She sank to her knees beside Beserkir, looking down at him with a cold numbness she hadn’t expected. In her dreams, she had revelled in this moment, and yet she felt next to nothing. She flung Beserkir’s coat apart, grabbed hold of the dark fabric of his shirt, and tore it open. His chest was the toned perfection of a warrior, but no amount of muscle would protect him from her now. He hadn’t stirred yet, not so much as a twitch, but there was no way she was letting him die so easily.
She withdrew her hand and put every iota of strength she had left into a slap that had his head slamming into the rough stone. Beserkir groaned. She pulled Otis' dagger free and kissed the hilt before leaning over him, her hand right next to his head. She had relived the exact moment Otis had died enough timesto remember exactly which ribs Beserkir’s blade had slipped between, and the tip of her dagger found the equivalent spot on Beserkir’s chest.
When his eyes opened, the fear in them spiked right through the numbness she’d been feeling. A vicious satisfaction coursed through her at the sight of it, and she pressed the dagger in just enough to break through the skin. Beserkir tried to writhe, but she pinned him with her free arm, pressing it against his neck with all her strength.
“I wish I had more time,” she whispered as she sank the dagger in a little further, relishing in the terror she saw blooming in his wide pupils. He tried to beat her off him, and Keeran’s boots slammed down to pin his arms to the floor. “But life so rarely gives us what we want, so I’ll just have to savour this moment.”
Her forearm locked his head in place, rammed under his jaw so he couldn’t scream, so he could barely breathe. Inch by careful inch, she slipped the dagger between his ribs with exaggerated slowness. She felt no remorse as he choked on the blood that gurgled up his throat, splattering his chin with his desperate attempts to breathe. Something in her had died with Shiva’s betrayal. The last remnants of the girl she’d been had shattered, leaving something hard and jagged in their place.
And that part of her smiled as it watched Beserkir’s last, excruciating moments. Her lips parted, sneering down at him as she shoved the dagger in to the hilt, twisting it with a violent wrench of her wrist. Beserkir’s eyes rolled back in his head, staring unseeingly at the ceiling.
Aelia yanked her dagger free and wiped the worst of the blood on his tunic, smearing it over the expensive fabric. She struggled to her feet, turning to find Keeran watching her with a strange expression. She didn’t have the willpower to analyse it, or maybe she just wasn’t prepared to face his judgement.
“We need to go,” was all she could bring herself to say.
Keeran held out his hand to her and his warm presence brushed against her mind. Her eyes flickered shut for a moment before she took his hand and let him guide her towards the door.
They picked their way through the horrific remains of the soldiers to the corridor outside. It was dark despite the fire that lined the ceiling, but Aelia had memorised every turn she and Shiva had made. She stumbled over nothing, and Keeran held her by the elbow, helping her stay upright despite her trembling legs.
Whatever she’d done in that room, it had wiped her out again, draining her to the point of collapse. It was only with Keeran’s help that she made it to the exit, blinking in the light of the Main Chamber. The sun had risen and the crevices in the ceiling funnelled its light into the Inner City, illuminating the rows of guards that encircled the prison entrance.
A volley of arrows came whistling towards them, and Keeran stepped forwards so quickly she couldn’t register the movement. With a wave of his hand, the arrows turned to ash, the metal heads clanging to the floor, slowly followed by the grey ash that wafted down after them.
Aelia sucked in a breath, her brain struggling to comprehend what she had seen. Keeran stiffened at the sound but didn’t turn around.
“All we wish to do is leave. Your commander has fallen, and our fight isn’t with you. Let us walk away, and we will let—” Keeran broke off as a lone arrow was loosed towards them.
In a blur of movement, he tugged Aelia to the side. Aelia gasped, shock at the speed at which he moved numbing her to anything else. It was only when his lips pulled back in a snarl, his eyes fixed on her arm, that she became aware of the stinging pain. Looking down, she saw a slight rip in her sleeve, revealing the deep scratch the arrowhead had sliced into her skin. It wasnothing, hardly worth bandaging, but if Keeran hadn’t moved her…
Keeran spun to face the soldiers with a roar that had even the bravest of them recoiling. As if from nowhere, a wave of flame rolled off Keeran, his rage crackling within it as though hell itself had been unleashed. The soldiers were dead before they could scream, the empty shells of their armour crashing to the floor where they’d stood. Dozens fell in seconds, nothing left of them but the white-grey piles of ash on the floor.
Chest heaving, he turned to face her painfully slowly, as if only just realising what he’d done.
“Aelia…” Every inch of him pleaded with just that one word, his whole body imploring.
Fire magic. The words echoed around Aelia’s skull as she looked at all that was left of the men who’d tried to kill them. Keeran wasn’t just a Dragon, he was a pyrokinetic, and a fucking powerful one.
At least that explained the magic that had surfaced in her. It must be coming from him.
“You could have done that sooner,” Aelia said, wryly.
Keeran stared at her warily, disbelief etched into every perfect line of his features. She felt such bone-deep regret at having called him a monster, for sensing his vulnerability and using it against him. He wasn’t a monster; he was death, he was power, he was everything she was not. And he was perfect.
“Teach me,” she breathed. There was nothing she wouldn’t do to have that kind of strength, to be able to stand up to the people who tried to take those she loved from her. If she had even a fraction of his power through the pair bond, she wanted to wield it with him.
Keeran’s throat bobbed as he swallowed the emotion that glistened in his eyes. “Let me get you out of here first,” he joked, thickly. “Do you trust me?”
“Implicitly.” The word tumbled from her mouth before he’d even finished asking, and his sharp intake of breath squeezed at her heart. She wished with every fibre of her being that she could take back what she’d screamed at him by the lake. She could feel how deep those wounds went, and she loathed herself for adding to them.
“I’m going to fly us out of here.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her towards the arena the prison was buried beneath. “We need space.”
Aelia’s heart flipped as she realised what he meant, but she stumbled after him, her feet dragging on the smooth stone. The arena was ringed by a huge seating area, half of it carved into the mountainside, half of it standing tall and free. Keeran led her confidently through the outer portion of it to the arena within.
“This is where we used to train,” he called over his shoulder, and her stomach flipped at the thought of him fighting other Dragons. “Are you strong enough to climb on once I’ve Shifted?”
“I think so.” In truth, she honestly didn’t know, but there was only one way to find out. Nervous anticipation coiled low in her stomach. She was going to see him Shift. She was going to see a Dragon.
Shouts began to bounce around the empty stone structure behind them, the unmistakable rattle of metal armour getting steadily closer. Keeran nodded to her.
