“Aelia.” His voice was stronger this time, the authority in it unmistakable. “Take it.”
She did as she was told, taking one hand from his wound to clutch the familiar hilt, smearing it with crimson.
“Listen to me,” Otis said, grabbing her hand. “You must leave. You must take our savings and hire a boat, flee across the sea to Mithrylaya, and find the Del Awane family. Show them the dagger, and they’ll help you.”
Aelia’s face knotted in confusion, her thoughts a tangled mess, but before she could process what he was saying, he squeezed her tight, shaking her arm.
“Say it back to me,” he wheezed, eyes feverishly bright.
“The Del Awane family,” she repeated, the agony in her chest unbearable as she watched him slipping away.
“Good,” he dropped his head back, blood spattering his chin with every breath.
Tears poured from her with every convulsive gasp that wracked her body.
“Please,” she begged him, begged the gods, begged anyone who would listen. But no one could help as she watched his last rattling breaths, watched his soul drain from his eyes, leaving them devoid of everything that she had treasured. His hand became a deadweight in hers, and she dropped her head, unsure she could survive the wave of loss that slammed over her.
Beserkir’s voice carried over the chaos, and she became aware of her surroundings once more. Aelia’s eyes followed him, widening at the devastation that had erupted around her. Some of the villagers had Shifted in their attempt to escape the carnage, and woodland creatures were being torn down in a bloody mess of tooth and claw by the band of some of the most dangerous predators in Demuto. Fear became the perfect partner to her pain, tangling together until she was incapable of feeling anything else as she saw the Astraea meet the villagers with a wall of experienced brutality.
Even in the few frantic heartbeats she watched, the people she had grown up with fell by the dozen, the forest floor already slick with their blood as the bodies piled up. The clearing became a panic-fuelled stampede as the villagers fled, running in all directions to avoid the merciless slaughter.
Movement caught Aelia’s eye, and she turned to see several large horse-drawn carts being pulled towards the village centre. Frowning past her tears, she watched with confusion until they rounded the bend and she realised what they were.
Thick steel bars rose from the carts to form huge cages, empty and waiting.
“Round them up,” Beserkir ordered, and Aelia’s head snapped round to look at him, her grief giving way to pure, unadulterated hatred.
She placed Otis’ hand on his chest, squeezing it one last time, and clutched his dagger tightly in her slippery grip. She hauled herself to her feet, eyes dark as they slid to where Beserkir stood with his back to her, several meters away.
Aelia lunged into a sprint, hurtling towards him, a madness descending over her that was impossible to think past. Everything in her longed to kill this man, her very soul seeming to burn with the intensity of her wrath, and she was more than willing to die trying.
Something slammed into her, sending her sprawling to the ground in a winded heap. Her dagger flew from her grasp, rolling across the grass and out of reach. Blinking, she found herself tangled with a human, his eyes wide and ringless as he tried to pull himself free of her.
Before he could, someone hooked under his arms and hoisted him upright, dragging him kicking and screaming towards the cages. The Astraea hardly noticed his attempts to free himself, the human flailing madly as he was launched into the cage with a few others.
Aelia’s chest heaved, panic rising in her throat, bitter and overwhelming. She twisted and crawled towards the dagger, feet pounding around her, her ears ringing with the terrified shrieks filling the night air.
Someone tried to jump over her, missed, and kicked her in the stomach, sending the breath whooshing from her lungs. The pain was lost in the panic as her diaphragm spasmed, refusing to draw air in to replace what she’d lost. Seconds ticked by, her entire consciousness homed in on the absence of oxygen, her mouth opening and closing in futile attempts to breathe. Just when she was sure she was going to die, her lungs kicked in, dragging in air in a delicious gasp.
And then the pain hit her.
She groaned, rolling over to reach for the dagger, hissing past the stabbing pain in her ribs.
“Get the fuck away from her,” she heard a familiar voice shout.
Fenrir.
Jaw clenched with the pain, she struggled to her feet, one hand clutching her side, the other gripping the hilt of Otis’s dagger.
Fenrir had Mirra at his back, arms wide as he snarled at the two Astraeans who were closing in on them. Aelia staggered towards them, horror lurching within her as she saw Mirra peer out from under Fenrir’s arm.
“Behind you,” Aelia screamed, lurching into a run.
Fenrir whirled around to see the other Astraeans who’d been sneaking up on them. He tucked an arm around Mirra and dragged her sideways, trying to keep himself between her and the Astraeans, but there were too many of them.
One of them grabbed at Mirra and Fenrir tugged her away, bringing his fist swinging into the Astraean’s face with a crunch even Aelia could hear. She gritted her teeth and pushed past the pain in her ribs, running faster towards them and leaping onto the back of one of the Astraeans.
She didn’t hesitate, plunging her dagger into the man’s chest over and over until he gave way beneath her, pushing herself off and managing to stay upright as the artemian collapsed at her feet. She dropped to a crouch and snarled at the others, moving to put herself next to Fenrir, keeping Mirra between them.
