Page 14 of The Shadow Fae Rhapsody (Elven Fantasy Romance #3)

Chapter 13 Svenn

S ilken black wings unfurl from my back before I leap from the window into the dark night. Regret sifts through me for leaving Rhianelle alone on the bed. But my headspace is a little too fucked up to stay around her anyway. The moment I see her tears, I know this night will end in violence.

A coppery tang infiltrates the air, drawing me to its source. I land near the thinning forest on the outskirts of Windhaven and trail the strange splatter on the ground.

It’s blood, tainted and twisted from its natural form from the drug eyepatch was talking about.

I start a brief trek through the woods, heading straight to where the scent becomes more prominent. Some of the elves somehow manage to capture the raiders. I look at the shredded pieces of the orcs, wondering if they were torn while alive or in death. The savagery does not matter to me. I’ve seen countless blood eagles and crucifixes in the human world.

The elves are too busy hacking their enemies, unaware of my looming presence in the woods. Their scalelike armors are pure obsidian, brutal, and dwarven-made. It allows them to move as efficiently as a reptile.

These guys are the Grimsbanes, hired swords belonging to Rhianelle’s uncle.

“Bring a few heads back,” one of them rasps through his blood-speckled mask. “Let the Silverra know his coins are put to good use.”

The mercenaries snap their heads toward me in tandem. They pause their ritual abruptly, recognizing the primal chaos that lurks within the confines of my mortal shell. I see it in their eyes, the fear, and in others the acceptance when they finally meet with the harbinger of apocalypse themselves.

The caste of assassins resume their guild’s vigil the moment they realize death has no qualms with them tonight. Shade is among their company. He has changed into the similar hunting leather and light armor, the night wind lashing against his smoky-grey hair.

His gaze flickers uncertainly when I turn to him. “The main group managed to get away. All two hundred twenty-three of them,” the male informs stoically. “But they’re not far.”

I launch straight into the cloudless night sky before he can point me in the direction. My heightened senses draw me straight to the traveling procession. The orcs had been marching all night, the clanking sound of their poorly made armor a discordant note in the cold, peaceful night.

I dive from the sky directly in front of them. Their lion chimeras go frantic over my appearance and the carriage screech to a grinding halt. Dead bodies hang from their coach, the raiders’ trophies of skulls and bones. I have no right to judge what the orcs did to the Valorians. What I’m about to do to them is probably worse.

The orkan foot soldiers dart between me and the wagon, weapons raised to protect whoever is inside. I angle my head, studying their pointed ear, hair, and features silently in the dark. There is something different about them from the ordinary orcs in Myrkheim. A strange corruption that flows in their veins. I can smell the toxic taint in the air.

A male orc steps out of the hideous ride. He must be the leader of this band of bandits. His face might as well be carved of stone, and those baleful yellow eyes cut to me immediately.

“So, the rumors are true, the Queen of Elves has whored herself to a vampire,” an orc in front of me remarks in his foul tongue. “Did the bitch send you?”

The rest of his brethren cackle like goddamn hyenas over the jest. I take a small moment to appreciate Balthazar’s grasp of various languages before I answer his insult by cleaving him from shoulder to chest. His body drops to the ground like a useless sack. Nothing fills the air other than the gurgling sound from the fallen orc as blood abandons his veins.

The rest hold no grief for their comrade.

“A nightwalker, huh? You don’t scare us, vampire.” The orc leader laughs, the sound cold and hollow. “We have encountered many of your kind in the past. They all beg for mercy before the sun.”

His underlings prowl closer to me, embolden by his words.

“All we have to do is prolong this fight to dawn and you’re finished,” the leader smirks, wholly confident.

“And once we’re done with you, we’ll pay your little wife a visit. By your wife, I mean her cunt,” he makes a vulgar gesture with his long blade.

Rage colors my vision red. This turmoil is unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. The beasts crawl underneath my skin, begging to be unleashed. After weeks of suppressing my hunger, I allow them free rein over me tonight.

The orcs charge to me all at once.

I have no army to offer Rhianelle Wiolant. No weapons. No wealth.

But this I can do.

I rip the orcs from tendons to bones, plucking their heads one by one, crushing their skulls. The night bears witness to the violence I inflicted on her enemy. I recall the Grimsbane’s collection of heads as proof of kill. It’s a shame I can’t haul hundreds of them with me. A dark, vengeful smile crooks my mouth the moment I recall a game Han and I used to play.

That could work.

I spear a dead orc’s dismembered parts and launch it straight into the sky. If my long-ranged aim is correct, it should arrive right in front of the city wall. I continue cutting them down like blades of grass and tossing them into the sky.

