The Centaur Queen (The Dark Queens #7)(19)

It was the stuff of bloody nightmares. A man, with what once must have been a full red beard—but which was now partially shorn off, exposing long bits of lean, red muscle beneath the lower left half of its jaw—was looking back at me. It was hard to make out the dimensions of his body in the near darkness, but he seemed like he was short, taller than the average stone dwarf, but little for a human male. He’d been partially scalped. There was an entire section of his neck missing, which no doubt accounted for the strange sounds of his breathing. He wore no clothes and his body was coated in wounds and thick black grime. He seemed human, and yet he wasn’t at all, for he stank of stone dwarf. I’d recognize the stench anywhere—rot mixed with viscera and the dust of mining rock all his life.

Only when I looked at his eyes did I know what he was, though I could hardly believe it.

“What is it?” Ty asked, her soft voice carrying like a melody on the breeze.

I swallowed the bile threatening to come up. “What the bloody hell happened to you, mate?” I asked the stranger.

Dwarfs were unbelievably sturdy, healing from wounds that would kill a lesser being. Part of the tradeoff, I supposed, for living in a land as inhospitable as this one. They had to be hardy, or they’d never survive. If this was a dwarf, which I was all but certain of, even as gravely wounded as it was, it would still be capable of harming us both should we draw too close to it.

“I ain’t yer mate,” it snapped, voice sounding like gravel and making me grimace. “Come here, goat. I won’t hurt you.” His laugh was low and darkly foreboding.

Instinctively, I took a step back, holding my dirk where he could see it. Dwarfs were notorious cannibals, even amongst themselves. The way he was torn up, it looked like something, or several somethings, had taken bites out of him, like he’d been dinner.

He hacked, coughing violently and causing the whistling sounds to increase. Without aid, this abomination would die come morning.

He chuckled again. Pink foam escaped the corners of his mouth. “I’ll die out here. Once king of all these mountains, if you can believe it. Screw them,” he snapped.

“King?” Tymanon whispered to herself, sounding intrigued more than disbelieving, as I was.

“That’s not possible.” I shook my head. “You look too human. You’re not Wulfric, not the—”

“Devil King?” he growled. “Aye, but I am. It was that damn bloody magic, that dark, twisted nightmare, that changed us, perverted our beauty, twisted me into this... this—” He gasped, clutching at his stomach as another coughing fit gripped him.

Tymanon’s hand landed on my shoulder, startling me. I shot my hand back, trying to push her away, trying to keep her safe.

“He cannot harm me,” she said, voice calm and steady. “He has been defeated by his own. King once, but now no more.”

“We don’t know that, Ty. He could be lying. This could be a trap. He could be...”

As she stood beside me, I realized she was several inches shorter than me now, and a powerful feeling I could not name suddenly came over me. Warm. Soft. But also strong and powerful, clamping hold of my heart and making me want to protect her and keep her safe, which was just nonsense. I’d never met anyone more capable than Ty.

“Look at his hand, Petra.” She nodded with her chin.

I frowned, glancing down, and noticed the sixth finger. The Bonecross line all had the same disfigurement. It was a hideous deformity to most, save for the dwarves themselves. To them, the sixth digit was a sign of royal blood and of beauty.

“Come ride my cock, ugly human girl.” Wulfric grasped his flaccid and obscenely large penis, gesturing at her crudely with it.

I pursed my lips and took a step forward, ready to do what, I wasn’t sure. But Ty grabbed me by the elbow and tugged me back.

“He dies,” she reminded me.

And with those two softly spoken words, all my fire died out. The old king wasn’t just dying. He was unworthy even of our time or anger.

A loud, terrible sound that could only be called laughter spilled off his tongue. It shocked me. I’d expected anger, rage thrown at her for what she’d said. But instead, his dark eyes danced with mirth.

“Aye, you’re right. My cock is nothing but a limp noodle now. No pleasure to be had from it no more.” He paused, his gaze locking with Ty’s, and then softly said, “Kill me.” His words no longer held mirth. They were spoken in earnest, and I heard the sound of true pain shiver behind them.

Tymanon took a step forward, but this time, I was the one holding her back.

“What are you going to do?” I snapped.

Her look was stern. “I do not care for his kind, but I cannot stand idly by and watch him suffer.”

I flicked a glance to Wulfric. He was snaking his tongue across his chapped and bloody lips, avarice clearly written on his face.

“He lies. He is trying to lure you in.”

She smirked, the look confident and sure, and for just a second, I felt stung by it. Gods, she was gorgeous, haughty, proud, and vexingly annoying.

Tymanon patted my hand like one would an ill-tempered child. I clenched my teeth. “I am no fool, gída, but all the same, he dies, either now or later.”

“Then let him die later. A stone dwarf’s mouth is infested with disease. One bite and you would—”