Page 171 of Blackheart

“We lost Lord Syler. We were able to wound one of their Lyonhearts, and they retreated to heal him. We have to spread out. Lord Jaime is already nearing burnout.”

Amzee’s face fell. “So he’s the last Witchlord we have? Against four others?”

I sucked in an anxious breath. Only maybe five percent of the Waywards had made it out of the gate so far, and Drakers were still chasing them down. More bodies lie dead in the streets than were outside the walls. One of our Witchlords was gone, the other nearly useless after spending all night healing me.

Ansel couldn’t fight forever.

I attached the orb at my waist and rolled my shoulders back. “Then we spread out.”

Amzee did not appear pleased. “I’ll go east. You go west?”

I nodded, my stomach already twisting. Every corpse on the ground was a tally in my mind for the cuts I would give Queen Delaina. That anger fuelled me as I climbed down, building inside of me and radiating through Singer.

All battle strategies fled my mind as I rampaged through the uneven streets, casting my Nature at every Draker in my path. I had no thoughts of nausea—no consideration for fatigue. They were mostly in groups of two or three, all too happy to have an excuse to kill the Dark Natured.

I was pleased to return the favor.

Screams echoed in my head, so much so that I started confusing real ones with imaginary.

I didn’t know these Waywards well, and although I’d studied the map, it was different now. I’d killed almost twenty Drakers, but I was having a hard time finding them. I needed a higher viewpoint.

Climbing the side of the first building, I scanned below until I found Amzee near the center of the ‘Wards, surrounded by rebels. They protected her as she vomited.

Beck shadowed in next to her, emesis running out of the corner of his mouth. My breathing was unsteady, the adrenaline waning and nausea rising.

I tapped the orb frantically, receiving only a flicker in response. Light-blue lightning struck a building near Keeper’s Street.

I had no idea where Riven was, but I knew we were crumbling.

There still had to be ninety percent of the population inside.

My eyes stung as I spotted two women around my age, both sliced through the chest. Deceased next to one another while still holding hands. They didn’t deserve this. They were supposed to make it to Castivian.

“You’re harder to find than I thought,” a familiar voice sounded behind me.

I swiveled, eyes narrowing on the enemy Dreamsoul.

“I’m getting bored of men chasing after me,” I snarled, wielding Singer. God, I was tired.

The Witchlord held his hands up. “Let’s make this easy and painless. You get down with me, we put you in a nice little room until the Sapphires arrive to retrieve you, and then maybe we can even have a drink.”

I charged towards him.

“Fine. The hard and painful way,” he grumbled.

“Just the way I like it,” I taunted, swinging the club.

He dodged the blow, and I fell against the roof. I winced, forcing myself to tuck the pain away until later. I jumped back to my feet, smoke billowing into the sky as nearby buildings caught fire.

The Witchlord had to be weak as well, or he would’ve already forced me to sleep. Lightning sparked between his fingers, threatening me.

I charged him, because fuck wasting time to spar. If I was going to die, so was he, right now.

His face twisted as we collided, both of us grunting from the impact. He fell on his back at the edge of the roof, and I landed on top of him.

“Just where I like my whores,” he snarled. The glint in his eyes was the same one all mindless men had when they wanted what was between my legs.

“Really?” I teased.