The scarred warrior’s eyes flick to mine. Dark. Certain.
And something explodes into our shelter.
9
KARA
Sand and blood sprays across me.
I throw myself sideways, blanket ripping from my shoulders as a horn crashes down where I was. Stone splinters, grit searing my cheek. The stink of blood floods the shelter, thick and choking.
A hiss rattles the air. A beast is inside.
Six clawed limbs slam against the stone floor, its scaled body writhing halfway through the gap. Its horns scrape sparks from the walls as it forces itself deeper, eyes glowing a sickly yellow. Venom streams from its fangs, dripping onto the ground.
Joran screams. Harlan yanks him back, both of them cramming into the farthest corner. The younger Zmaj snarls, wings snapping wide, claws raised, but the space is too tight—he can’t launch himself without crushing us all.
The scarred warrior doesn’t hesitate. He moves like he was waiting for this exact moment.
His lochaber arcs down in a vicious sweep, biting deep into the beast’s neck. Blood sprays hot across the stone, sizzling where it hits sand. The creature screeches, twisting against the blade, its claws raking sparks as they gouge the wall.
I lunge forward before I can think. Knife tight in my hand, I stab at the joint of its leg where scales thin. The blade sinks, shallow but true. The beast jerks, a shrill hiss spilling from its throat.
The scarred warrior doesn’t glance at me, but his stance shifts, enough to keep the lochaber braced while leaving room for me. As if he expected me there.
The creature thrashes, its head snapping low. Fangs slam against stone, inches from my face, venom splattering across the rock with a hiss. My burned arm flares white-hot as droplets strike my bandage. Pain lances deep, but I don’t stop.
I drive the knife in again, screaming wordless fury, ripping the blade free as the beast jerks sideways. My arm burns, my lungs sear, but I keep stabbing.
The younger Zmaj roars, finally surging forward. His claws rake down the beast’s flank, tearing scales loose in ragged strips. Blood gushes, slick and dark. The creature lashes out, tail slamming against the wall, the whole spire shuddering under the impact.
Sand pours in. The storm howls louder, as if it’s feeding the fight.
The scarred warrior twists his lochaber free and slams it down again, this time hooking the blade behind the beast’s horn. With a brutal wrench, he yanks its head sideways, exposing its throat.
“Now!” he growls.
I move without hesitation, driving my knife into the soft seam where neck meets jaw. The blade sinks to the hilt. The beast convulses, shrieking, claws tearing furrows into the stone floor.
And then the lochaber falls.
The scarred warrior cleaves the blade through its exposed throat. The shriek cuts off in a wet gurgle. The creature collapses heavily into the shelter, body twitching once before it slumps still.
Silence.
Only the storm remains, shrieking outside, sand whipping past and finding its way inside.
I slump back against the stone, chest heaving, clutching the knife in a shaking hand. Blood slicks my blade, my fingers, the front of my tunic. My breaths come ragged, sharp, but I’m alive. Alive because we fought together.
The scarred warrior stands over the carcass, lochaber dripping dark blood. His chest rises steadily, not frantic. His eyes flick to me, holding for a beat too long.
Not pity. Not dismissal. Something heavier.
Heat surges up my throat. I drag my gaze away, pressing my hand to my burning arm. My knife in the other is trembling, but steady enough to cut again if I must.
Joran makes a broken sound from the corner.
“Gods save us,” he whispers, his face pale as chalk. Harlan presses a hand over his mouth, his own eyes wide, wet with fear.
