay here,” Draven said, following Hal in.

The corridor was narrow. He moved more slowly than he wanted, but Hal made up the difference. The orc raged, grabbing people and flinging them. Bones crunched. A fog descended, clouding Draven’s mind. He moved on instinct, swinging the crowbar like a club until metal hit flesh with a pleasing give. Blood filled his senses. It felt correct to fight alongside Hal. Why had they denied themselves this pleasure? They were monsters together.

Hal grabbed a traitor by the hair and kicked their knee. They screamed as they fell. Hal then stomped on the hand carrying a sword, crushing it. He held up the sword, grinning like he won the best prize at the carnival, and plunged it into a nearby body.

“Draven!” Charlotte’s shout pierced the battle fog.

Stringer held a knife against Charlotte’s throat.

“Don’t come any closer,” he warned, taking a step back. “I’ll do it. I won’t hesitate to kill her. Let me out through the Black Gate and she lives.”

This man had signed his death warrant.

“It’s amusing the way you assume you’ll survive that long.”

The knife slashed upward, cutting her cheek. Charlotte hissed, biting her lip to hide her pain.

“Let me leave and you’ll never see me again—”

Charlotte plunged her dagger into Stringer’s thigh, interrupting his petty demands. She dashed away, not stopping until she was put considerable distance between them.

Draven lashed out with wild, frenzied blows. At some point, he acquired a sword. He lunged for Stringer, who laughed, blocking the blows with the stolen sword.

He dashed forward, swinging erratically with wild blows. Draven did his best to block but misjudged and earned a slash on his arm. Blackthorn’s bite had not faded. The infused metal leeched his already tenuous strength. A half-dozen glancing blows of this nature would finish him. He had to end this. Now.

Draven redoubled his efforts, pressing hard to drive Stringer down the corridor. The man blocked more blows that he received, but the tide had shifted. Draven poured all his energy into his advantage. Eventually, they reached a dead end with a locked door. Back pressed against the door, Stringer realized he could not hope to win. His eyes went wide. “Lord Draven, I’ve always been loyal—”

Draven silenced the traitor for good.

Stringer went limp. The sword fell to the ground.

How unsatisfying. Draven’s mouth felt too full of teeth. His fangs were fully descended, and he wanted blood.

A stifled gasp behind him made him spin around.

Charlotte had a hand clamped over her mouth, her eyes wide in horror. Not at the body, but at him.

Regret squeezed at his heart, causing the poor, shriveled organ to convulse. She was afraid. Of him.

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