I’m going, whether you come or not! Bran’s eyes burned.We can’t just let them kill her! He moved to slip past her, but she grabbed him by the arm, pulling him back.
Fine, fine. She raised her hands in surrender, palms up.
Yata’s cackle pierced the air, full of malice. “Who said anything about an antidote? You want to reunite with your family? We could always use another set of hands. It’s the perfect solution.”
Gran Hesta’s mouth parted, and she stepped back as if the air had been knocked from her. “What?” She backed further away, her feet dragging in the dirt. “But my family—”
“Too far gone.” Cain’s voice was cold as he looked up. “No antidote would work on them now.”
“No!” The old woman’s legs gave out beneath her, and she crumpled to the ground. “No.”
Go in, distract them. I’ll drag the traitor away,Rynna signed swiftly. They had no time to waste.
Bran nodded, inhaled sharply, and then dove out of the bushes, charging headlong into the clearing.
“Hey! Assholes!” he shouted, and Rynna stifled a groan, questioning if she should be setting a better example with her language as she darted toward Gran Hesta.
The two rogues barely flinched, their faces more irritated than alarmed.
“One of the pups?” Cain muttered, uninterested.
Rynna slipped her arms under Gran Hesta’s armpits and dragged her back toward the bushes where she and Bran had been hiding.
“Stay here,” she ordered.
“Why are you helping me?” Gran Hesta sobbed. “I betrayed you!”
Rynna didn’t respond, but her eyes looked toward the clearing, her heartbeat quickening as Yata’s crackling voice sounded again.
“Show me what he can do,” the man said. “Kill the boy first. Then we’ll see how creative he can get with the females.”
“Fuck!” Rynna spun around, panic rising as she heard the Crimson Wolf being unleashed.
“For nothing!” Gran Hesta clutched her face.
“You can thank Bran for your life,” Rynna spat. “I’d slit your throat without a second thought.” She whirled, slamming her fist into the nearest tree, splinters exploding in every direction. “I still might if we can’t fix him.”
Her glare burned into the woman one last time, rage barely contained, before she bolted out of the bushes, just in time to see Fenn advancing on Bran, death gleaming in his eyes.
“Guide Fenn?” Bran stammered, shaking as he backed away. “Boss?”
But Fenn didn’t blink. He blurred forward, blades raised.
The boy would’ve been dead, but Rynna moved faster. She threw herself between them, barely deflecting Fenn’s first strike with a raised knife, the force of it reverberating through her bones. Fenn’s eyes were cold and unrecognizable as his blows came down harder and faster than anything she’d ever faced from him before. Each strike was lethal and filled with a raw, terrifying power.
He’s actually trying to kill me, she thought, heart hammering in panic, before ducking beneath a deadly arc of his knives.
He came at her again, too fast to see, feinting left then jabbing right. She barely blocked him, her own counterattacks glancing off him as he twisted out of reach, relentless in his pursuit of Bran.
“Why isn’t he using the Source?” Yata’s voice came from above, where he perched on a nearby tree branch like a vulture overseeing a massacre.
“He’s resisting,” Cain grunted, holding two fingers to his temple. “The Veilroot hasn’t fully saturated his blood yet.”
“That’s disappointing.” Yata sighed. “Do what you can to speed it up. I want to see what he can do.”
“You’re welcome to get down here and do it yourself, Crow.” Cain flinched, eyes narrowing as Fenn’s attacks became fiercer. “Ah! There we go. Show me your power, Vessel.”
“Kill the girl first.” Yata swung down from the tree. “She’s surprisingly nimble for a Novice.”
