Page 42

42

XIRATH

T he scent of dark elves pollutes the night. I’ve been tracking Seren for hours but, instead, I found them.

I crouch low on the ridge, muscles coiled as I observe their encampment. Lazy bastards. No guards posted, no wards set. Their arrogance makes them weak. They believe themselves untouchable here, so close to the human border, away from the reach of Nagaland.

They're wrong.

The fire in the center of their camp casts long, twisting shadows against the trunks of gnarled trees. Too few of them to be a scouting party, too many for a simple trade mission.

I count seven.

Seven dead men walking.

Their laughter grates against my patience, a low, mocking sound that slides between the cracks of my self-control.

They think they’re safe.

They think they have time.

I unsheathe my blades, the hilts warm against my palms, my pulse slow, steady.

I will teach them what it means to be hunted.

The one closest to the fire doesn’t see me coming.

His voice is mid-sentence when my blade slides through his throat.

He gurgles, hands clawing at the wound, eyes wide as the heat of the fire reflects in them. The others don’t react fast enough, too drunk on their own egos to process the death blooming in their midst.

I move to the next before the body hits the ground.

Steel tears through flesh, my blade sinking into his side. I twist.

A scream erupts, splitting the night.

Now they react.

Now they see me.

I grin, blood dripping from my weapon.

Let’s play.

One of them lunges, twin daggers flashing in the dim light.

I sidestep, catching his wrist mid-swing, and snap it with a sharp twist.

His shriek turns to a gargle when I bury my claws into his stomach and rip upward. Entrails spill, steaming against the cold ground, the stench of death curling through the air.

The others are moving now, finally realizing their mistake.

A blade whistles past my face, slicing a shallow cut along my jaw.

I turn to meet the coward who threw it, his eyes wide, desperate.

"He's alone!" one of them hisses. "Take him?—"

I launch myself at him before he can finish.

My weight crashes into him, sending us both to the ground. His dagger clatters away. I wrap my tail around his waist, tightening until bones begin to snap.

His scream feeds the fire inside me.

I press my knee against his chest, pinning him, and lean close. "You should’ve brought more men."

His hand scrambles for a hidden knife.

I catch it mid-motion and ram it through his throat.

Three left.

One of them runs.

I laugh, sharp and cold.

He won’t get far.

I track his stumbling form, darting through the trees, his breath ragged, his steps uneven.

His panic makes him sloppy.

I let him think he’s escaping. Let him believe that if he runs fast enough, if he prays hard enough, he might live.

Then I drop from the trees, landing in front of him.

He skids to a halt, panting, eyes darting wildly for an escape.

"Please—"

I slit his throat.

Blood sprays across my chest, hot, rich, a final offering.

His body crumples, twitching.

Pathetic.

The last two don’t beg.

They stand, weapons drawn, accepting their fate.

A challenge.

I smile, baring fangs.

One of them spits on the ground. "You think you’re untouchable, naga filth? You think killing us will change anything?"

I roll my shoulders, testing the tension in my muscles. "No. But it will make me feel better."

They lunge at once, working in tandem, trained killers.

I meet them with brutality.

One swings low, aiming for my legs. I leap, twisting mid-air, and slam my tail against his head. Bone shatters beneath the impact, his body crumpling before he even registers he’s dead.

The last one doesn’t falter.

He keeps attacking, blade flashing in precise, calculated arcs.

A decent fighter.

Too bad for him.

I catch his wrist, forcing his arm wide, and drive my claws into his exposed ribs.

He gasps, sagging forward as blood bubbles past his lips.

I hold him there, close enough that he can taste his own death.

"You should have stayed hidden," I murmur against his ear.

I rip his throat out.

Silence settles over the clearing.

Only the crackle of the fire remains, casting flickering shadows over the bodies littering the ground.

I exhale, pulse thrumming, body slick with blood, none of it mine.

It’s not enough.

Not nearly enough.

These were scouts, pawns in a larger game.

Jalith sent them.

He’s getting closer.

But so am I.

Seren’s trail is fresh.

She’s near.

I wipe my blades clean on the tunic of a dead elf, my mind already shifting to the next move.

I will find her.

When I do, I will never let her go again.