Page 17 of Returned to the Vissigroth (The Vissigroths of Leander #6)

M allack was still fighting. He was bleeding from several cuts on his bare chest, his arms, and his legs, but he was moving like a force the gods themselves had forged in shadow and flame.

I couldn’t tear my eyes away. He moved through the chaos with lethal grace, every motion a thing of power and purpose. One Renegade fell, then another. His sword was a silver blur in the darkness, cutting down anything foolish enough to approach. For one impossible moment, I thought it was over.

Then I saw him.

A Renegade, barely standing near the riverbank, blood pouring from a deep gash across his chest. He staggered forward and pulled something from beneath his tattered cloak.

Whatever it was, it was small and smooth.

Under the light of the Crowin Moon, it looked black and gleaming, etched with glowing violet lines that pulsed like a heartbeat.

My breath caught. I didn’t know what it was, but my primal self knew it would be bad.

Mallack turned toward him as if sensing the danger, and everything in my body screamed for him to move, to run, to get away ?—

But it was too late.

There was no flash. No fire. Just a sound. A low, vibrating hum that deepened into a roar of pressure that made the very air around us collapse inward. The world shrank to a single, bone-rattling scream, and then it exploded outward.

The force hit like a tidal wave. I was thrown backward, flung through the air and deeper into the tent.

Canvas tore. Something cracked. My body hit the ground hard enough to drive the breath from my lungs.

Dust filled my mouth and throat, and the ringing in my ears was deafening, my vision a dizzy blur of motion and smoke.

Outside, there was nothing but stillness.

But it wasn't the peaceful kind. It was the kind of silence that follows devastation.

Images of my first dream came back to me.

Fragments. The smoke, the smell of burning and death.

I lay there, tangled in fabric and debris, lungs burning as I tried to remember how to breathe.

My body ached, but I didn't think anything was broken.

My skin stung, but there was no blood. I could even move, barely.

The tent, flimsy as it was, must have protected me. Absorbed the brunt of whatever unholy weapon the Renegade had unleashed. Around me, the structure still stood. It was in tatters in places, but it was there. One wall had collapsed, but enough of it remained to shield me from the worst.

My heart pounded in my ears, loud and erratic.

I forced myself upright, every joint stiff, every breath sharp.

I pushed aside a torn flap of canvas and crawled to the opening, dizzy and trembling, and looked out.

An icy gasp escaped me. Dragoons lay everywhere, scattered like dolls, their limbs at awkward angles, their weapons dropped beside slack hands. No one was moving. No one was rising.

My gaze swept frantically over the devastation until my eyes found him. Mallack lay face down in the dirt, one arm twisted awkwardly beneath him, blood streaked his side. Like the others, he wasn't moving.

“Ney…” The word left my lips in a whisper.

My already trembling legs felt even weaker. I clung to the tentpole as panic slammed into my chest with the force of the blast itself. The air felt too thin. The world, too loud. My eyes refused to blink as I took one stumbling step forward.

He wasn’t dead. He couldn’t be. He was such a force of nature; the very thought of him being dead was an anomaly. But he wasn't moving.

Nothing moved, except… there, by the trees. The breath that was still stuck in my throat felt heavy. With growing terror, I watched the figures emerging.

More Renegades.

I realized then that they hadn’t fled at all; they had waited. For their terrible weapon to do its job. And now they were coming back to finish their job.

I stood frozen in the mouth of the tent, heart stuttering, while the cold swept through my veins like ice water. I saw one of them approach a fallen dragoon, watched as he raised his sword and drove it down through the defenseless male's chest; another slit a dragoon’s throat.

Oh gods. They weren’t just here to scavenge. They were here to execute . What would they do if they found me?

My mind screamed at me to run, to hide, to survive. But my body refused. I looked again at Mallack, lying broken on the ground. I couldn’t leave him. Even though there was nothing I could do. Even if it meant my death, I wouldn’t leave him.

The devastation the unknown weapon had caused fully registered with me. Somehow, it had frozen every living thing in its path. But why had the blast spared me? Or the Renegades?

Why was I still standing while all of them were on the ground?

The tent?

The Renegades had been hiding behind the trees, so that had to be it. Not that it mattered. Because all I knew was that death had come for us again—and I was the only one left standing. And I had no idea what to do. There was only me.

And the Renegades.

They moved like shadows reborn, stepping from the trees with blades drawn and eyes gleaming with sick purpose. One by one, they advanced through the carnage, stabbing down into the fallen warriors to make sure they stayed that way.

I pressed a shaking hand to my lips, choking back a sob. Glancing around, my eyes swept the wreckage. There were weapons on the ground. Swords. Blades. But I’d never held one. I didn’t even know how to lift something like that. The idea of wielding a weapon felt absurd—but so was the alternative.

Letting them reach him?

Letting them put a blade into Mallack while he couldn’t lift his own?

I couldn’t let that happen. Tears welled in my eyes, but I forced myself to blink them back.

I took a deep breath and stumbled into motion.

My legs didn’t feel like my own. Each step was leaden, shaky, more instinct than coordination.

The air smelled of ash and burning leather, of copper and blood.

The kind of scent that belonged to nightmares. I didn’t care.

I just needed to get to him, and if I had to crawl, I would do so.

I passed a broken spear, its haft snapped in two, and nearly tripped over a dead Renegade. His eyes were still open. I didn’t look into them. I couldn’t afford to. I kept moving.

