"Get away from the door, Betty," Joric snarls, his eyes darting past me to the Urog's shadow in the dark.
"No."
My voice is quiet, but it cuts through the winter air.
"Betty, child," Maeve pleads, her voice trembling. "That is a thing of the Dark Elves. It is a weapon. It doesn't feel. It doesn't think. It only kills."
"He is hurt," I say, my fist still clenched at my side. "I am helping him."
"Helping it?" Joric sputters, his face turning an ugly shade of red. "It will rip your throat out the second you turn your back! It will slaughter this entire village for food!"
"If he wanted to kill me," I say, my voice flat, my gaze unwavering, "I'd be dead. He had every chance. He's a wounded creature, and I will not turn him out to die."
I look from Joric's rage to Maeve's terror, and I see no help. Only fear. The same fear that let my family burn.
"He stays."
The finality of it hangs in the air. Joric stares at me, his chest heaving. The panic in his eyes fades, replaced by a cold, sharp, and splintered thing.
"You stupid girl," he hisses, his voice low and venomous. "This is what you did. Hiding that slave... it wasn't enough? You have to bring another monster here to finish the job? To burn the rest of us down, just like you did to your own family?"
The words are like blades of ice sliding straight into my heart, twisting. The air is stolen from my lungs. My hand goes to my hair, pulling, twisting, but it can't stop the sudden, sick vertigo. He's right. He's right. He's right.
He sees the impact. He sees he's won the wound, if not the argument.
"You're choosing it over us, Betty," he says, his voice flat with disgust as he takes a step back. "You're choosing a monster over your own people. Again."
He turns, his shoulders stiff.
"You'll regret this."
4
THREK
My body is an iron trap. I am weak. The red haze… it is strong. It paces inside me, a caged beast inside an already-caged beast. It wants out.
RAGE. KILL. DESTROY.
I want to smash. Smash these walls. This small, mud-bright den. I want to tear the roof from this cage and howl at the white, biting sky. I want to smash myself until the burning stops.
My claws dig into the furs beneath me. Tear. Rip.
Blade. Fire. Elves.
The memories are not memories. They are shrapnel. Flashes of white-hot steel. Black eyes, cold and sharp. Laughter that sounds like breaking glass. The pain. Always the pain.
And... screams.
So many screams. The wet, gurgling sound of life ending. My hands... my claws... red.
Kill.
The word is a drum inside my skull. It is the only thing I know. It is who I am. A weapon. A tool. A thing shaped for one purpose.
Who... what...
The thought is a broken piece of glass. It has no answer. It cuts.