Whenever I recall how the light was extinguished in Rhianelle’s eyes tonight, my anger is reborn. And wherever I walk, blood rains the earth.

All that is left now is the leader and his two guards. The proud male backs several steps from me, fear gripping his features. “What do you want from us?”

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Their fate was signed when they hurt her.

The effects of the drug they took must have worn off, because what stands before me are trembling cowards. All three crumple to the ground beneath my claws. The world will be a better place without them.

But no matter how many I slaughter, this rage will not fade. I wipe their defiled blood coating my skin, turning my attention towards the two cowering chimera. They’re strapped to the orc’s chariot, completely at my mercy. I’m not nearly depraved enough to kill some helpless animals. I sever their leash with a single swipe of my claw.

The vicious beasts bolt as soon as they are freed, heading towards a distant structure. I narrow my eyes in the direction. That fortress has to be their hiding place.

Well, why stop at this silly little party?

The granite and basalt stones line the wall that seems to have lasted centuries. I stand before the colossal gates, marveling at the intricate details carved on the steel plate. Knocking is the polite thing to do, but I am not in the business of being civil. Not tonight.

I leap to the sky and circle the keep like a bird of prey, searching for the most dense area to strike. Bells ring from every tower, announcing my arrival as I slowly land in the courtyard. I abandon any attempt at stealth, letting my leathery wings beat loudly against the wind. My enemies should know the wrath and hellfire I will bring upon them.

I can end this right here and now. Rhianelle wouldn’t have to go into those silly meeting every morning.

“Who is in charge?” I ask the panicking orcs. “Answer, and I may spare some of you.”

Orkavan, Myrkheim’s mother tongue, flows smoothly from my mouth, courtesy of Balthazar’s amulet. The language feels slightly formal and a little strange. It’s probably because I’ve never had anyone to practice it with.

Instead of a reply, an onslaught of orcs barrels towards me. Their battle cry is a chant summoning the worst of my demons. Those who try to raise their weapon against me become nothing but a lump of muscles and bones. I’ve entered a killing frenzy, and it’s impossible to stop. The shouting and screeches soon cease one by one.

This bloodfest grows tedious by the minute. I crouch over one of my remaining enemies, one who is still sane and not affected so much by the drugs. “Where do you keep your prisoners? Tell me and I promise you a quick death.”

The scrawny orc points to his left to a doorway. The scent of fear in his blood is nauseating. I leave the coward untouched and venture down the steep stairs.

There is barely any light illuminating the underground prison. Darkness never bothered me. If anything, the shadows are a playground for my monsters to play. The stench of stale sweat, filth, and urine permeates the air, and I curse my heightened senses.

“Claire!” I scream down the hall. “Where are you?”

It’s Blaire, one of the smart-ass beasts in me whispers.

She’s important to Rhianelle, fucker chastises me. Do better.

He is absolutely right. Nel was so worried for her friend’s safety that she was having nightmares. I recall her fragile form, trembling like a leaf in her sleep. It furthers my resolve that this girl, ‘Blaire’ must be recovered as soon as possible.

“Blaire!”

Nothing but the darkness of the tunnel echoes back in answer. My steps are silent and fast as I move down the hall past the empty cells. There is no sign of life in this rotten place. I’ve been fooled by the bastard orc. Perhaps this place is not even a prison. But the nail scrapping marks decorating the walls say otherwise.

I keep on exploring until I find the source of the foul smell in the dungeon. Multiple inmates are nailed to the wooden poles along the wall for torture. Most of the plastered males are orcs, but things are not looking good for Rhianelle’s friend.

“Blaire!” I quicken my pace, secretly wishing I don’t find the girl in this godforsaken jail.

“Wait.”

A deep voice accosts me in the dark.

It belongs to one of the corpses tormented on the pole. I study the orc chained to the wooden shaft, his body is covered in wounds and bandages. I don’t have the ability to commune with the dead the way Han does, but I can sense when a person is standing on death’s door.

This orc is not there yet. He’s close though.

“Blaire… What do you want with her?” he asks weakly, his voice hoarse and parched.

I can tell he wants to kill me as he scrutinizes me through his narrowed eyes. For what? For mentioning the maiden’s name? How peculiar of this near-dead creature.

I don’t know why I bother answering him. “The girl is a friend of my wife.”

It feels good saying that out loud. My wife. Mine. A smile finds its way to my face even in the darkest of places, all because of my darling Nel.

“Are you here to save her?” The orc rasps, crashing my thoughts. The hopeful tone in his voice takes me slightly off guard.

“Yes,” I answer him true.

I almost bestow him the gift of a quick death when he suddenly says, “Release me.”

