Page 30 of Kingdom of the Two Moons

Melody

I gasp as I jolt awake. The red moonlight reflects off a dagger above me. A man towers at the foot of my bed, huge membrane wings flaring wide behind him.

What the hell?

Another is to my right. Instinct and training make me act, make me kick out and hit the solar plexus of the one to my right before I roll out of bed on the other side. I must have hit home because he sighs, dropping a long sword.

Not that he needs one, because long, evil talons emerge from where his fingers should be.

My heart leaps right into my throat, hammering like mad as I meet their shining eyes. Men—almost men—in some kind of scaled armor. Large, sharp claws protrude out of their hands and their wings. Huge, leathery wings, graced with a demonic claw at their apex, silvery veins shimmering through the thin membrane.

Wings. That explains how they got in.

I brush my lose hair out of my face—long hair is shit for a fight, but I didn’t expect one—and meet their wide eyes.

Judging by their expressions, at least I surprised them too. Good.

The one at the bed reacts first. He lunges for me but is slowed down by the sheer size of his wings. I dodge and slam my elbow into his ribs, sending him careening onto my bed and into the other one. At least their wings are a disadvantage in a tiny room like this.

I don’t wait for them to recover. Everything is a weapon. It was Lyrian himself who told me that. I grab the glass bottle of water that finds itself magically refilled every night on my nightstand and smash it against the wooden head of my bed. One end breaks, making a makeshift knife.

I sweep for their throats, but they dodge faster than before.

Then they attack.

Never let them get close. But they are fast. Like Riven in the woods.

The rest of the bottle is kicked out of my hand with appalling ease. Then one of them grips my throat, so delicate in his large hand. His eyes… they are a bright lilac. Like Riven’s.

“Silver elf,” he snarls right into my face.

I can feel his talons on my throat, ready to shred me open. But just as they close, his eyes bulge, widening with shock as the room explodes in a wave of darkness.

And in its middle, born out of it like something godlike forged out of purest night Caryan.

And I’ve never been more grateful that his gaze and the unleashed violence are not directed at me. Gods, he’s lethal. His face is a mask of unyielding brutality, his eyes livid. All the ferocity swirling in his aura promises a long and painful death. Darkness writhes and warps through the air as his power fills the room and every space around him. It forms stakes that pin the men’s wings to the wall, going right through flesh and bone.

The two men make no sound, only exchange a last glance.

Then, they each break something they must have been holding in the palms of their hands. The items crack.

One moment, they are here. The next, they are nothing but black dust scattered in the wind.

Caryan’s onyx eyes slide to me eventually. The flare of his magic is almost unbearable. Biting and hissing.

I stagger back from him when he comes for me. “What were they? ”

“Nefarians.” He spits the word out as if it’s something unpalatable, fangs flashing. “Are you hurt?” he asks then, his fingers grabbing my jaw. But gently. Carefully. His touch so at odds with his fury.

“I’m fine,” I whisper and his eyes narrow. Wrong answer.

“Do not lie to me, Melody. Ever.”

A warning. His magic slithers along my skin like a promise. Silken. And lethal.

“I’m not hurt,” I correct myself breathlessly.

“I should have killed them very, very slowly,” he seethes, lifting my chin. His eyes come to rest on my still burning throat. His eyes are black as the night, his irises the shade of the blood moon outside.

“They… why did they want to kill me?” I ask against the heat of his touch. Against the heat of his whole being, still shedding black, biting tendrils of magic. Against his simmering anger—a living thing, mingling with his power.

He doesn’t answer but keeps scanning me for injuries.

“They called me silver elf,” I push on.

“Did they now?” Another snarl.

“What does this mean? That I’m a silver elf?” It sounds silly, impossible even, but that’s what they said.

Caryan ignores me.

I flinch back as his hands slide the fabric of my shirt up, the tips of his fingers tracing the ladder of my ribs, checking for bruises and broken bones.

“I’m fine,” I snap, harsher than I should, but the trespass took me by surprise.

“You are fine when I say you are,” he says right back.

I step back, trying to wrench out of his grasp, but tendrils of his black magic lock me against the wall, forcing my body to stay in place.

I gasp, staring at him, straining against the invisible shackles around me, but they only pull tighter.

Caryan says through gritted teeth, his voice carving across my nerves, “Do not fight me, Melody. I have no patience for this. ”

Maybe it’s the adrenaline running too wild in my blood. But I feel anger boiling up, for once overruling my fear of him. I would have clawed at him if my body wasn’t pinned.

“You have no right—” I seethe as he comes for me again, glowering at him when he cuts me off with a growl, fangs snapping right into my face.

The onyx in his irises turns into midnight-blue threads, spreading like tendrils of ink in black water. The effect of it makes him suddenly look like a predator on the hunt whose instincts have taken over.

“Oh, my little girl, I have every right in the world, believe me,” he snaps. Then his hands trace my ribs again, his magic pushing my shirt up, bristling over my skin.

I freeze at the violation. Tears of anger and fear well up in my eyes, but I swallow them down.

An instant later, the shackles of magic loosen, and I have to fight against my knees to keep standing when he lets me go.

I glare up at him, not willing to submit to his bared teeth, sharp and honed, to his simmering eyes. “Fuck you!”

His hand shoots out so fast I only feel his grip around my neck when he pushes me against the wall once again. “Do not fight me again, ever. You are mine,” he growls, a sound so low, so inhuman, it slithers over my bones and into my core.

Then his fangs pierce my flesh.

I don’t feel the pain, barely feel anything before he pulls back, eyes wide. The same eerie alloy of gold and red suddenly simmer in them, lacing around the blackness. But the primal aggression, the sheer possessiveness of the act robs every remaining resistance, until all that lingers is my depthless fear.

I want to curl into myself. Hide.

He’s still more animal than sentient being.

What have I done? I try to retreat, but he places a hand next to my head, blocking my way with his arm as if to say that he can force me to stay here. Can do a nything to me.

He wants me to realize. To understand what I am to him .

He leans slightly closer, the gold weaving back in like filigree artwork, lacing those thick, black tendrils. His breath brushes my lips when he snarls, “Don’t be fooled by my looks. I’m a monster, however human I might look to you. And I’m the very worst of them all. Don’t make me lose control, do you understand? Do not push me ever again.”

I hold perfectly still. Finally, he straightens slightly and lowers his hand, the blackness in his irises shifting into an ambiguous gray, as if he has made a decision.

Just then, Riven appears at the door, his lilac eyes wide with shock as I meet them.