He leaps into action, kicking pellets of ice into the blue blaze. It sizzles and pops. Smoke merges with the fog until we’re surrounded by a soupy haze.
“You don’t take orders from him, Karth,” the ringleader snaps. “Now we’re going to freeze our nuts off.” He grabs the small veydra by the collar of his cloak and shakes him. Karth’s face goes haywire as he shifts through ten different skins in his panic.
“Lay off the kid,” another guard snaps.
Their argument escalatesexactly as I hoped it would—the combination of cold, exhaustion, and frustration creating the perfect storm for conflict.
I inch closer to the smoldering fire.
“Hey,” the ringleader snaps. “What are you doing?”
“You don’t ask me questions,” I drawl, adding a cruel bite to my words.
“I reckon I just did.” He steps toward me, bristling with impotent rage. His chest bumps mine. I hold my ground. Time is up. Without difficulties, our entire trip to the portal should have taken us twelve minutes. We’re way past that now, and Hyacinth will be worried. She’s waiting at our next stop, the final one before we drop as close to the portal as possible.
“S-something weird is happening with the chains, s-sir,” Karth stutters, wiping his nose with the back of his sleeve. “I know I sound nuts, but I s-swear I s-saw them phase. Like my f-face when I’m stressed.”
Gods, the kid picked a wonderful time to be observant.
I laugh loudly, even as every hair on my body stands on end. “Where are they finding recruits these days?”
Celine shifts her weight, and I know she’s getting ready to fight.
The squad’s tension is infectious, as is the urge to end this farce. But if we reveal ourselves now to eliminate these threats, we’ll exponentially increase our opposition. Eventually, no matter how well we fought, we’d be overrun.
Already, Ciprian’s hands are trembling, his body reacting poorly to the extreme cold. His grip on the nightmare is impressive, but it won’t last forever. We’re at a tipping point. We’ve got to be careful.
The ringleader grabs Celine by the neck.
Alistair lunges and tears out his throat.
Blood from his carotid sprays all over Celine and me, warm and sticky and damning.
The ringleader falls to his knees, clutching his ruined neck with trembling hands. It’s a pointless reflex. Blood gushes through his fingers. There’s no dam strong enough to seal the gaping hole where his throat used to be.
Blood drips down Alistair’s chin.
For a heartbeat, no one moves.
I blink. Open my mouth. “Get to the fire!”
Then all hell breaks loose.
FORTY-THREE
Monster Realm Survival Tip #17:
Scars are maps. Treat them as such.
ALISTAIR
I spit the veydra’s disgusting blood on the ground and drag my sleeve across my mouth. The taste is foul. Nothing like my blood circle. The rest of the veydran stare at me in shock, glancing between my fangs and my hands—which are very much not chained—before rushing into action.
Several of them switch to bigger bodies, bulking right in front of our eyes.
Hands land on my back. They’re wrenched away when Celine kicks my attacker in the gut. His ribs audibly crack as he flies fifteen feet before hitting the ground. He doesn’t get back up.
Half a dozen veydran run away. Luca petrifies the ones who don’t.
