Shadow Wings (The Darkest Drae Book 2)(59)

One of the guards stood outside the room, shouting when he saw me. With one swipe, I sent him crashing down the hall. The door was ajar, and I pushed through.

No, no, no!

I burst into the room, and horror struck me dumb.

Tyrrik lay on the bed, unconscious, only his lap covered by the blanket Dyter had spread over him before we left.

Five guards surrounded Tyrrik. One guard sat at the head of the bed, pouring crystal clear liquid into Tyrrik’s mouth. Two guards sat on either side of the bed. One sliced deeply into Tyrrik’s thigh and then spat in the open wound. Spitting . . . their Phaetyn juice would poison him, keeping his wound from healing. The other Phaetyn ran a blade through a still oozing wound on the other leg. Judging by the rows of gashes on his legs and arms, they’d been at it for a while. Black blood oozed from many of the wounds, and as my gaze traveled up to Tyrrik’s chest, I saw the basins under his arms, collecting blood from the gashes on the inside of his elbows. Two more guards sat on Dyter’s bed, dipping weapons in Tyrrik’s blood.

Red-streaked darkness filled my chest; pounding with my heart, it filled my being. My shoulders lifted, my mouth contorting, fangs descending as I screamed a heart-ripping roar of rage and pain. Blue scales covered my frame, my talons lengthened, my eyes formed slits, but somehow, somehow as my wings began to stab out through my back, I paused.

If I shifted full Drae, I’d bring the entire Pink House down, and while that would kill the guards, it might also kill Tyrrik.

The guards scrambled upright, brandishing their blood-coated blades at me.

One of the guards lunged forward as another threw a knife. The blade bounced off my blue scales and clattered to the floor as the other guards moved to within striking distance. I snarled, lost to my instincts, and crouched like the predator I was to meet their attack.

I grabbed the outstretched blade of the guard and pulled him close, driving my talons deep into his stomach. He shrieked, and I jerked my hand upward, slicing through his abdominal organs until I hit bone. He opened his mouth, silvery blood gushing out, and I flung him away so his blood wouldn’t further injure my Drae. The Phaetyn’s body crashed against the wall, and he slid to the ground in a heap.

The other guards had halted their advance while they watched my fight with their companion, and now the remaining four Phaetyn converged and advanced as a single unit. Like it matters. I would destroy every one of them. They were prey. I was powerful.

They threw weapons at me, and I batted several of them from the air before catching one of the guards peering over my shoulder toward the door. Were they just stalling until help arrived? My anger boiled, and I bent my knees, catapulting myself toward them. I charged, slashing at the Phaetyn with my talons, roaring. I saw nothing but the monsters that hurt my Tyrrik, for surely he was mine. Wetness splattered me, and I continued to shred until there was nothing but pieces of what had once been life.

I stood afterward in the middle of the blood-splattered room.

My gaze landed on Tyrrik. My ears fixed on his labored breathing. I only smelled his blood. I knelt at his side and picked a blade up from the floor. I sliced through the pads of my fingers, pushing my blood over his wounds to help them heal.

I heard footsteps in the hall and whirled to face the next threat, but Dyter’s scent preceded him, and though my talons didn’t retract, I’d already knelt beside Tyrrik again before he stepped through the door.

“What the hay . . .” Dyter gasped, skidding to a halt. “Holy fecking Drae,” he panted, closing the door behind him.

His eyes were as wide as saucers, and his mouth hung open as he struggled to catch his breath. “What—” He pointed at the gore splattering the walls and severed parts littering the floor and then turned to the side and threw up.

I felt like I should apologize to him, but I wasn’t the least bit sorry. Not at all.

“Watch the door,” I growled through my fangs. “They poisoned Tyrrik.”

“We need to leave now,” Dyter said, wiping his chin.

I listened to Tyrrik’s straining heartbeat. “There will be no later for Tyrrik unless I heal him now. They were spitting on the knife to keep the wounds open and drain him. There are droplets of Phaetyn poison inside him again.”

“As quick as you can then, Rynnie,” Dyter said, as he bent to pick up one of the weapons littering the floor.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, placing my hands on Tyrrik’s chest. His smoky leather-and-steel scent washed over me.

I leaned over the Drae and pressed my lips to his. His soft lips were unmoving, so I pushed my tongue to pry them slightly apart as I brought my hands to either side of his face. He tasted like nectar. I breathed into him. I imagined the darkness of my lord Tyrrik’s Drae, and I shoved as much of my Phaetyn power into him, in a blast, as I could. The energy filled his body, causing him to arch off the bed.

“Ryn, hurry,” Dyter yelled.

I stood as something crashed outside in the hallway, hoping I’d given Tyrrik enough help to stave off death. There wasn’t time to check.

“I’m ready,” I said, glancing around the room for our things, but whatever things we’d once had were now . . . ruined. “Grab whatever you can—”

“You’re blinded,” Kaelan bellowed outside. “The monstrosity must die.”





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