Page 82 of Quicksilver

A fire burned in my throat, causing my voice to crack. “Ihateyou.”

“You keep saying that. I'm still not convinced that it's the truth. Either way, your brother wasn't where you said he'd be. And when I reached your ward, I detected your scent from three miles away—”

“Just stop talking, Fisher.”

“—plastered all over thatboy.”He gave me a cruel smirk. “Pheromones are signal flares to our noses, Little Osha. I was rushing, so I didn't differentiate between blood and sex at thetime. But when I walked into that room earlier, and your friend Carrion mentioned your little obsession with him—”

“Shut. The fuck. Up.”

“It became very clear what had happened. He still smells of you even now.”

“I slept with him months ago.Months.It was once, and I was drunk, and he's never let me live it down since. There is no way you can still smell me on him.”

“There's every way,” Fisher rumbled, his eyes darkening. “I'd know the smell of you anywhere. On anyone. I'd know it blind and in the dark. Across a fucking sea. I'd be able to scentyou—”

BOOM!

The windows along the eastern wall of the dining room blew in.

It happened quickly, and with staggering force.

One moment, I was staring at Kingfisher, watching his mouth in horror, withering a little more with each of his words. The next, a glittering explosion of glass was raining down on us. Shards the size of my hand cut through the air like daggers, striking the table, tearing through the flowers, slashing at my skin. I brought my hands up instinctively, protecting my face and head.“Fuck!”

Kingfisher became death.

His expression transformed to one of rage, his lips curling back, his canines extending. He was a flash of shadow, already on the other side of the table with Nimerelle in his hands before the dark shapes had finished dropping from the windows.

There were four of them—tall monsters with patchy, stringy hair and white, waxy skin. Gaunt cheeks spiderwebbed with black veins. Crooked fingers that terminated in claws. Red eyes. Not just the irises, but the whites, too, as if every capillary had burst and bled beneath the surface. Each of them bared a mouthful of elongated, yellowed fangs that dripped with ropesof viscous saliva. They wore clothes, but the garments were in tatters, barely clinging to their emaciated frames.

The largest of the four, a male with a thick black runic tattoo across his forehead, released an almighty roar of rage and launched himself at Fisher. Fisher moved like water. Nimerelle flashed around him, the tarnished black blade whipping through the air, trailing smoke. The sword was an extension of Fisher himself. For a moment, it was all I could do to sit and stare at him, watching in awe as he fell upon the monster. He was powerful and quick, his body twisting effortlessly when the monster tried to claw him. The hand that had swiped at Fisher fell to the floor with a dull thud, rolling under the table. Black, steaming ichor arced from the stump Nimerelle left behind, the pungent stench of sulfur flooding the dining room.

Fisher threw a glance back over his shoulder at me and shouted, “MOVE!”

The dining room came into sharp focus. I leaped to my feet, my blood hammering at my temples. Two of the sickly-looking creatures prowled toward me, their awful fangs snapping as they came.

I reached for and found the dagger strapped to my thigh, clutching it tightly, my eyes jumping from one of the monsters to the other. The one on the right, a woman with pale silver hair and torn lips, launched up onto the table, landing on all fours. She moved jerkily, her head tilting from side to side as she craned her neck toward me, sniffing the air like an animal. The one on the left was smaller than the woman. Somewhere between adult and child. He snarled, producing a hair-raising clicking sound from the back of his throat, knocking over Fisher's chair when he came for me, sending it crashing to the floor. His eyes were blank.Bothof their eyes were. There was no intelligence there. No real thought. Only the desire to rip andtear and kill. Hatred radiated from them, polluting the air, thick enough to choke me.

The woman came first. She had no weapons, but she didn't need them. Her claws were weapons enough. She swung, raking her talons toward my chest. I darted back, barely avoiding their blackened, disgusting tips, but she was already coming again, lashing at me. I struck out with the dagger, slicing the blade at the same time, and the metal made contact, leaving a deep gash across her sinewy forearm. Reeking blood, thick as oil, sprayed across my shirt.

A grating, awful scream came from the other side of the dining room. The sound of it set my teeth on edge. A series of crashing, clattering sounds followed, but I couldn't afford to look. The moment I let my focus slip was the moment I died.

The female roared, shaking her arm as if she couldn't understand why it was hurting. I spun the dagger, slicing her again, this time across her shoulder. The shirt she was wearing split apart, the thin, black-veined skin beneath bursting open like a piece of rotten fruit. Tiny white flecks spilled from the wound. They hit the rug and started wriggling.

Maggots.

The boy to my left snaked forward, his teeth gnashing. I whipped the blade out, aiming for his throat, twisting at the same time to try and avoid his claws, but I wasn't quick enough. He moved so quickly. Unnaturally so. The air rushed out of me in a breathless'Ooof!'when he slammed into me. The dining room tilted. I went down hard, my ribs exploding with pain as I hit the ground. I let out a panicked shout as both the female and the boy fell on me.

Gods and martyrs, I was going to die.

They were going toeatme.

I had no doubt in my mind about that. Those teeth were built for one purpose and one purpose alone: ripping flesh. Igasped, pain lancing up my leg like a lightning bolt. Their claws dragged at my clothes. They cut into my skin. I couldn’t see. Couldn’t breathe. The female reared back, wet strands of her saliva dripping down onto my chest. She opened her mouth, her jaw cracking open far wider than it should have been able to, revealing a blackened, mangled, pulsing stump where her tongue should have been. She snorted, then dove.

I braced, waiting for the horror of those teeth plunging into my flesh, but it never came. A streak of black smoke wrapped around her throat. The smoke became metal, and then the female’s head was parting from her neck, and it was fuckinggone.Her twitching body flew off of me, flopping and thumping, bones cracking as it rolled across the rug.

Kingfisher towered over me like the god of death himself.

His chest heaved, his eyes flashing with green, and silver, and murder.