Blood Oath (Darkest Drae #1)(69)

“That’s right, Jotun,” I slurred. “My blood kills Drae.”

The world blurred, and I remembered all the times this beast had hurt me. He’d nearly destroyed me. Every single one of my horrific memories could be linked to him. My hands shook with the need to rip his life from him. The roaring wave of pounding blood crashed in my ears, and in its wake, the steady beat calmed my heart.

Jotun’s gaze met mine, and when I smiled at him, his eyebrows pulled down in confusion for a fraction of a second before his eyes widened in horror . . .

As I drove the sharp edge of the rock deep into his side.

The effect was immediate. Jotun threw his head back and an inhuman roar escaped his lips, echoing his pain as my Phaetyn blood attacked his Drae nature. The sound was a gurgling mess, unable to be more without a voice. He writhed on the spot, caving in on himself, limbs contorted in agony.

I staggered to my feet, still clasping the rock, and ran toward the rebels. Tears coursed down my cheeks as I saw their faces—focused, hopeful, determined.

“Ryn!” Arnik yelled.

I aimed for him, my hope giving me strength to pump my legs harder than I thought possible.

“Arnik!” I was going to make it. A powerful elation burst within me like a dam had been released, and I sobbed with abandon at the sight of my salvation.

Just as a shattering roar split the air.

Cold horror ripped through me with the force of a hurricane. Terror blanketed the valley, and every living thing held its breath in a brief moment of silent dread of what was coming. From behind the rebels, the harrowing black form of the Drae rose in the distance. Some of the rebels turned to look, and their screams broke the silence. Beating his wings, Irrik covered the distance at a furious speed.

No one could outrun such power, and all the power of the Drae was sworn to the king.

“Run!” I screamed at the rebels, waving my hands, imploring them to heed my words. “Run!” I sprinted for Arnik. “Run, Arnik. He’ll kill you all!”

Whether it was my horrified screams or their own survival instincts, the rebels began to scatter in all directions as Irrik roared high above.

All except Arnik.

My chest burned for air as I sped toward him, panic propelling me faster than I’d ever moved before.

Irrik circled once, and dozens of rebels changed directions as he herded them back into the open fields. Then he lined up with the field full of rebels, a molten glow building in his exposed chest.

Dread filled me. His reptilian eyes found mine in that moment, and I screamed, “No, Irrik. Please, don’t!”

But the Drae answered only to the king.

He reared back and then threw his head forward, jaws gaping as flames shot from between his fangs. The inferno raced across the sky, blazing toward the rebels. The conflagration would swallow them all.

Arnik was in the firing line. The world blurred as I crossed the distance to him.

The heat was blistering, and a second after I’d wrapped myself around Arnik’s frame, fire licked my back. I screamed at the scorching heat, yelling words to Arnik in an indistinguishable torrent as the fire seared my open mouth. Hold on, Ryn, I begged myself.

I had to hold on.

As consciousness slipped from my grasp, I rested my head against the back of Arnik’s neck. He’d always been my friend. Would I ever see him again? Then darkness filled my vision, and I crumpled into his arms.

Hold on, a familiar voice whispered.





28





I groaned, rolling onto my back. My head was pounding. What happened?

Screams and the roar of fire echoed in my head, and flashes of the inferno burst across my eyelids. The field! My throat tightened. The rebels.

The stench of char singed my nostrils, and my throat felt raw. I rubbed the blurriness from my eyes and stared up at dark stones and pale phosphorescent light I knew all too well.

I was back in the dungeon.

“No,” I wailed, rolling from my bed. I fell to my knees. “No!”

The tears caught in my throat, and my chest heaved as I knelt in the middle of my dungeon cell. It didn’t work. My head bowed, pictures flashing behind my eyes of the consequences of my failure: burning bodies, the acrid smell of molten flesh, moaning screams of hundreds.

A sob escaped, and I pushed trembling fingers to my mouth, my body convulsing with the weight of my guilt.

The king’s force had left in the opposite direction of Jotun and me. How . . . ?

I closed my eyes as realization dawned on me.

A ploy. The king played us. They’d gone in the opposite direction to lure the rebels out. The king threw out bait, and they’d bitten, coming out in droves.

Tears trailed over my cheeks, and I choked out the worst part, “I was the bait.”

I sucked in breath after breath as the horror settled on my shoulders. I couldn’t breathe. Arnik, I thought. Had he survived? Had Dyter been there? Cal? Had I desolated the entire rebellion because I couldn’t bear my enslavement?

I screamed wordlessly, scratching at my head as I saw how selfish I’d been. Hundreds of people died for me. I pounded the sharp stone floor with my fists, feeling no relief even when my skin split and blood covered the floor. I would never, ever forgive myself if Arnik had died.

Time passed, and when I’d exhausted myself, I toppled onto my side and wept. How was I even alive? I’d felt the heat on my back. I’d seen what Irrik’s inferno could do with my own eyes. It laid an entire Harvest Zone to wreck. He’d torched a field full of potato crops without lifting a finger.