He was brave. He wouldn’t even flinch, rushing into battle for me.
And he would die.
“No,” I gasped under my breath.
My heart squeezed painfully. Ice ran through my veins despite the heat of the brewing day storm.
Timur’s cloak billowed in the wind, then suddenly tore into shreds like shadows torn by sun rays. Two glimmering white wings unfurled from his back, lifting him from his chair.
“What the…” Piara choked on her question.
She gaped, along with her foot soldiers, at the fantastic figure rising over the beach. I’d seen Timur without his cloak, but never like this. Stretched to his full height, his silver-streaked hair streaming in the storm like a wing of darkness, his skirt whipping around his clawed feet, he was a vision of vengeance and terror.
To me, he looked magnificent.
To Piara and her accomplices, he must be a nightmare incarnate. They had never seen his face half-swallowed by the dragon skull. His dragon eye, glowing red with menace. The massive bone that covered his right shoulder like a medieval pauldron. Or his skeletal hand that could caress my skin ever so gently but also could crash bones in its clawed fingers.
Until now, they had never known what Timur looked like.
And to them, he looked like a monster.
Two powerful wings of white bone and diaphanous membrane beat the air, bringing him upon us. His spiked tail lashed out, knocking one of Piara’s men off his feet. Shaped like a sun-bleached spinal column and tipped with a sharp spike, histail crashed through the skull of another thug, spilling dark-red blood over the black sand of the beach.
“Shit!” Piara cursed, wielding her spear.
Timur flew past her, whipping the spear out of her hands with a flick of his tail. One of the traders tossed a knife, opening a gashing wound in Timur’s left arm. He growled in pain. Wrapping his long, bone-fingers around the man’s head, Timur squeezed hard. His claws pierced through the man’s skin and muscles, his skull crushed, spilling gore and sending pieces of bone out in a blast.
My stomach churned, threatening to expel its contents.
“Let her go!” Timur roared at Piara who stood between me and him.
She glared down at me, her face lit with realization, and it wasn’t good.
“No.” With her arm around my middle, she lifted me up like a shield. “She’s coming with me.”
Timur paused in the air, the wind from under his incredible wings joined the storm that churned dust clouds, whipping the sand into twisters around us.
“Aagh!” One of Piara’s men charged him.
The man’s sword sliced through the membrane of Timur’s wing. Timur lost his balance and his lift with it. He fell and rolled on the ground, crumpling his wings. His roar was filled with pain now—a guttural, tortured cry of agony that I’d heard before, the night I’d kicked his feet.
“End him,” Piara ordered to her two remaining goons while she dragged me away.
“No!” I screamed, thrashing in her grip.
I kicked, punched, and bit, fighting to get free with everything I had. My strength was no match to the strength of a fae, but I wasn’t going to help Piara carry me away by being quiet and still.
“Let me go!” I kicked her into her stomach, making her howl in anger and pain.
“Fucking bitch!” she yelled, tossing me to the ground.
She lifted her boot to kick my face, but I rolled away quickly. Scrambling to my hands and knees, I crawled aside, then sprung to my feet.
“Timur!” I sprinted toward him.
Incredibly, he got up on one knee. Using his uninjured wing, he kept his balance and held himself upright. Leaning back, he tossed one of his short daggers. It flew over my head and sank into Piara’s head, right between her eyes.
She choked out a breath. Her body jerked, as if hitting a wall. Then she crashed face down into the sand.