I quirk an eyebrow at the request.

He grunts from his pain, his face pale and gaunt. “I can help you find her.”

The bastard could be saying anything just to get out of this shithole. I allow myself a shred of pity as I look at the orc. The sight of him in those heavy chains reminds me of my own imprisonment in the labyrinth.

Against my better judgement, I slash the bindings around his limbs. Maybe Rhianelle’s sentimentality is rubbing off on me.

The orc gathers himself from the floor with great difficulty. He wears a brown tabard over a white shirt and black pants tucked into his tall boots. His clothing is no different from the rest of the rowdy bastards I met upstairs. Yet, there is a strange air around him, one I can’t quite place.

“You have my thanks. My name is Vayne.” The cultured male offers me his hand. I don’t bother taking it.

I almost rush him to find the girl despite his injuries, but it appears there won’t be a need to push him when the guy sprints right past me.

“I saw them moving her to the third floor. It’s right this way,” he says, hurrying down the tunnel. This orc seems to have a greater motivation than me to rescue Blaire.

“You saw her?” I clarify.

He nods.

“Alive?”

“Yes.”

“How many days ago?”

“Roughly three days ago. But I can’t be sure.” He shudders, as if reliving a difficult memory. “You lose track of time down here, especially when they bring you to the green chamber.

A detail I don’t particularly care. I just want to find this friend and make my girl happy.

“Father, bless us. Armayne…” The orc rushes to help a prisoner on the wall.

“I thought I was going to die,” the other guy gasps, tears brimming in his eyes.

“The others might still be in the green room. Gather the survivors at the entrance. We’ll escape together,” the orc says to his friend, his voice rough with feeling. “Be careful.”

I don’t mind him saving his brethren. My mind is too busy picturing the look on Nel’s face when she sees her friend. If I’m lucky, she’ll thank me with another kiss.

That’s not sincere, the noble direwolf beast in me chides.

Honestly, I don’t need a kiss. I just want to remove those dark circles around her eyes and make her smile again.

“Come on, it’s just a few more cells down this hall,” the orc says, carefully avoiding a dead jailer lying on the floor. This one perished a while ago, but the body is still well preserved. It’s as if the rats and scavengers refuse to touch his remains.

Something like remorse flashes through the prisoner’s face at the sight of the corpse. “Akaloth has been offering these rebels Asterdust in exchange for their loyalty. It changes everything from our physical strength to our emotions.”

This guy sure loves to hear himself talk. I let him continue as long as he is of use to me. We reach a red door at the end of the passage. The prisoner uses all his strength to force it open. His desperation indicates the girl might be inside.

“Step aside,” I tell him. I rip the slate right out of its hinges with a single pull.

My eyes adjust immediately to the dimly lit war room. Two fully stacked shelves line the far wall, a brown couch on the left side, a desk and a wooden stool at the centre, quills and curled parchments littering the floor. The chamber is full of everything but the girl we’re looking for.

“She’s not here,” the prisoner mutters in despair.

No shit. What a fucking waste of time…

“Mother above, Blaire…” he chokes in the silence.

I ignore him and move to the table. A paper crane rests beside a dried up ink bottle. It looks exactly like the duck Nel once made to bargain with me.

At least I know that the girl had been here. Time to question the fuckers upstairs. I snatch a map on the wall and walk out of the room without words. I don’t wait for the prisoner to follow me. The journey back to the entrance is brief and silent.

Just before I enter the courtyard again, a hand lands on my shoulder, pulling me back.

“We don’t stand a chance once they took the Asterdust. Did you bring enough soldiers for this rescue?” the prisoner asks, his eyes full of uncertainty.

He would have been a crippled orc without an arm had he attempted this act a century ago—hell, a month ago. But I’m a reformed man now, trying to be better for my Nel. I merely shrug him off and move forward.

Silence falls as we walk into the courtyard. The prisoner is eyeing my work on the keep’s walls and floor. “What happened here?”

My lack of self-control is what happened. I should have left some to interrogate.

“Wait…I did leave one…” I mutter to myself.

But that scrawny coward who leaks himself must be hiding now. They all are. I supposed I can start a fire, burn down the entire keep to flush them out like rats—

“Wait… you did this?” the prisoner suddenly asks, his voice still hoarse, like sandpaper over rough wood. “You said you were trying to rescue Blaire.”

“I am.”

Just as I say it, an orkan assassin appear in front of me, striking me head on. It’s a beautiful, well-coordinated attack. But what the poor orc doesn’t know is that I anticipated it.

Waited for it.

I let him plunge the massive blade through my chest. Blood splatters across his face as he buries his sword deeper. The orc’s mouth gapes the moment his gaze locks with mine in horror.

