Page 122 of Blood Fist

He was cut off with a roar, staggering back as he was struck with an angry blonde battering ram. Ridan tackled him around the middle, fists pounding into his chest as they both toppled to the ground. Teeth flashed as they dug into Brune’s arm, the sharp pain pulling a cry from him as he wrapped his arms around Ridan and flipped them. Trying to pin Ridan’s hands, he got a knee to the gut for his efforts.

Ridan had him flat on his back while he was trying to catch his breath. Baring his fangs, his eyes were nearly black as he loomed over him.

Through his wheezes, Brune smiled. “There’s my omega.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

KING KRAIT

Ridan scented the jackrabbit fur a final time before wrapping it in leather. It was a fine fur. Thick and cream in color. Big, too. Ridan had hunted the rabbit himself. It pained him to part with such a nice piece, but it was for the best.

The fur was destined for the Torn Cove. It wasn’t a grand gift, but what did he give to the chief who had domain over mines full of gems? Areine was many things, but she would appreciate a good practical gift. And she’d recognize it for what it was.

More than a gift, it was a gentle reminder of what they’d spoken of at the festival. Ridan needed help, and he knew it came with a price.

He handed off the fur to the messenger. She was a young warrior with bronze skin and a leggy black mare. Gustall trained her personally. She took the bundle and stuffed it into her small saddle bag. Turning back to face him, she knuckled her chest in deference.

“I won’t fail you, Chief.”

“Of course not,” he huffed imperiously. “You’re Stone Blade. We don’t know the meaning of failure.”

Shegrinned, white teeth flashing in the dawn light before mounting. Ridan watching until she was a speck on the horizon before turning back to his tent.

Since Corric’s attack two days ago, he’d been busy preparing for the inevitable. Previously, he’d been preparing for an attack from Kaldonea. They thought Krait Tylock would be coming to free Sinestrus—they had no idea Sinestrus might be with him.

In fact, they had no idea what Sinestrus was doing at all. Buzzard believed he needed to find a body, but how hard could that be? Couldn’t the magician simply use one of his many sycophants? Or thrall someone into giving him their body.

There was so much he didn’t, couldn’t, understand. Magic was as foreign to him as the lands beyond the sea. Even Buzzard, who was born from the stuff, could not give him the answers he needs to succeed.

What Ridan does know is that, body or not, Sinestrus posed a genuine threat. With that in mind, he told his people to ready themselves to leave. They were horrified to learn that not only had magic been performed in their clan, but that it was merely a precursor for what was to come. Despite this, they still trusted him.

“Is it wise to send our people so far without confirmation Strong Leg will take them?” Gustall asked tiredly.

“We don’t have a choice,” he answered. “Sinestrus has shown his hand. Which means he either has nothing left to play, or everything. Either way, he won’t wait, and I want our people as far from battle as possible.”

Gustall hummed. His attention was on Osmond and Niklas. The couple was getting Tia ready. The child was petulant, stomping her foot and demanding to stay with them. Osmond smiled at her antics, tugging hercloak on a little tighter before hugging her. What he said was inaudible, but it seemed to placate the child. She hugged both Niklas and Osmond tight before following Gustall’s mate towards the horses.

Ridan knew his advisors were in disagreement. Henroen was on board. He was always ready to strike against Kaldonea. Gustall‌ preached caution. He wasn’t sold on any of it. Believing Ridan was acting on information that could not be trusted.

He was right.

If you told Ridan that he would go to war based on magicvisions,he’d have sneered in your face.

Until you told him it was Corric who had seen them. For whatever could be said about magic, thralls, and snarky birdmen with no respect, he trusted his packmate. Not necessarily the words he said, or even the things he said he saw. Eyes couldn’t be trusted. But the fear he felt? That was real.

Corric had been charged by beasts. He’d fought warriors twice his size, and he’d survived living under Krait Tylock. Corric did not scare easily.

“How is Corric?” Gustall asked.

Ridan wished he hadn’t.

Corric hadn’t left the nest. He spent the last two days alternatively curled up in a ball or clinging to Jonen, breathing in his scent. Schok and Buzzard had stayed with him, irritatingly quiet and far too close to Ridan’s nest for his comfort. For Corric’s sake, he allowed it. Besides, Schok was the only one who could melt Corric’s ice.

It wasn’t a conscious thing, but when Corric had any sort of heightened emotion, he iced. Sometimes it was just the barest hint of frost across his palm. Other times, it shot out in huge icicles, deadly and sharp.

The size didn’t seem to matter. Just seeing the icehad Corric burying his head in shame. Jonen suggested trying to practice with it, to gain some kind of control over his magical abilities.

Corric had given him a look so severe, Ridan thought stabbing Jonen might have been kinder.