Total pages in book: 44
Estimated words: 42412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 212(@200wpm)___ 170(@250wpm)___ 141(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 42412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 212(@200wpm)___ 170(@250wpm)___ 141(@300wpm)
“You were right when you said I used to believe that just because you can doesn’t mean you should.” Lifting my hands from the Rise, I reached back and grabbed the hood. “But that was before.”
“Fuck.” Kieran spun toward me. “Don’t do it.”
“Do what?” I pulled the hood into place.
“Whatever crazy shit you’re about to pull,” he seethed. “We can hold them off.”
“Maybe.” I leapt onto the ledge and spun to face them, only the tip of my boots on the wall. One quick glance at Attes, and I saw he watched with a bemused twist to his lips.
Kieran looked like he wanted to throttle me, and I knew why. He was worried. Not for me, but for what I was about to do. What I would unleash.
And I was most definitely about to unleash something.
“I’m under control,” I told him as a Craven’s shriek pierced the air.
“You are?” Attes asked in a tone as dry as the Wastelands.
I didn’t respond as I rose.
Kieran stepped forward. “You’re going to scare the mortals and your people.”
“Let them be afraid.”
“Cas—”
Catching Kieran’s stare, I felt the corner of my lips curve up.
“Don’t,” he bit out. “I swear to the gods, don’t—”
Extending my arms, I let myself fall backward.
“You idiotic son of a bitch!” Kieran snapped forward, grasping the edge of the ledge. “Hold your fire! Hold your fire!”
The night reached up, swallowing me as I fell into the darkness. Into the need.
An already fired arrow hissed past my head as wind whipped around me. Sharp pain lanced through my thigh as a bolt found a target. I welcomed the stinging pain, drawing it into myself, letting it feed the essence and the simmering need. The hum moved to my blood as I twisted, landing in a crouch just behind the horde. I barely felt the impact as shadows rippled out from under my boots like a rising tide. Standing, I gripped the shaft of the arrow, tearing it free and tossing it aside as I felt Kieran brush against my consciousness. The fucker pushed. He was getting better, stronger, and this time, he cracked the shield. He got through.
You could’ve just shadowstepped, you jackass.
I could’ve, I sent back, and then I shut him out before he could respond, sealing up those cracks.
Kieran didn’t need to be in my head when I allowed that need to surface.
I turned slowly, as if I had all the time in the realm.
The Craven had halted, jerking to a stop as they caught the scent of my blood and the eather in it. It was like ringing the bell for supper. One side of my lips curled up. I watched as one at the rear threw its head back and sniffed. I had no idea if it was male or female. Only strips of gray flesh clung to its scalp, and the clothing had long since frayed, now torn beyond recognition. It was the first to turn. Its face hadn’t fared any better than the rest of it. Half of it had been torn off, exposing bone. The Craven snarled, hunger gleaming in eyes that burned like hot coals. It launched itself at me.
I could’ve used the eather and made it quick. That was the point. It would have been the sensible, orderly thing to do.
But I didn’t feel like making a point.
I didn’t feel like being orderly.
I waited, head tilted, arms limp at my sides, the air choked with smoke from the burning wood piled in the trench. I felt Kieran pushing again, his concern slipping through the shield as the Craven reached me.
I caught it by the throat, digging my fingers into what little skin remained. Its windpipe snapped under my grip as I lifted it, hurling its body into the one right behind it. Both hit the ground as I stalked forward, stopping to slam my boot through a skull.
Another Craven reached me, its jaws already stretched wide. I drove my hand through the skin of its chin. Foul blood sprayed into the air as I grabbed it by the jaw and then jerked my arm back, tearing the head clean off.
I could practically hear Kieran’s voice as I twisted and kicked, knocking a Craven into the fiery trench. None of this was necessary. It wasn’t.
But I was enjoying myself.
The silence in my mind.
The slick blood on my fingers.
The unraveling of normalcy.
The chaos of death, squaring off against death.
Eather rose as I spun to face a fresher Craven, one that had once been a young male. The plain, rough-hewn tunic and breeches stained with dry blood were those of a villager. Likely a farmer. His throat already had a gaping tear in it. I punched my hand through his chest, straight to the spinal column, as the hum in my blood hit my flesh.
I let the essence go.