What a Dragon Should Know (Dragon Kin #3)(113)

Dagmar quickly got to her feet as Annwyl pulled one hand from the Minotaur’s face and reached down yanking the eating dagger he kept on his loin cloth. She raised the blade above him and brought it down into his skull. He squealed, and Annwyl laughed, hysterically, dragging the blade out and slamming it home, again and again.

Finally one of the Minotaurs grabbed hold of her and yanked her off their commander, tossing her across the room. Annwyl hit the wall, the floor, and then jumped right back to her feet.

Now Annwyl screamed, the likes of which Dagmar had never heard before and prayed to never hear again. Annwyl screamed and, covered in blood, charged full into the Minotaurs. They were so stunned it took them a moment to react. One of them went for his blade, but Annwyl snatched it from him, using it to cut his stomach open before turning and boldly swinging the weapon as she did.

Dagmar forced herself to look away and to the priestess.

The priestess was angry, but she didn’t lose her head. Instead see grabbed the dagger and raised it above the girl. Dagmar ran at her, stepped on the weak altar for leverage, and launched herself at the priestess. Well aware she was no fighter, Dagmar wrapped her arms around the heifer’s head and held on.

“Get off me!” the priestess bellowed in outrage and shoved, sending Dagmar flying back. Dagmar hit the ground but kept her head up so it wouldn’t smash into the floor. When she stopped sliding, she grabbed one of the torches and forced her aching body back up. She felt the pain immediately, having never been trained in controlling it, and quickly limped back to the female Minotaur. She slapped the torch into her face, startling and angering her yet again.

“Bitch!”

Dagmar kicked at the bowl filled with oil, aiming for the priestess. It hit her on the side and Dagmar quickly slammed the torch at her. The flame caught and the priestess cried out, yanking off her cloak. Using the time, Dagmar grabbed hold of the twins and quickly retreated. She saw the exit from where she stood, but a slashing, killing Annwyl and still quite a few Minotaurs stood between her and freedom.

The priestess, cloak and flame free, stepped over the altar. She stared at them all, and then she opened her mouth and yelled, “Stop!”

They all did, too. Even Annwyl.

The priestess glanced at Dagmar but seemed confident in her current situation of being unable to escape. Right now, they both knew that Annwyl was her bigger concern.

She raised her arm and stepped a little closer to the queen. “I call upon the darkest powers to come to me,” she chanted, her finger pointing at Annwyl. “I call upon them to possess me and give me the power to destroy this abomination.”

Dagmar stepped forward. “Annwyl, kill her!” she shouted. “Kill her before she can finish!”

She’d never know if Annwyl had heard her words, had understood her words, or simply responded to the sound of yelling. Whatever prompted the queen, the Mad Bitch of Garbhán Isle, it was quite enough.

Pulling back her arm—the skin no longer pale and flaccid but strong, powerful, and filled with well-trained muscles—she threw the sword she had in her hand. A Minotaur’s blade, much longer and wider than any human sword, and Annwyl handled it like it was a small eating dagger.

The weapon flew across the tunnel and slammed into the Minotaur female, forcing her back several steps.

The priestess stared down at it, but she didn’t die.

She raised her arms and shouted, “Kill—”

But Annwyl’s hysterical scream drowned her out, and then the Blood Queen was charging the Minotaur female, slamming into her, knocking her into the ground. She yanked the blade from the female’s chest and raised it. Still screaming, she slammed it into her. The priestess’s howl of pain filled the tunnel, but it still couldn’t block out Annwyl’s scream. It went beyond a battle cry. It went beyond anything.

And while she screamed, over and over again, Annwyl yanked the weapon out, and slammed it back in.

Unable to turn away, they all watched her, even Dagmar. The Minotaur males didn’t move. Their commander was dead and their priestess was being murdered right before them.

And it was murder. A brutal, vicious murder. Blood and gore flew everywhere, even striking Dagmar and the babes, but Annwyl kept going until the tip of the blade slammed into the ground beneath them. That’s when she released it and tore at the priestess’s chest using only her bare hands. She tore the ribs apart and began to slam her fist inside the open chest cavity again and again.

By now the female Minotaur had long died, but apparently Annwyl’s rage was still going strong.

Dagmar lost count of how many times Annwyl struck at the open chest in front of her. How many times she yanked organs out and tossed them over her shoulder. For the first time in her life, Dagmar was mesmerized, unable to think or reason or do much of anything but stare.

It took them long minutes before the Minotaurs finally snapped out of their own state of shock, and one of them, a giant with an absolutely enormous head, moved toward her. He slowly raised his sword and Dagmar went to warn Annwyl, but a blade held against her throat cut off the sound.

The Minotaur now stood behind Annwyl, the sword held in both hands over her naked back. Without a sound, he brought it down. But as the tip of the blade neared her spine, Annwyl moved. She simply lifted her right arm and reared to her left side. The blade slammed into the Minotaur female’s empty chest. The male stared dumbly at what he’d done, and then his gaze turned to Annwyl. Her smile was mad, one corner of her mouth lifting, her green eyes rising up to look at him through the wild tumble of hair in her face.