His bloodied dagger whirred through the air, embedding itself in the temple of the man who’d just elbowed him. The man dropped like dead weight, taking the blade with him.
Which was fine. Quentin had more. He slung his baldric over his chest, palming two more of his knives as three men turned away from the giant wolf tearing their companions’ limb from limb.
Idiots.
“Fight well, Quentin.” Mariah’s presence vanished as quickly as she’d arrived, leaving him alone with his wild and raging thoughts.
The edges of his vision peppered with red. He flipped his knives, grinning wildly.
“I guess we failed last night, huh?”
One of the men stiffened. “We’re just following orders, boy. We don’t know why Lord Varyn wants you. But when he commands, we obey.”
“What well-trained dogs you are.” Quentin scoped the space. Delaynie had torn herself a path from the corner, inching closer to the center of the room. Four more men framed her in, but if they could get past these seven, the living room—and the hall beyond—looked clear.
He faced the men approaching him. “So”—he swung his smile between them— “do you want to begin, or shall I?”
With a roar, the center man launched at Quentin. The room erupted in a frenzy of blood and clashing steel and chaos.
Quentin gave himself to it. Lost himself in it. It was a second instinct, to fight. Especially like this—far outnumbered, in close quarters, with nothing but his swiftness and his knives.
He plunged his dagger into the gut of the first man, slipping through the space his opponent had left exposed with the swing of his sword. Whirling on his heel, Quentin flung another blade, chuckling with satisfaction as it sank into the neck of the second.
Two down. He was disappointed; these pirates were making this too easy.
A sharp yelp, followed by a vicious snarl, tore through the room. Quentin’s heart dropped into this stomach, eyes locking onto those of icy-blue. The third man rushed him, thinking him distracted, but Quentin ducked under his swinging blade, shooting up to sink his blood-drenched dagger between his ribs. The man collapsed with a wheeze, blood bubbling up from his punctured lung and heart.
Done. Good. Time to get to Delaynie.
Two more of the men around her had fallen, but the final two inched closer. A shallow cut must’ve landed on her shoulder; deep maroon bloomed across her pale fur. She didn’t look seriously injured, not even favoring the foot.
Pride swelled in Quentin’s chest. He hadn’t had time to process any of this; he likely wouldn’t for quite a while, given the situation. But he marveled, for just a moment, at how incredible she was. Not only coming to terms with a hidden gift but being forced to fight for the first time in her life in a body that likely felt as foreign to her as any. Being forced tokillfor the first time, just to keep herself alive.
He was absolutely fucking sure he wouldn’t have been able to do the same.
“You all right, little wolf?”
She blinked at him, shifting on her massive paws. The two men cornering her glanced over their shoulders, blanching.
Quentin flipped his dagger in his hand. “Sorry for killing your friends, but Ireallydon’t like being dragged out of bed like that.”
It was still for three tense heartbeats.
Quentin dodged as the first man lunged for him, springing just out of reach. The second hung back, turning to face his comrade, ready to lend his assistance?—
A great pale jaw closed around his throat, teeth sinking into his soft flesh. The pirate’s eyes flickered, body going rigid, before the light left them and he sank to the floor. Delaynie stepped over him, delicately avoiding his corpse as if offended by it.
Finally, there was only one pirate left.
He stared at the bodies around them, piled on the floor. Quentin caught the tremor in his hands as he released his curved rapier, landing wetly on the blood-soaked floor. The pirate sank to his knees, the room clouding with the scent of his terror.
“P-please,” he stammered, wide eyes darting between Quentin and Delaynie. “I was just following orders. It’s nothing personal?—”
His words died in a garble as Quentin’s blade drew a clean line across his throat.
“It wasn’t personal for me, either,” he said, the man’s heart pumping his blood out over the front of his shirt, mixing with that of his comrades on the floor. “Not until you drewherblood. Good thing that was the last mistake you’ll ever make.”
The pirate slumped to the floor and didn’t rise again.
