You won’t.
You won’t.
Her whispers didn’t taunt, they caressed. Like a mother laying a child to sleep.
She swung her blade.
Darius disappeared.
Reappeared behind her.
But she was too slow.
His blade slashed open her thigh.
She cried out as she lost her footing. With a weapon in both hands, she struggled to catch herself as she fell to the slick grass. She planted her good leg beneath her, fought to rise to her feet, but Darius was there.
His blade soaring toward her throat?—
It stopped mere inches away.
Ailan’s gaze darted to the most welcome face she could ever hope to see.
Fanon.
Her consort.
The love of her life.
Fury twisted his features as he marched toward them, his invisible restraints freezing Darius in place.
But her brother’s surprise wouldn’t last long. He could worldwalk free in the blink of an eye.
Ailan took her chance and threw herself at her brother, hooking one edge of the talon into his calf before closing the collar on its hinge.
Darius’ eyes went wide. He blinked. Once. Twice.
With a thrust of her sword, she pierced Darius’ abdomen, pulling it free just as Fanon dropped his skyweaving in exchange for a swing of his own blade. It arced toward Darius’ neck, aiming for a clean and decisive beheading...
Freed from Fanon’s restraints, Darius could now reach for the collar.
It didn’t matter, for it would be too late.
Fanon’s blade would strike before Darius’ fingers even met the tines…
Yet it wasn’t the tines of the collar Darius sought. Instead, he whirled around, closing the distance between him and Fanon. He pivoted, swung his blade…
And cut Fanon’s hands off at the wrists.
His blade fell impotent to the grass below.
Ailan called out her consort’s name, the agony in her voice like razors in her throat.
She was too distraught.
Too distracted.
Too haunted by the blood pouring from the ends of her consort’s blunted wrists…