“Have you learned nothing? That will not work on me.” I smile at him, baring my teeth. I grapple his neck and chuck out the blade. “The girl. Tell me where she is before I plant your head to the wall.”

Horror flashes on the orkan assassin’s face.

“Will you spare me if I do?” His question is laden with fear and dread.

“You’ll either die slow or quick. Pick one,” I order him, growing impatient by the second.

He almost resists from giving me an answer. His bravado falters when he recognizes the absence of light and mercy in my eyes.

“Only the prisoner from Darvan remains here in the west wing,” he says, his voice breaking. “Akaloth has moved most of the fae and the elves to Celestria. The Maiden of Arawynn is with them.”

I listen to each of his stuttered word carefully.

“Now point me on the map where that is.” I shove the parchment right under his nose. His hand trembles, knowing that death is imminent whether he submits to the demand or not.

One moment, I am holding a cowering orc assassin in my hand. The next, he is halfway across the courtyard next to the prisoner I saved in the dungeon.

“What is the meaning of this?” I glance at them, the air around us bristling with tension.

The prisoner weathers through my vicious stare.

“I am Vayne Aeldrath Malgorth, the third Prince of Myrkheim,” he says, planting his right fist on his chest respectfully. It’s a gesture of greeting from his homeland. “I’m here to grant these rebels my brother’s amnesty.”

Great.

I ended up saving some orc Prince Charming.

Well, he won’t be so charming anymore when I crack open his skull and bash him into a pulp.

“Show me where Celestria is. I won’t ask twice,” I demand.

“Why? So you can do the same thing you did here?” the prince counters sharply. “These people may be misled, but they are still my tribesmates.”

Crazy fucking fool.

Didn’t these other drug-crazed orcs torture him in the dungeon below? It’s adorable when Rhianelle is being naive, but it’s completely annoying when it comes down to this noble bastard.

“We want the same thing. If you would just let me explain—”

I strike before he can finish, slashing my sword right over his head. He should be sent to the afterlife with a proper weapon instead of claws. It’s the least I can do for someone I saved. But the orc blocks my offense with two mismatched falchions he’d chanced upon the ground.

Not bad. I smile despite myself.

He may be a great warrior among his clan, but I have had centuries to perfect my skills. I continue my assault over and over, swiftly moving my sword to decapitate him. The orc surprisingly manages to evade and deter each attack. Every inhale he partakes in looks painful and I’m certain his right wrist is broken. Still, the male raises the double falchion against me.

“I promise you, no harm will come to the Maiden of Arawynn,” he says, coughing up blood all over the cobblestone.

This guy is able to parry seven of my blows. He’s more than just good. His swordsmanship is comparable to Vlad.I rush towards him again and glimpse the regrettable look on the orc’s face. I pause when I realize he only has one falchion left in his hand.

Where did the other one go?

I don’t have time to mull over the disappearance when a sharp pain suddenly shoots down my spine. I slowly lower my gaze to my abdomen.

Bewilderment seizes me when I see the other falchion embedded deep in my liver. Blood gushes from the highly vascularize wound. I am too stunned to even move for a moment. I blink several times to confirm what I feel and what I see.

Holy hell, he did it…

He fucking did it.

The bastard landed a critical hit on me. If I weren’t a Strigon, I would have been dead.I remove the blade from my gut, the sound causing the prince and the orkan assassin to wince.

I close my eyes and embrace the pain that goes through me. The agony soon turns into something ecstatic and exhilarating. Before I met Rhianelle I fucking live for moments like this.

Yes, yes, yes.

Finally.

A fucking challenge.

A maniacal laughter escapes my throat, courtesy of one of the unhinged beasts in me. We feast on the fear and the promise of bloodshed.

I take a fighting stance to face him again, but the orc prince tosses his remaining blade aside.

What the hell is he doing?

“Pick up your sword,” I command him.

“No.”

This fucker.

I finally found a decent match and he’s what? Forfeiting? I recognize now the strange ambience I felt earlier about him in the dungeon. It’s the same sort of air that flows around self-righteous pricks like Eyepatch.

“I don’t know if you’re familiar with the seventy-seven gods we worship,” he says with a faint rasp. “But I swear to you in the name of my honorable ancestors and The Mother, the Maiden of Arawynn is safe.”

I don’t care if this ungrateful bastard swears in the name of his grandmother or whoever the fuck. They’re all dead if I don’t get the girl.

“Blaire is my wife. The rebels cannot hurt her because we are newlyweds,” he tries again.

His wife?

Vayne Aeldrath Malgorth.

