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CHAPTER NINE

ROOK

We exit Pyrah’s cave together and bring the coin to Lark. She takes it from me and pinches it between her fingers. When she summons her magic, a cold shiver rushes down my spine. The coin begins to glow an unearthly blue between her fingertips.

“They aren’t far,” Lark says.

My hand twitches to the pommel of my sword. “Lead the way.”

It’s been far too long since I’ve gone into battle with my sister beside me. I’ve missed her skill with magic.

Lark strides into the gloom of the forest. Pyrah rushes in next, her body tense, eager for revenge. I follow behind them, my senses keen and alert to any enemies. We aren’t in the Thornwood any longer, though we’re still in the wilderness of Chymeria.

The woods hold many dangers, even for a demon.

Or a dragon, though she might not believe it yet.

Lark leads us both through the forest. She holds the coin in her hand like a lantern to illuminate the way. Whenever the blue glow of magic dims, she stops and turns until it brightens again. While she watches the coin, I glance at the ground, though I have yet to find any footprints.

We walk deeper into the wilderness. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, something catches my eye: ferns, trampled underfoot, followed by hoofprints.

I kneel by the tracks and trace one with my fingers. The mud still feels wet and hasn't yet dried.

“We must be close,” I mutter.

We’re standing in a ravine, the ground sloping steeply before us. Ferns and trees choke the way and hide whatever lies ahead.

We don't need magic any longer. I follow the tracks across the ravine, the path as clear as day. They didn't even try to be stealthy. The thieves must be arrogant, dangerous, or both. Judging by the quantity of tracks, they definitely outnumber us.

Pyrah drags in a deep breath through her nose. “I smell them.” She flexes her hands, her nails sharpening into wicked black claws.

“Wait,” I whisper.

“Don’t try to stop me.” Her body shudders on the brink of the change, her pupils already draconic slits.

“We don't know how dangerous these thieves might be.”

“Not as dangerous as a dragon.” She speaks through a mouthful of fangs, her skin already shattering into crimson scales. She strips off her clothes and flings them away. Her transformation is inevitable.

I glance at my sister. “Lark?”

She clenches the coin in her fist, killing the spell, before pocketing the silver. “I'm ready to fight.”

I look back to Pyrah. “Let’s go.”

With a shudder, she shifts fully into a dragon. Reckless, glorious, she charges from the ravine and unleashes a bone-shaking roar. Startled birds burst from the trees and cry out as they flee into the sky.

I sprint after her and enter a meadow.

We found the fuckers.

Knights in shining armor, more than a dozen of them, wearing the colors of Queen Dulcamara—black and purple. Ugly as a bruise, the livery was stolen from my murdered father.

The knights all ride horses and their saddlebags are bulging with stolen treasure—bursting at the seams. Their greed will slow them down. When Pyrah lunges for them, they shout and spur their horses into a gallop.

They think they can flee?

I snort at their arrogance.

The nearest knight thunders toward me on his horse. I grit my teeth. I hate killing horses and refuse to wound them, though it limits my combat. No matter. I’m deadly enough regardless.

The knight levels his sword at my neck, intending to behead me, but I duck and counterattack. Quick as lightning, I grab the reins of his horse, drag the beast sideways, and knock the rider from the saddle.

He crashes to the ground. His plate armor isn’t invincible and has weaknesses at his joints. Nothing but leather protects his groin. With a brutal stab, I leave him to bleed out.

Pyrah incinerates a knight foolish enough to attack her. His armor glows red-hot. He falls to the ground and sizzles in the wet grass. A disturbing thought darts through my mind that roasted human smells much like any other meat.

Lark strides into battle wielding magic, her long hair swirling around her like quicksilver. She casts a spell that locks the skeleton of a knight. Frozen, he stands helpless until I dispatch him with a cut to the throat.

Pyrah roars in pain.

A knight clings to her back. She tries to shake him off, but he grips her by the spikes and holds on. He jams a dagger between her scales, prying them out one by one, ruining her body’s armor. Blood flows from her wounds.

He’s hurting her.

He needs to die.

Rage bubbles inside me before boiling over. My shadow wings erupt from my shoulder blades. I shiver at the release.

With a snarl, I vault onto the dragon’s back and tackle the knight from behind.

I have to save Pyrah.

He still clings to her like a leech. He’s impossible to knock down. I hook my arm around his neck and yank him back, but the fucking asshole won’t let go. I can’t strangle him while he’s protected by steel.

He sinks his dagger into my biceps.

Fuck.

