“You know,” Ronyn pipes up. “If he hasn’t killed you yet, he may actually be helpful.”
Kael glances at Ronyn briefly, as though weighing him up. “Your friend’s smart—perhaps you should listen,” the man, Kael, says, pointing at Ronyn with the gleaming tip of his blade.
“I’ll decide who I listen to,” I snap, pointing my own dagger atKael. “You’ve got about five heartbeats to explain why you’re following me, or you’ll find this blade somewhere uncomfortable.”
Kael’s smirk deepens. “You’re cute when you’re threatening.”
Ronyn snorts. “She’s not cute. Trust me—she’s decidedly grumpy in the mornings.”
“Ronyn,” I growl. “Shut up before I leave you here.”
“You’d miss me,” he says, but he shuts up—for now.
Kael crouches beside the lock, ignoring my glare. “Enchanted,” he says by way of explanation. “You’ll need more than brute force. Lucky for you, I’m feeling generous.”
“No one is generous without an agenda around here,” I say, watching him pull a strange device from his belt.
He glances up, his dark eyes gleaming with a challenge. “I’m not from around here.” Well, he’s not lying about that—his accent is definitely not from Virellin.
Before I can probe, he presses the device to the lock. A soft click, and the door creaks open. Ronyn steps out, rubbing his battered face. Seems this man doesn’t want us dead—at least, not yet.
“Remind me to send you a thank-you card,” Ronyn says, dusting himself off.
I huff a laugh at his infinite optimism. “You’ve looked better, Ronie,” I say, taking in his injured body. “But I’m happy to see you,” I say with a genuine smile, squeezing his arm.
Kael’s gaze lingers on me for a moment before he says, “Happy reunion, lovers. Now, move. Quietly, if you can manage it.”
“We’re not— Never mind,” I roll my eyes and huff in irritation, but we fall into step behind him. We barely make it three steps before the door at the end of the corridor slams open. Four guards pour in, magic gifted from The Crimson Hydra constellation they were born under flaring red in their eyes. Their blades are at the ready, a snarl twisting their mouths. Their leader—a hulking brute with a face like a badly smashed anvil—looks directly at me and licks his lips, as if preparing for a tasty meal.
“There’s nowhere to run, darlin’. Slum rats like you won’t make it three heartbeats,” he snarls.
“Care to make it interesting,darling?”The last word drips frommy mouth like a seductive invitation, and I see Kael smirk from the corner of my eye at my flagrant cockiness.
“Iskara,” Ronyn hisses, already reaching for a dagger sheathed at my thigh, seeing as he’s unarmed. “Maybe don’t provoke—or enter into a wager with—the murder squad?”
“Wouldn’t be me if I didn’t,” I lilt. The tightness in my chest turns molten. Not fear. Not hunger. Something else. Something waking. I unconsciously clutch my hand to it—the sudden, searing heat beneath my ribs is too much to bear. Kael notices my discomfort and nods slightly, stepping forward to edge in front of me.
He snarls with primal fury, and I can practically feel the killer instincts dripping from him.
Without warning, he unsheathes the twin swords from their scabbards across his back in a single, seamless motion, the blades glinting with a dark, deadly sheen even in the dim light. I don’t know what his swords are forged with, only that they’re beautiful.Lethal.
He moves like a predator—silent, calculated, and terrifyingly fluid. Every step, every pivot, is a dance honed through years of training or battle, or both—a symphony of razor sharp precision. His muscles coil and flex beneath his armor, the sharp lines of his body mirroring the cutting edge of his weapons. The swords blur as he wields them, each strike a masterpiece of controlled power, each feint a whisper of death.
Kael cuts down two guards with ruthless ease, his blades blurring into arcs of muted black, and his dark gaze locks on to the third as if daring him to make a move. The final guard—a broad-shouldered thug with a snarl carved across his face—skirts the clash of swords and fixes his eyes on me. Claiming me.Branding me as his kill.
“Ronyn, run!” I scream, my voice raw.
“I need my bow and the ledger!” He screams back, his voice hoarse.
That fucking ledger. He’s not wrong—we do need it. Without the supply routes and guard rotations it contains, we’ll starve.
“GO!” I scream again, shoving him into motion as the thug charges.
Ronyn hesitates, clutching the dagger I gave him, but he knows it won’t do a damn thing against the Bloodbond brutes—their magic for battle fury, regeneration, and enhanced stamina renders our blades useless unless we can kill them with a clean slice through the throat or heart. He bolts around the other side of Kael, disappearing into the chaos of The Tannery.
The thug charges, his rotting teeth bared in a feral grin. “Aww, I get you all to myself. How sweet,” I taunt, dropping low at the last moment. The slick floor burns against my thighs as I slide beneath him, my blade slicing clean through the tendons behind his knee.
He roars, collapsing for a moment, but he moves faster than I expect. His good knee slams into my stomach, driving the air from my lungs in a gut-wrenching wheeze. I lash out, dragging my dagger across the thick muscle of his arm.