Mallack was still there. Still on the ground. Still motionless. The Renegades were getting closer. One of them reached a fallen dragoon and leaned down, blade glinting?—

I let out a noise. Something between a sob and a scream. It caught in my throat and tore through me anyway. Suddenly, I didn’t care if they saw me. I didn’t care if I died. I took another step and saw it. Movement. At first, it was nothing but a flicker. A twitch of Mallack’s fingers.

I was sure I imagined it. But then he moved again, more than a twitch this time.

His arm dragged beneath him. He groaned.

Slowly, painfully, he began to push himself up.

My knees buckled as relief crashed over me so violently I nearly wept.

He was alive. He staggered to his feet, not fully upright at first; he was swaying, blood dripped from his side, and his chest was covered in dirt, sweat, and the raw sheen of exhaustion.

But his eyes burned. Black and brilliant. Fully focused.

He looked at the Renegades like death itself had come to claim them.

And then, he moved. Swordless and without armor, he let out a roar that made the trees tremble.

That made the Renegades hesitate long enough for him to tackle the first enemy.

The male didn’t even have time to react.

Mallack’s fist cracked into his jaw, and he dropped like a felled tree.

Another came from the side. Mallack turned, fluid and brutal, and drove his elbow into the male’s throat.

Mallack’s momentum built with every heartbeat.

He fought like he’d been reborn in fire.

Every single one of his strikes was deadly.

He picked up a sword, and with incredible precision, he began to punish the Renegades like they were beings made from straw instead of flesh and blood, sword-wielding males.

His strength wasn't just physical. It poured from his heart, filled with utter fury.

It didn't take long for the Renegades to falter. One tried to run. Mallack stopped him with a spear to the back. One after the other, he cut them down until none were left standing.

When it was done, Mallack stood at the center of it. Even blood-soaked, his jaw clenched, and his hair plastered to his temple, he was a sight to behold. His chest rose and fell in shallow, ragged pulls. His head turned to survey the area, and our eyes locked.

With a cry, I ran forward, the world blurring as I crossed the distance. I didn’t care that I was barefoot. That I was crying. That my body ached and my hands trembled. I just ran .

Straight into him.

He caught me with a grunt, wrapped his arms around me like he needed me to hold him up as much as I needed him to be real. I buried my face in his chest, not caring about the blood or the dirt.

“I thought you were dead,” I whispered.

"Reckless seffy, you should have run," he pressed out in a choked voice.

“I couldn't leave,” I said, choking down the word you , before it left my mouth.

He held me tighter at my words, like the very sound of them undid something inside him. His hand slid up my back, fingers threaded into my hair, pressing me closer. I didn’t resist. I didn’t want to. His heart thundered against my cheek, wild and raw and real.

We stood in the silence, the ruin of battle curling around us like smoke, and yet in his arms, I was anchored and felt nothing but heat. When I tilted my head back to look at him, he was already watching me.

His face—bloodied, bruised, so achingly familiar—was only inches from mine.

His breath still came in sharp bursts, but his focus was steady.

Consuming. His gaze dropped to my lips, and mine to his.

And just like that, the air between us changed.

Became charged with an electricity that threatened to set us on fire.

Time slowed. The pain in my limbs dulled. The world blurred at the edges, all of it falling away as the space between our mouths dwindled to a whisper. His grip tightened on my waist. I felt his nose graze mine, and the breath we shared seemed no longer enough.

He was going to kiss me.

And I was going to let him.

Even without memories. Even without knowing what we were or what we’d been, I wanted it. I wanted him. The way my body ached for the feel of him, the way his name sat on my tongue like a vow.

Our lips were so close, only the width of a feather separated us, when a sound broke through.

A groan.

Pained. Faint. Familiar.

Our moment shattered like glass as Mallack tensed.

He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to mine for the barest second, breathing out through clenched teeth, before stepping back.

I turned with him, breath still uneven, and spotted one of the dragoons trying to sit up, his hand slick with blood as he reached for his sword. Another, further out, stirred in the grass with a low moan.

“They’re waking,” I said, swallowing hard. “Some of them.”

He nodded once and limped forward, his movements slower now, deliberate. “We need to get them upright. Stop the bleeding where we can.”

Together, we moved quickly. I tore strips from the tent lining for bandages, while Mallack knelt beside each fallen warrior, checking pulses, calling names, wiping blood from faces with a gentleness that didn’t fit a male who’d just butchered dozens of Renegades.

“Korran,” he barked, shaking his second in command by the shoulder. “Wake up.”

Korran groaned, coughed, and finally blinked up at him. “You’re alive?”

Mallack grunted. “Barely. Don’t make me regret it.”

I passed him a length of cloth, and we worked in unison. My hands shook at first. This wasn’t my world, or at least I didn't think so. Not blood and wounds and battlefields, but it didn’t matter. They needed help, and for whatever reason, I had been spared.

I recognized a dragoon with a gash in his leg as one who sat near me last night when we sat around the fire, laughing. I pressed fabric to the wound, whispering words of comfort.

Mallack glanced over at me with an unreadable expression on his face. But something in his eyes—something fierce and tender—settled the storm inside me. We didn’t speak about what had almost happened. About the kiss that hovered between us still like unshed breath.

Now wasn’t the time. But I felt the beginning of something inevitable to unravel.

Even if I couldn’t remember the past… I was starting to believe in the future.