A growl tears from my throat. Fury dulls my pain. I wrench the dagger out of my own flesh and stab him in the face.

My blade glances off his helmet until it pierces his visor and sinks through his eye. It’s buried deep in his brain in an instant kill. He doesn’t even have time to scream.

I shove the corpse to the ground.

I’m left with the wounds on Pyrah’s neck. She’s bleeding where he pried her scales from her flesh. Vulnerable to attack.

I vault to the ground. “Pyrah! Can you fly?”

“I’m not leaving you.”

A knight runs at me on foot, trying to gut me, but I whirl behind him and slash his hamstrings with my sword. Screaming, he crawls across the dirt before I finish him.

“Go,” I tell Pyrah. “You’re safer in the air.”

“No!”

I snarl. “Obey me.”

Shaking with blood lust, I stand between her and the rest of our enemies.

We’re outnumbered. Seven knights remain.

A frustrated growl tears from her throat. I dare her to defy me. Her wings thump the air as she launches herself into flight.

Good.

Like a goddess of destruction, Pyrah rains fire down upon her enemies. Lark parts the flames with a flick of her hands, shielding herself, then strides through the ashes.

The knights ride well-trained war-horses, but even these animals have started to panic.

Whinnying, they shy from the fire, the whites of their eyes gleaming.

The men struggle to control their mounts.

One of the knights drops from the saddle and slaps his horse on the rump, urging it to flee into the forest.

I’m distracted by a flicker of conscience.

He wants to save his horse?

Fuck, it’s dangerous to feel empathy for my enemy. I tell myself he only wants to save the treasure in his horse’s saddlebags.

“Rook!” Lark shouts. “Behind you!”

I whip around.

Too late.

A knight’s sword pierces me below my left shoulder, splitting my leather armor. The blade goes clean through my chest and juts out my back. I stare at it, shocked by how close it has come to destroying my heart.

My distraction could prove fatal. I won’t survive another wound like that.

I wrench free from the blade.

Staggering back, I bare my teeth at my enemy. Rage hammers in my skull with every heartbeat. Pain has become a distant memory.

Pyrah dives from the air and catches the knight in her talons. She lifts him higher, her claws crushing his ribs, before she drops him. There’s the sickening crunch of bones on impact. The fall alone should kill him.

Another knight attacks me.

I stab him again and again. I lose count. The only thing that matters is killing each one.

Violence sings through my veins. I lose myself to blood lust. Slashing, thrusting, and hacking, I whirl through a dance of death. Crimson flows beneath my sword and daggers.

In a frenzy, I fight until there’s no one left.

Breathing hard, I can’t get enough air. My lungs are on fire. Don’t know why I feel like I’m drowning. A lung must have been pierced by the sword that went through me.

I drop onto my knees, drenched in blood.

Most of it isn’t mine. Otherwise, I’d be dead.

“Rook!” Pyrah shifts from a dragon into a woman while she runs. Naked, reckless, she rushes over to me. “You’re hurt.”

I need to tend to her wounds. “Your back.”

“I never left.”

“No, your back...show me.” It takes effort to speak without panting.

She shakes her head. “I’m fine.”

But I know she must be lying to me, because pain sharpens her eyes. I brace myself on my sword before staggering to my feet.

“Show. Me.”

Carefully, with my claws, I lift her hair from the nape of her neck. The skin between her shoulder blades looks red and tender, etched with the pattern of her missing scales. Dragon shifters heal fast, but they carry an echo of their wounds when they shift between forms. She's no exception.

“I’m healing already,” she says. “But you?—”

“You look like hell,” Lark finishes, striding across the battlefield. My sister glares at me like I fucked up. “You aren't invincible, Rook. Can you dodge some of the blades next time?”

I bark out a laugh, which fucking hurts, and cough up a splattering of blood. “There might not be a next time.”

“Shut up. Take off your armor. You need healing."

My sister is only angry with me because she cares. I unbuckle my leather cuirass and remove the armor. The shirt beneath clings to my skin, wet with blood, and I peel it from my body with a shudder.

"Lie down," Lark commands.

Already filthy, I drop back into the mud. She flattens her hand over the wound on my chest. I grit my teeth and brace myself for what comes next, since this isn’t the first time she has healed me.

It doesn't hurt, not at first, not until magic rushes from her skin to mine.

Then every muscle in my body locks up, every nerve alive with agony. Magic crawls through flesh and bone, tearing me apart and remaking me from the inside out. I clench my jaws against a scream until it tears out of my throat.

I’m losing the battle to stay conscious.

Darkness consumes me.