Kingdom of the Feared (Kingdom of the Wicked, #3)(32)

More death. More rage. More vengeance. My blade glowed rose-gold under the blood staining it, drinking up the offerings I served it. We’d almost reached the center of the bridge when I heard a sound more terrifying than the werewolves and horses combined. It snarled and barked like a rabid dog. Several of them, actually.

Footsteps pounded, shaking the ground. At the edge of the bridge, coming from House Wrath, four mighty hellhounds paused. I swore under my breath. Wrath hadn’t been kidding when he’d called the hound I’d encountered in the Sin Corridor a puppy. It had been the size of a pony. These three-headed beasts were the size of elephants. Their ice-blue eyes flashed—and the wolves nearest them raised their hackles, their attention now split between Wrath and his attack dogs. The fight just got harder for the wolves and my twin. Thank the powers that be.

Without wasting another moment, the snow-colored hellhounds entered the fray. I watched long enough to see their pale fur splattered red with their kills, then resumed my own bloodbath. I focused on the blade in my hand, turning and striking like it was all some well-choreographed dance. The battle was the music, and death my skilled partner. All the while, vengeance pounded against my soul.

Wrath fought with the same fervor as when he’d begun, not looking close to being tired. The wolves couldn’t say the same. Some of them stumbled out of the way, thick white foam coating their muzzles, their chests heaving from exertion. Between the hellhounds, demon horses, and Wrath, victory seemed close. Imminent. I ducked as a wolf leapt over me, then slit its throat, its blood spraying my face and dampening my hair as it crashed to the ground.

“EMILIA!”

I turned at the sound of my sister’s bloodcurdling shout, unable to stop my first instinct to seek her out and protect. It was a mistake. The world went to hell from that one act of familial affection and humanity. A werewolf knocked me to the ground, its jaws snapping at my throat. Claws tore at my cloak, ripping the flesh of my chest, and I screamed.

Then the wolf was gone, yanked from me and tossed against the bridge so hard its neck and back cracked, loud enough to be heard over the fray of hell horses and hellhounds battling on. The wolf trembled once violently, then stilled. I exhaled and bit down on another yelp. The wound on my chest throbbed with each accelerated beat of my heart. The full pain hadn’t exactly hit yet—a result of adrenaline, no doubt. Though I did feel oddly light-headed.

Wrath’s eyes were twin flames of gold as he stood over me, surveying the damage done to my body. The temperature dropped impossibly colder. His anger had reached its limit.

My twin, the werewolves, they’d better retreat before he obliterated them. He reached for me, then dropped to his knees. Blood blossomed across the front of his shirt. He looked down, brows tugged close, as if he couldn’t believe it, either. A glowing blade protruded from his chest.

“Wrath!” I scrambled up, ignoring the tearing sensation as my wound split further and I gripped him, wrapping my body protectively around his. “It’s all right.” My hand fluttered over his wound. “I’ll take it out. You’ll heal.”

“You know.” Vittoria stood behind Wrath, yanking the dagger from his back without remorse. “So many people are searching for the Blade of Ruination…”

I looked from the wound that was still furiously bleeding to my twin. Wrath said the hexed blade could kill him, and my sister stabbed him through the heart with a blade that clearly did damage. Wrath usually healed within an instant. He’d also said he could sense it when it was near, but he’d been distracted. Because of me.

His bronze skin was rapidly going pale, but his fury was unmatched as he held my gaze. “Your cloak.”

I gave him a look indicating the dagger had clearly affected his common sense. There was no chance in this realm or any other that I’d leave him like this.

“Fix him.” I glanced up at my sister. “Fix him now!”

Vittoria appeared to consider my demand. She shrugged. “No.”

“Vittoria.” My breathing became faster, erratic. “You would deny me this?”

She signaled to the wolf that must be Domenico, and he sank his teeth around my shoulder, hitting the wound on my chest as he yanked me backward. Pain overtook my senses. And the werewolves used the distraction to form a barrier between me and my husband.

I shoved past the agony and stepped to the snarling wolves. “Stop this. Vittoria, just stop. I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Maybe I want to watch him bleed. How does that make you feel, Emilia? Mad?”

Vittoria kicked Wrath’s back, right where the blade had struck, and he coughed up blood.

“Angry?” She hit him in the temple with the hilt of the dagger, hard enough that it would have killed a mortal, based on the loud crack alone. He winced as blood poured down his face but didn’t cower. Something was definitely wrong or else he would fight back. “Or furious?”

“Stop!” I screamed.

“What will it take to wake your magic?” Vittoria grabbed him by his hair and yanked his head back, exposing his throat as she pressed the blade there. “This?”

Whatever that dagger was, it had done extreme damage to him. If she cut his throat, if I lost him… I detonated. That ancient power, that slumbering beast—it woke with a vengeance at the sight of Wrath’s blood. I didn’t bother holding it back. I didn’t grasp for control.