Page 37 of His Ruthless Match

A hooded figure stood at the heart of it, another blood bomb in hand. I lunged, my claws tearing through his robe. He fell with a scream, the bomb clattering uselessly to the ground. I crushed it beneath my paw, the cursed liquid sizzling against the cobblestones.

Another rebel—a bloodcaster—raised her hand, a vial of viscous red liquid glowing in her palm. The curse was halfway out of her mouth when I leapt, my claws raking over her arm. The vial shattered, and she ignited like dry tinder. Her screams were lost in the din.

The skirmish blurred into a frenzy of movement. I pounced on another rebel just as he raised a jagged blade imbued with sickly green energy. I slammed him to the ground, and the blade slipped from his grasp.

I shifted back into my human form and pinned him down. My dagger was in my hand before I even thought about it. “Who’s your leader?” I growled, pressing the blade against skin hard enough to draw blood.

He writhed beneath me. Frustrated, I yanked his mask off.

He had no face. No eyes, no nose, no mouth—just a smooth expanse of flesh where a face should’ve been. I recoiled, nearly falling back as the faceless thing twisted in my grip.

“What the actual fuck?”

The thing bucked against me. I tightened my grip on its neck and twisted. Its head jerked unnaturally to the side, but that didn’t slow it down.

“Gods,” I muttered. I plunged the blade into its chest, over and over, each strike sinking deep but doing nothing to stop it. It writhed and clawed at me in an unrelenting frenzy.

“Whatareyou?” I snarled, yanking my blade free one last time. The thing didn’t answer, of course—it had no mouth to speak with. The smooth surface of its “face” seemed to stretch and ripple, as if mocking me.

A low whistle cut through the air. Izo.

“That’s enough, Jareth,” he called, his tone oddly calm considering the situation. “You’re wasting your energy.”

I glanced back at him. “You’ve seen one of these before?”

Izo nodded grimly. “Yeah. And if you’re smart, you’ll stop trying to kill it and just contain it.”

Contain it. Right. Like that wasn’t a fucking nightmare in itself.

Growling, I shoved the faceless thing away. It scrambled to its feet and melted into the chaos. I didn’t chase it. For the first time in a long time, I was thoroughly freaked the fuck out.

The market was smolderingby the time the rebels dispersed. The acrid stench of cursed blood hung in the air, mingling with the faint metallic tang of fear. The traders who hadn’t fled were either tending to the wounded or scowling at the mess. Loyalists clustered in groups, shaken but trying to maintain a semblance of order.

I gripped the collar of a captured smuggler—a wiry man with a sharp face and even sharper eyes. His hands were bound, and he was bleeding from a cut on his temple, but he still managed to look defiant.

“Talk,” I growled, shoving him against a scorched stone wall. “Who’s backing the rebels? Someone’s supplying them with blood bombs, and it’s not the riffraff they’ve got running these streets.”

The smuggler spat at my boots. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked him forward, my nose nearly touching his. “Don’t insult me. I know you’ve been moving artifacts and supplies for them. Who’s paying you?”

His eyes darted to the side, panic flickering behind his bravado. “Look, man, I don’t know names. I just follow orders.”

I slammed him back against the wall. “You’re lying. If you want to walk out of here in one piece, you’d better start talking.”

The fear in his eyes deepened, but he shook his head. “They’ll kill me if I say anything.”

I leaned in closer, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “And what do you think I’m going to do if you don’t?”

He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I swear, I don’t know much. They keep it tight. All I know is there’s someone powerful pulling the strings. Someone with deep pockets and connections. I don’t know who.”

The fear in his voice was real enough for me to believe him. Whoever was behind this had the smuggler terrified. I released him, and he crumpled to the ground.

“Get the fuck out of my sight. If I see you running supplies for the rebels again, you’ll wish I’d killed you here.”

The smuggler scrambled to his feet and took off, disappearing into the alleyways. I exhaled heavily, the weight of the situation settling on my shoulders. This wasn’t just a faction uprising—it was organized, calculated, and dangerous.

When I got back to The Shadow’s estate, I was still itching for a fight. I marched through the halls, ignoring the wary glances from the guards, and found The Shadow in his study, seated behind his massive desk.