Blood Heir (Blood Heir Trilogy, #1)(37)

Anger bottled at her throat, but she forced it down, down as she thought of Luka. Her bratika had always strived for peace where possible. Ana gave it one last try. “Hand him over now, and no one has to be hurt.”

Blackbeard’s expression darkened. “I’ll teach you all about hurting,” he snarled, and launched his horse toward her.

Her horse shrieked at the sudden assault, springing back. Ana had just enough time to feel the shift in balance before the saddle tilted beneath her and she tumbled off. By instinct, she latched on to Blackbeard’s blood and pulled.

His curse rang out, and she saw him fall just as her back jolted against the ground, knocking the wind from her. Nearby, there was a thud as Blackbeard broke his fall with a roll.

Ana sucked in a deep breath, willing her stunned limbs to work again. She heard the schick of Blackbeard’s dagger as he drew it from its sheath. “Damned deimhov,” he snarled, and sprang.

Through the haze in her mind, she grasped at her Affinity.

Blackbeard drove his blade down. A rumble of thunder muffled her scream as pain seared over her shoulder. Blood bloomed across her senses.

The mercenary’s smile sliced white. Pinning her down with his body, he brought his dagger to her cheek. In the dim light, she could make out the green-tinted liquid as it formed a drop at the tip of the blade. Terror filled her. “Recognize that, you witch?” Blackbeard’s tone was triumphant, mocking. “You think just because you’re an Affinite, that makes you more powerful than us?”



Slowly, she was regaining control of her body; the fog in her mind was dissipating. Ana twitched a finger.

“Think again. You made a dumb choice, revealing yourself to us, deimhov. I dominate monsters like you. I trade monsters like you.” Blackbeard brought his face close to hers. “You don’t scare me.”

With his other hand, he shoved a glass vial of Deys’voshk to her lips. Bitter liquid filled her mouth. She was back in the dungeons again, metal chains and straps holding her in place, the taste of the pungent poison flooding her senses. My little monster, Sadov whispered.

She choked now, her mind paralyzed with fear, her throat swallowing the Deys’voshk as she’d been conditioned.

Something splashed on her face. At first, Ana thought she was crying, but as another drop landed on her face, then another, she realized that it was raining.

The sky lit up with a streak of lightning, and thunder clapped as rain began to pour. A cold wind tore at her hair, urging her in angry whispers. She was not in a dungeon, this was not Sadov, and she was not the helpless, frightened girl she’d been.

And she had developed a tolerance to the Deys’voshk.

Blackbeard tossed his vial onto the grass. Lightning flashed, reflecting off the glass, an arm’s length from Ana. “Still feeling powerful, you witch?” he hissed in her ear. “I don’t have a particular preference for your type, but I know some people who do.” He gripped her chin hard enough to bruise. Ana forced her eyes to remain on Blackbeard as her hand snaked out along the grass. “Lots’ve things one could do to a pretty face like yours. Lots’ve goldleaves one could pay.” His grin widened, and his hand wandered to his belt. “But first, I’ll have to try it out for myself—”



Ana’s hand closed around the glass vial. With all her strength, she smashed it into his face.

The shards pierced her palm, sending sharp streaks of pain up her arm, but Ana only felt grim satisfaction as the man howled, clutching his face. Blood ran down his cheeks, and when he removed his hand, Ana saw that a shard of glass had lodged itself in his right eye.

She lashed out. Her Affinity was still there, still strong despite the mist of Deys’voshk that had started creeping across her senses. She locked on the blood dripping down Blackbeard’s face, seizing that and the bonds inside his body and giving it all a single, vicious tug.

It was like uncorking a bottle of wine; blood spilled from Blackbeard’s mouth at her coaxing, running through the grass in rivulets with rainwater.

Die, Ana thought, fury coiling around her, white-hot. What he had wanted to do to her, what he’d probably done to dozens of other powerless Affinites—she would make sure he was never able to do any of it again.

Die.

Lightning lit up Blackbeard’s bloodied face, and for a moment, Ana saw the face of the broker who had stolen May, his pale-ice eyes boring into hers.

Wrath burned through her veins; she gave a violent pull. There was the wet sound of flesh ripping. Blackbeard made a choking sound as his chest tore open; for a moment he hung suspended in time, mouth agape, eyes wide, droplets of his blood glistening like rubies in the rain.

Then his eyes shuttered, and he keeled over on the grass with a dead thud.



Exhaustion smothered Ana, so suddenly that her vision blurred around the edges. Her limbs were leaden; she felt as though she were sinking into the mud. She could no longer tell whether the dizziness was from the Deys’voshk working its poisonous effect in her system or from overexertion. Perhaps it was both.

“What the—”

Twenty paces away, the second mercenary—Stanys—had dismounted. He stared at his leader in disbelief before his eyes landed on Ana. “What the hell did you do, you deimhov?”

Her head swam as she pushed herself to her feet. Blackbeard’s dagger lay in the mud next to his body, discarded, but she didn’t think she’d have the strength to pick it up. “Leave, or I’ll kill you, too.” Her voice barely carried over the rushing sound of rain.