Fates, she had to be safe, too.
His boots pounded over the uneven cobbles of the alley as he drew a throwing knife. He ignored his sword for now; the narrow alley would be too cramped for it, and he didn’t want to slow himself down needlessly by drawing it.
Vera couldn’t have been gone long. He had to be close. He had to reach her. There was no other option.
He would not lose her. Not again.
He blew past a fork in the alley, registering belatedly that there had been movement down there. He ground a heel into the cobblestones and pivoted, then jumped around the corner.
Near the end of the alley he spotted the shadowed forms shuffling forward, and he could hear the hiss of low voices, their Mortisian accents thick.
Tariq.
Venn didn’t know how he knew, but he did. One of those shadowed forms belonged to Tariq—probably the one who held Vera’s arm.
“Tariq!”
Both men whirled at his bellow, and Venn’s lungs froze. A knife was at Vera’s side, the blade shining in the moonlight. Her eyes were wide—shocked and scared. Her arm was held tightly by the man Venn knew was Tariq, the Mortisian’s grip keeping her close to his side.
Seeing her in the literal hands of her nightmare chilled Venn’s blood, even as fury washed through him.
“Release her now, and I won’t kill you.” It was no effort to make his voice dark. He stalked forward, his chin lowered. “You have no idea how good that deal is.”
Tariq shot a look to his companion. “Don’t just stand there. Kill him!”
The man palmed a knife, but something in Venn’s expression held him back.
Tariq ground his teeth, his fingers clenching around the knife at Vera’s side. “Come any closer and I’ll kill her.”
“No,” Venn said, promise throbbing in his voice. “You won’t.” He didn’t give the situation a chance to become a stalemate; he threw his knife. It cut through the air and sliced into the stomach of Tariq’s friend. As he collapsed, Vera rammed her heel against Tariq’s boot, simultaneously shoving an elbow into his side.
Tariq cursed, the blade fumbling as he stumbled.
Venn’s heart stopped, but the rest of him was moving. He growled as he snatched Tariq’s wrist, halting the knife before he could pull it back toward Vera. With his other hand, he doubled a fist and plunged it into Tariq’s face.
Vera jerked away and darted behind Venn.
With her safely away from Tariq, Venn gave into his rage and attacked Tariq with his bare hands. He twisted the man’s wrist until he dropped the knife with a sharp cry, then he threw him against the alley wall. He kept pounding his fists into Tariq. He took a few blows as well, but he barely registered the pain.
This man had taken Vera from him. Not once, buttwice. He was the reason she’d suffered at the hands of the mercenaries. He was the one who had tortured her with his sick attentions. He still haunted her nightmares—he probably always would.
No mercy lived inside of Venn. Not in this moment.
Blood streaked Tariq’s face, as well as Venn’s fists, but Venn didn’t stop punching. Not until Vera cried out.
Venn spun toward her, leaving Tariq’s battered body to slide to the ground.
The threat Vera had seen was obvious. Tariq’s friend wasn’t dead. He’d pulled Venn’s dagger from his belly, and blood streamed from the wound. But even pale and trembling, he was still breathing. He’d even shoved to his feet, and he gripped that bloody knife in his fist, his gaze narrowed on Venn.
Before Venn could move, Vera tackled the man.
Venn saw the knife flash as she tried to grab it, but he lost sight of the blade as they crashed to the ground and rolled away.
“No!” Venn lunged for them.
They stopped rolling, and Vera choked out a cry as the man’s weight settled on top of her.
The man went rigid, then slumped. He covered Vera’s upper body, but her legs weren’t moving. Was she crushed by his weight, or had he managed to stab her?
