Page 72 of Temptation Unleashed (Talaenian Fae #3)

H is boots hit the ground in the center of the main tunnel, his power thrumming, beating against his body relentlessly. Threads of power poured off his fingers, seeping into the ground and spreading at an unstoppable pace, creating an impenetrable barrier throughout every crevice of the cave.

The stagnant air hummed with magic. His magic, destroying every ward and spell placed throughout the tunnels and rooms. His power swept through the hideaway, a stealthy monster coiling around its prey. He would crush the life from this place, make the stone bleed.

The first sign of his power completing its path came with a gentle breeze that stirred through the tunnel. He drew his dagger from its sheath, observed the ripple of blue magic through the engravings, hungry for revenge.

A blade born of blood was an extension of its owner. His blade recognized his mood, resounded with his plan, and its excitement showed in the pulsing veins of blue.

“No one escapes here.” He swiped the blade across his palm, opening his flesh, blood running free. “ Not a bloody soul .”

He dropped into a lunge and smacked his bleeding hand to the ground.

A powerful macroburst of air rushed over him from behind, the cloud rolling down the tunnel, splitting down every branch and path, tearing down doors to rooms. Wind picked up, beating against every surface, rippling his clothes, whipping his hair around his head.

He narrowed his eyes and unleashed a destructive flood of power in the rivulets of his blood.

The first tremor hit the cave, a small shake. Within seconds, the entire underground hideaway began to quake, stronger and stronger. Bits and pieces of the structure began to break away, plinking down around him.

He straightened up, dust from debris creating a haze. He watched, listened, waiting for his first victim to flee the crumbling cavern.

He didn’t have to wait long.

Two males burst out of a tunnel, skidded to a halt when they saw him, spun, and bolted in the opposite direction.

Thaddeus sprang forward. He fisted one by the hair, pivoted and came up in front of the other, stabbing him in the chest. His first victim dropped. The man in his grip opened his mouth to scream.

His blade cut clean through his neck, his head hanging by threads.

The second body had barely hit the ground when another Fae barreled into the tunnel, straight onto the dagger Thaddeus flipped in his hand and thrust backward.

He yanked it free and stormed ahead. Chunks of rock rained over the ground around his boots, walls beginning to collapse inward as he strode by.

A scream turned into a gurgle down a pathway as he passed, the tunnel caving in, crushing whoever hid within those bowels.

The gusts of wind strengthened, feeding off his wrath.

When a trio of escapees stumbled into the tunnel, he struck quick and clean, felling them in two swipes of his blade.

The blue veins glowed vibrantly, enthralled by the bloodshed.

His own magic skittered across his skin, wild, untamed, uncontrolled. He and his blade, a powerful ebb and flow of power.

He reached the curve in the tunnel that led to the hall and an icy smile came to his mouth.

Soldiers.

Three deep, four wide.

A dozen men, Grison’s last wave.

“You won’t survive this, Thaddeus!” one soldier bellowed.

Thaddeus twirled his blade, opening the healing wound once more. He squeezed his fist, dripping blood in front of where he stood.

The wind howled.

The soldiers stumbled and shuffled, trying to brace themselves against the sudden gale.

Making a show of licking his wound, he flashed them a biting smile that unsettled his quarry and satisfied the darkness whirling inside him. “I suppose you believe you will?” He laughed, the sound carrying over the winds. “Pity.”

He unleashed his dagger.

The blade glinted as it cut through the air, tip over hilt, whistling through the wind at an untraceable speed.

And sank between the eyes of a soldier.

The others gaped, precious moments lost as their focus flicked between Thaddeus and the dead man pitching backward and bouncing against the ground.

Thaddeus called his dagger back as one soldier made to grab it. The blade cleaved the dead Fae’s skull open before returning to Thaddeus’s palm.

The soldiers roared as one unit and charged toward him, pushing against the winds hindering their approach. Thaddeus watched, never once blinking, tapping the flat of his blade slowly against his leg.

Counting down paces.

Counting down seconds.

Ten feet. Five.

His eyes narrowed, his lips curled upward as the front line of soldiers raised their swords?—

He punched his boot down at the blood drop line, power blooming through his foot.

Rock spears shot up at an angle, impaling soldiers.

He kicked back his foot.

The spears retracted at lightning speed, folding and contorting four bodies into holes the spears had left behind.

The remaining soldiers lunged at him.

