Page 112 of Blood Fist

“No!” he screamed.

“You are the Scale Breaker, and you will set me free!”

Corric’s cheek slammed against the rock wall, and he gasped as the air around him swirled colder. The necklaces he’d earned dug into his skin—his achievements, not given, but earned. Recognized by the clan. His clan.

He leaned into the pressure. “No.” he pressed his forearm against the uneven rock and shoved with everything he had.

“I am Stone Blade and I carry their strength with me always!” he screamed, more to himself than toSinestrus, as he jerked himself away from the oily void clinging to him. Falling to the ground, he pulled his sword up and pointed it, not at Sinestrus, but at his own throat.

“I’ll bleed before I set you free!”

Sinestrus was still, the darkness seeming to hover for a long moment before it disappeared with a quiet laugh.

Between blinks, Corric was back squinting in the sunlight. Frost sparkled on his skin and clung to his hair. Ice dripped off his sword where it rested against his collar bones.

Derry and Halm’s laughter stopped the moment they caught sight of him. Their calls were muted by the thundering of blood in Corric’s ears. His hand shook, blade trembling against the sensitive skin of his throat.

Halm jerked the sword from Corric’s loose fist, gasping as the chill burnt her skin. The clattering of his sword against stone broke whatever trance he was in. With a shuddering breath, he ignored Derry’s hand and pushed himself to his feet.

Scale breaker.

It spread through him like a sickness. Nausea roiled in his stomach as he realized he never escaped his bloodline. Schok was wrong. He was just another Tylock.

Another pawn to be played.

Night had fallen by the time Corric made it back to the camp. Halm tried to insist he go see Iylah, or even just speak to Ridan, but Corric threatened the two with silence. He told them he was fine and bared his fangs until they both relented, promising they wouldn’t tell anyone.

There was only one person Corric wanted to see,and he made his way there as quickly as he could. He tried his best to look normal, but he was a mess—movements stilted, legs refusing to work correctly. Almost like they were struggling to hold his weight. A small nick on his neck throbbed from where his sword had slipped, leaving behind a bright red line in the flesh.

Corric kept his head down to avoid speaking to anyone. He only lifted it when he scented his mate on the wind. Jonen’s black tea scent was unmistakable, hanging in the air as if he’d just walked past. He wrenched open the flap the moment his fingers touched the leather.

The tent was sparse—as most unmated alphas tents were—but it was cozy and warm. Thick with Jonen’s scent. Jonen was sprawled out on a pallet, his hands behind his head as he rested beside a low hearth. Clothes and boots were laid out beside the fire, still damp from the day.

Pausing just at the entrance, Corric let his eyes flutter shut as he breathed in the comfort. It was more potent than the herbs the elders smoked.

“Corric?” Jonen’s voice was drowsy.

Opening his eyes, Corric began quickly unbuckling his belt, unsheathing a thin dagger before letting the rest clunk to the ground under its weight. He needed to keep a weapon close. Just in case.

Dropping to his knees, he laid the dagger beside the pallet before diving onto Jonen. The alpha grunted, catching him in his burly arms. Corric nuzzled against his neck, enjoying the scratch of facial hair against his skin. He tried to focus on the way it tickled. On howdifferentit felt than Sinestrus’ phantom touches.

“Corric? Are you ok? You’re trembling.” Jonen’s voice was soothing. Like rubbing a balm over a burn, a sigh of relief.

Lifting his head from Jonen’s neck, he looked up into worried eyes. They were so lovely, so innocent. There was nothing cruel in their depths. They were the same eyes that peered down at him from the top of his broken carriage. Eyes that hadn’t changed since that day.

Corric surged up, kissing Jonen so hard their teeth clacked. Jonen fell back onto his pallet, hands slipping down to Corric’s hips as the omega ravaged him. He was kissing Jonen so hard the other man had difficulty keeping up. Tears slid down his cheeks before he could stop them. His hands shook where they buried themselves in thick curls.

Jonen pulled back, laying a thick hand on Corric’s chest to stop him from chasing him. “Corric, what’s going on?”

“Jonen, please,” Corric’s voice was low, a plaintive plea. “I need you to touch me. Touch me, alpha.”

“I am touching you.” Jonen’s eyebrows were furrowed, hands cupping Corric’s face so he could look into his eyes.

Corric’s hair stuck to his wet face as he licked across Jonen’s scent gland, eyes rolling back at the guttural groan he dragged from his alpha. He could already feel the pressing heat from his erection and smell arousal in the air. They’d done this once or twice now, kissed until both were on the edge, but they’d always stopped. Let heated skin cool before flame caught.

But now Corric wanted it. He wanted to march right up to the line they’d drawn and throw himself over. He needed Jonen—his smell, his touch, his kisses. Needed them to erase the feel of Sinestrus all over him. To remind him he was here.

Corric was Stone Blade. He was Clansmen. And he was Jonen’s.