I remove a shrapnel from my vest while trying to recall where the fuck I have heard that name. Moments like this make me regret not remembering the names of the people important to my little fawn. The friend has a husband?

Shit.

Is he important? Can I kill him?

What was supposed to be a simple track-and-kill has turned into a complicated rescue mission.

I take another casual glance at the determined Orc Prince. I could torture him, but he doesn’t seem to be someone easily moved by pain. It can take days and I am in no mood to wait.

A breeze gently caresses my face, almost as soft as Nel’s touch. Her light is like a beacon, calling me to return.

The Orc Prince is muttering something but I’m barely listening. I study the blood underneath my claws, wondering if I can wash them in time and sit with Rhianelle at the breakfast table. There’s a chance I might miss her routine bird feeding.

Damn it.

I want to go back to her.

I want to go home.

The grim, gray-stoned tower in Windhaven is far from an ideal place I would call home. But it is a place where she will be waiting for me.

No matter how much I’d like to continue this slaughter to sate my bloodlust, the desire to see Rhianelle runs stronger. I sigh and turn to look at the Orc Prince again.

“Are you a man of your word?” I ask the princeling. Should have said ‘orc’ instead of ‘man’ but fuck it.

He opens his mouth for a reply before I interrupt him. “Wait. Don’t answer that. Because I am.”

I make sure I’m looking at the bastard in the eyes.

“So believe me when I tell you that every single soul in your royal household is in my hand now,” I say with a deathly calm. ”If any harm should befall on the maiden, I will tear your beloved family—your goddamn kingdom to fucking pieces.”

The prince’s eyes harden into crystalized amber, simmering with contained anger and hatred.

Rhianelle will glare at me over such hideous threat; hell, even I loathe myself for saying that, but I need this prince to understand.

“Heed your prince’s advice,” I announce to the rest of the rebels wherever they’re hiding. “The elves will likely reclaim this place soon.”

Rhianelle will no longer be able to stop those foolish Elven Nobles after what these bandits did. They will go to war and she will be dragged into it. I will be with her no matter what happens. Anyone who stayed in this fortress is fair game to me.

A new pair of wings erupts from my flesh and I can hear the panicking heartbeat of those who witness them. They should be afraid, these wide talon-tipped leathery membranes are made from the primordial dark gods of the underworld. The wings create a vicious whirlwind as I take off into the night.

I fly as swiftly as I can, eager to get the fuck out of the fortress. Rhianelle will wake up soon and I want to be there to cut the crust off her bread. She knows about my feeding preferences now, so I will not have to eat those dreadful biscuits anymore. I’m going to miss our little tradition. I feel like I should find Rivtarr and rip his tongue all over again for spilling that secret.

It’s fine. Nel and I will create new memories and traditions. Perhaps we’ll visit her little pet, Coral later. That will cheer her up. Thoughts of her voice and her smile fill my head as I soar over the land.

A foul smell slams over my nostrils, disrupting my musings of little fawn. I track down the scent until I see a flicker in the distant.

Bodies gleam at the break of dawn, their armors glinting in the soft morning light. It’s not long before I encounter more mangled corpses piled in front of Windhaven’s wall. These are the orcs I had thrown yesterday for the town to look at.

I dive to the ground, landing among the vultures and crows picking on the carrions.

Their raspy cawing and grunting create a symphony of death and violence. Whatever euphoria I felt earlier drains from my system as I navigate through the corpses.

It’s just a simple sport Han and I used to play, a competition of who can kill the most opponents…

But I understand now there was a reason why Vlad eventually adopted our little game and started impaling his enemies in front of his castle. He meant to create terror in the hearts of those who saw it.

A vision of hell on earth.

How could I even think my soft Nel would want this?

Eyepatch is the first to spot me, noble and regal in his silver armor. The disgust written over his face is plain, cold, and focussed as he strides towards me. It’s more or less of what will be on Rhianelle’s face when she sees this carnage.

“There’s a washing station near the stable.” The knight grits his teeth with distaste. “Don’t let the ladies see you.”

The soldiers under his command give me a wide berth, falling silent as I pass by. It’s not like I want to comply with the bastard’s demand, but I did try to avoid any attention when I entered the keep. Mostly because I don’t want these people running back to Rhianelle and telling her all the horrors they’ve seen.

The maidens and washerwoman go pale the moment I cross their path, but they keep their wits about them. It is the stable boy who falls to his knees and faints at the mere sight of me.

I enter the deserted stall and turn on the elven machination for water. The shower is near scalding as I let it rinse all the filth, blood, and dirt away from me. Forget breakfast, Rhianelle might never want to breathe in the same room as me again.

Now my wife will truly see me for what I am.

A monster.