Thaddeus spun away from one sword’s swipe, dodged another, danced around their amateur offensive attacks. He deflected two strikes with his blade, a third with a block from his forearm against the soldier’s metal bracer.

“Give up!”

Thaddeus laughed. “You mustn’t know me, or my reputation.” He ducked, spun, lunged toward the soldier who spoke. Rose behind him, catching him off guard. Thaddeus snatched him by the throat and cocked his head. “I never give up.”

The soldier never saw the blade before it pierced his heart.

Thaddeus grabbed up his sword and went on the offensive with the remaining soldiers, light on his feet, limber in movement. These foolish Fae never stood a chance.

It took him a matter of minutes to have a pool of bodies and blood at his feet.

Stepping over the scattered remains, he closed in on the door to the hall. ’Twas the last place standing, and would be the next to fall.

Standing to the side and using the tip of the sword he’d stolen, he lifted the latch and slowly opened the door.

A furious succession of magic sprayed against the tunnel wall across from the open door.

“Utterly predictable, you imbecile,” he muttered.

He used the distraction to gather a quick surveillance of the hall with a tendril of magic.

A small group of females huddled together in the far corner, whimpering and crying.

A line of men, five in total, a mix of the last remaining soldiers and lower-caste Fae.

A final barrier between him and his target.

Grison, behind his feasting table. Cecir beside him.

“This ends now.”

Thaddeus rounded the door, casting a shield in front of him, absorbing the endless attack. Bolts and orbs splattered against his magic as he descended the stairs.

The tunnel collapsed at his back. Rock poured down the stairs at his heels.

A woman screamed.

One of the lower-caste Fae faltered.

Thaddeus lunged, felling him with one deft swipe of the sword.

He turned on the second, a soldier, slammed the sword through his chest, rolled off the Fae, pulled the sword free as he cleaved his dagger through his neck.

He followed the same rhythm with each man, moving too fast for them to react.

As the last Fae fell, Thaddeus had already reached Cecir.

He jammed the tip of the bloodied sword beneath his chin, at the highest point of his throat, embedding the blade just enough to draw blood.

Grison shifted, a slight twitch of his muscle, but one Thaddeus recognized.

He threw up his dagger, leveled the tip at Grison’s throat, and guided the blue veins of power off the blade’s point. They whipped around Grison’s throat, coasted down his body, restraining him in a magical net.

Thaddeus stood between his two targets, the sword steady in Cecir’s throat behind him, Grison trapped within his magic in front of him. The outer perimeter of the hall began to cave in, the ground trembling beneath their feet.

“I warned you, Grison.”

“You will die if you use magic.”

“Through my blade, nay. ’Tis a failure in Cecir’s curse.

” The corner of his mouth twitched. “I have danced with death twice. I fear it not. Alas, I have no expectations of surviving this eve.” He tipped toward Grison, infusing the bastard with ice from his gaze.

The imposter’s face paled and his lips turned a light shade of blue.

“I have chosen my end, and I have chosen to hand-deliver you to the darkest bowels of the Netherworld for everything you’ve done to Rori. ”

With a tilt of his head, he stretched his fingers over the hilt of his dagger?—

“ Cease !”

The powerful bellow shook through the room. Grison flinched. All the color drained from his face. Thaddeus refused to release his enemy from his grip, his gaze, narrowing his eyes on the fool. Grison’s gaze shifted toward the doorway—which no longer existed—and himself.

“Thaddeus, stand down.”

The resounding command broke through his wrath, his fury.

He blinked for the first time since he returned to the cavern.

The power that fed him strength and endurance began to drip away.

He willed the net to retract, releasing Grison as he lowered his dagger to his side.

He opened his other hand, dropping the sword, the metal clattering against the floor.

The first rush of faintness hit him like a death blow. He grappled for the table, finding momentary support in the rickety structure. Long enough to sheath his bloodied blade, unhook it from his waistband, and drop it on the table, pushing it away.

He lifted his head, a weight almost too great for him to carry, and instantly found Shaye. His old friend. The one who cut through his rage and drew him out of darkness. He stood behind the half-dozen High Fae who converged on Cecir and Grison.

Behind the King of Realms.

A resigned chuckle fled his lips. A sad smile crossed his mouth.

“’Tis over at last,” he breathed.

His legs buckled. His elbows folded. He scraped down the table as he fell to the ground, relieved, depleted.

His eyes closed. With his last ounce of strength, he embraced the perfect vision of his beloved Rori.

You’re forever safe now, mo ghrá álainn .