Page 28 of Beast of Blood and Ash (Drakarn Mates #6)

OMVAR

This bastard thought he could take my mate?

He was already dead. He just didn’t know it yet.

Every thought, every wound, every memory was gone.

Burned away in the killing heat that roared in my blood.

The world narrowed to the space between me and Draskeer.

The roar that tore from my throat wasn’t a sound; it was the mate-bond given voice, a promise of annihilation that shook the stone beneath my claws.

Heat hammered the volcanic plain, the ground shivering with tension beneath the red sky.

Sulfur stung my nose, the air shimmering with the poison of old eruptions and the scarlet haze of twin suns.

Grit scoured my scales as the wind screamed across obsidian spires, slicing every exposed inch of flesh.

I crashed down in a storm of dust, and rock exploded outward as my wings flared.

A cataclysm of fury bellowed inside me. The gash in my side wept blood, a hot, sticky track down my scales, but the pain was a distant thing, not even an inconvenience.

Nothing penetrated the tunnel-vision that fixed Draskeer in my sights.

My entire being was a weapon, honed and aimed at the male who dared to touch what was mine.

He shoved her aside. Reika stumbled and fell, a small, fragile thing against the unforgiving rock.

My body jerked to go to her, but I didn’t dare.

I couldn’t look at her for more than a second.

To see her fear, her pain, would shatter my focus and risk it all.

My gaze locked on Draskeer, a predator’s stare, absolute and lethal.

A low, continuous growl rumbled in my chest. The ground vibrated with it.

I would give him a slow, very painful death.

His feet slid back, heels grinding black grit as he saw me. The arrogant smirk disappeared from his face, replaced by a flash of disbelief, then a vicious hatred that mirrored my own. Sweat gleamed at the edge of his jaw, and his tail bristled, scraping the scorched stone.

We circled. Two monsters locked in a deadly dance.

The prize: a small, unbroken human, braver than any warrior I’d ever known.

The heat pressed in, suffocating; the sulfur thick enough to taste on my tongue.

Wind clawed at my wings, swirling dust and embers in angry spirals.

I watched his every step, every twitch of claw and tail.

He let the silence stretch, then rolled his shoulders, finding his bravado.

The play-actor from the arena, remembering his audience.

Skorai’s dog could never resist the theater.

He flicked the blade in his hand, letting the desert sun catch on the jagged edge.

The scent of old blood hung on him like a shroud.

“You were always soft. Even in the pits, you never had the stomach for the real work,” he sneered, his blade glinting.

I didn’t answer. Words were a weakness I couldn’t afford. I let his taunts wash over me, fuel for the fire. The bond screamed in my blood. Protect her. End him.

He wanted me to lose control, to go wild and make mistakes. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. My claws curled into the ashen ground until the rock cracked, my arms tight, wings hunched with the promise of violence.

We crashed together, blades drawn, metal clanging so hard the echo split the sky. He pressed, I forced back, the weapons scraping scales and skin. The clangs became a drumbeat in my chest.

Fury. Focus.

Every step thundered, every breath harsh and dry as the desert wind.

He was good. Cunning. He feinted, drawing me in, and his claws caught me high on the shoulder, grating against bone. Pain, white-hot and blinding, lanced through me. I roared in agony and fury and hit back with a sweep of my tail. He staggered back.

But he recovered too quickly.

He came in low, under my guard, and a searing pain exploded in my already wounded side. My leg buckled. I went down to one knee, the world tilting, the red sky spinning. My vision flickered to gray at the edges.

Draskeer stood over me, his chest heaving, a triumphant, bloody grin splitting his face. “The great champion of Ignarath,” he spat. “Brought to his knees.”

My claws dug trenches in the stone, the ground biting back with heat and grit. My head pounded, my throat burning with each ragged breath.

This was it. He was going to end me.

The wind screamed, cutting through pain and panic.

Blood dripped down my side, hot, sticky, burning where it tracked through the torn flesh beneath my scales.

I could taste it, my own blood in my mouth, an iron sting that threatened to drown my senses.

The shame was hot and choking. I’d come to save her, and instead I was broken, spent, prey on my knees just like in the old days, just like the monster I swore never to be.

But then there was a flicker of movement from behind him. Reika. She was on her feet, her face a mask of terror and reckless courage. She snatched a jagged piece of obsidian from the ground.

“Hey, asshole!” she screamed.

Draskeer turned, distracted for a fraction of a second.

It was all I needed.

Rage surged through my bones. The beast inside me tore at its leash, demanding blood. For her. For every moment of fear, every wound, every chain. I let the fury burn away the pain. Muscles bunched, legs trembling. I forced myself upright in a single, violent motion.

I didn’t think. Didn’t aim for a clean kill. I aimed to maim, to break, to make him suffer for every second of fear he put in her eyes.

My claws slashed out, catching his arm at the elbow, bone crunching, scales splitting, flesh tearing under the force of my blow.

Draskeer screamed, the sound sharp and desperate.

I followed, relentless, my tail whipping low and hard, connecting with the joint of his leg, shattering it with a sickening crack.

His body collapsed, writhing, pain blooming across every inch of his monstrous face.

He lashed out blindly, claws raking my chest, his fangs snapping for my throat. I grabbed his head, slamming it into the rock.

I wanted him to beg.

I wanted him to bleed the way Reika had bled on Ignarath’s stones.

The world was a blur of red and heat and violence.

He was on the ground, whimpering, the bravado gone, replaced by the animal fear of the dying. I stood over him, my chest heaving, blood dripping from a dozen wounds. The beast in me wanted to tear his throat out with my teeth.

But Reika was watching.

I forced the animal in me back, forced the urge down until I was trembling with the effort.

My claws hovered over his throat, the promise of annihilation, but I didn’t strike.

Not yet. I looked up and saw her standing, hair wild, obsidian shard still clutched in her hand, terror and defiance shining in her eyes.

She was alive. And she was my judge.

I delivered the final, clean blow, ending it. The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the wind whistling over the rocks and our own ragged breathing.

For a heartbeat, the world hung still. The bond roared in my blood, demanding assurance, demanding proof that she was untouched, unbroken.

Then the adrenaline crashed, and the pain hit me all at once.

My legs trembled. I swayed, the world going gray at the edges.

The agony in my side flared, a molten spear of suffering.

The wounds along my shoulder and chest throbbed, blood trickling over my scales in rivulets, the smell of it sharp as rust. Breathing was an effort.

I turned to Reika. She was staring at me, her eyes wide, her body shaking. She took a step toward me, and her legs gave out.

I caught her before she hit the ground, my arms closing around her small, trembling body. She collapsed against me.

Her heart hammered against my chest, wild and frantic. Her skin felt clammy, her breath shaky with the aftermath of terror and relief. I bent my head, pressing my jaw against her hair, grounding myself in the reality of her, alive and safe in my arms.

We clung to each other, battered, bloodied, unsteady.

I could taste the salt of her sweat, the tang of my own blood on the wind.

I forced my wings to wrap us both, shielding her from the furnace wind that scoured the plain, from the hostile emptiness that threatened to swallow us whole.

She buried her face in my chest, fingers clinging to the ragged edge of my torn scales.

Above the rush of blood in my own ears, I heard the beat of wings, low, steady, a promise in the air. I lifted my head and saw Khorlar and other Scalvaris warriors descending, their forms carving shadows against the red sky.

Safety. Closure. The world would keep turning, for now.

But for that one endless moment, the only thing that mattered was the fact that my mate was alive, clinging to me, not flinching from my touch but pressing close, her strength, her courage, her wild, unbroken spirit all woven together with my own battered hope.

My mate was safe. That was all that mattered.