Page 18 of The Shard and the Serpent (Shard Daughters #1)

Hello, Vicious

Warrick

Who is she?

Branches lash my arms. Thorns tear through my sleeves. Rain cuts sideways through the canopy, drenching my skin, bleeding into my eyes. Mud sucks at my boots—bubbling, clawing, desperate to hold me back.

But something inside me won’t let me stop.

Something deeper.

Mine .

Every glimpse of her ignites an insatiable hunger. The twitch of her coat through the brush. The silhouette of her legs vanishing between trees. That grin— Gods , that grin when she glances back, like she knows exactly what she’s doing to me.

She runs like she wants to be chased, and I follow like a man possessed. I want her beneath me. Ruined and wrecked. Screaming. My. Name.

My body burns. My cock aches.

She’s not prey. She’s a barbed-wire kiss—one I’d take again and again, tongue torn, blood thick on my teeth. Let her tear me silent. In her presence, I’m Godsdamn speechless anyway.

Fuck, I need her.

I’ll crawl on bloodied hands and knees.

Burn this forest down.

Please . Who are you?

My hands shake around the hilt of my blade.

The longer I chase her, the more I slip.

From man.

To monster.

To whatever the fuck this thing is blooming inside me, violent and reckless and hers .

I. Am. Hers.

She slips through the brush. The path she takes winds like a snare, overgrown and broken, choked in moss and fractured stone.

I hack forward, tearing into a clearing, and she vanishes within the dark remains of Estal Palace’s stables.

If I were a better man, I’d let her go, but I long to be relentless. Merciless. To map every inch of her with my tongue.

A dark sound rips from my chest, and I whistle through my teeth, slow and sharp.

A warning. A promise.

What is happening to me?

My heart slams. My lungs scream.

I don’t care. I need her.

The stables lean into the forest, overgrown and forgotten. Stone walls glisten with rain. Vines crawl through every crack. The roof’s half-collapsed, peeled open to the storm-lit sky. Moonlight filters through in fractured streaks, and jagged patterns dance over warped stalls and splintered beams.

I step through an arch, and old, brittle bones crack beneath my boot. Leather reins hang from the rafters, stiff with age. Snapped buckles and curled, frayed straps sway as water drizzles down.

I peer into each stall. Search for those pretty green eyes.

“Come out,” I whisper. Please .

Rayze

I crouch in the rafters. Rain drips through the broken roof, cold as a blade tapping against my scalp. I barely breathe, my bow drawn and arrow poised. One shot—one clean end. It would be so simple, but it wouldn’t be a win. Not really.

Killing without a consolation prize? Don’t be silly.

I’ve dreamt of the way he bleeds. Wondered what it would be like to let him closer.

Water trickles down my temple. My elbow trembles.

Warrick circles below.

He hums, low and slow, teeth grazing the edge of an old tune. His Serpent blade gleams with moonlight, his vest hanging loose. His chest dips, shining with sweat and storm. Every scar down his ribs catches the light like tally marks, several still healing from Rathem.

He waits. Not with tension but invitation, whistling like he’s calling me home.

And Gods—part of me answers.

The darkest part.

I followed his shipment to watch . It’s my job to know his moves.

Then that boy. The way Warrick carried him on his shoulders, their laughter filtering through the trees.

If this is a con, I’ve fucking met my match.

We rehabilitate them , he said.

Liar. Or maybe not.

My pulse spikes, and I chew on my lip.

If I was wrong about this, then what else have I missed? He’s been saving Skin? For how long? Normally, I don’t follow his patrols outside Synlon’s walls unless necessary. Tonight, I couldn’t withstand his pull.

The Bond thrums in my gut. The scissors in my coat pocket weigh heavier with every passing second.

A certain decision stiffens my spine. I’m damned if I do, damned if I don’t. If the destruction is mutual, then why not bite? Besides, I’ve always learned the most with my legs open, not closed.

He waits for me. Wants me. Whistles softly, patiently. Like he’d stand there for decades if it meant seeing me one more time.

My fingers twitch around the bowstring.

I want to play.

Please .

The thought hits my core. Hot. My breath snags.

If even an ounce of what he told me is true, I know I’m done for— to an extent . He’s my greatest hunger made flesh, the kind of horrible beauty that will ruin me.

I could ruin him first.

The Bond pulses sharp and greedy, and I flinch.

His song halts.

His eyes snap to the rafters.

Then his lips drag into a predatory smile.

Warrick

I lunge for the ladder.

An arrow whistles past. Steel kisses my shoulder, slicing clean, but I don’t stop. I slam up the rungs and haul onto the beam, crawling on hands and knees, eyes locked on her.

Chest heaving, she latches her bow to her back, her gaze dipping over me with a heat stolen from my dreams. There’s something different in her eyes. A sort of resolve.

I pray I was the decision.

She slides, scrambling back against the beam, before she jerks to a stop, leather tearing against warped wood. She hisses between her teeth, her desire caving to frustration.

That won’t do.

I snatch her ankle.

She gasps, kicks, but I yank hard, dragging her across the beam until she’s beneath me, fabric ripping. She twists, trying to fight, her growl venomous as she beats her fists into my chest. “You and my coat , you fucking asshole.”

I brace on either side of her head, my lips stretching wide. “Hello, vicious.” I drag a finger through her hair, twirling a strand around my knuckle before giving it a hard yank.

Her chin lifts, nostrils flaring, her fists balled against my chest. Those perfect lips part with a shuddering breath, and my cock jerks.

“I don’t think we quite finished our conversation, did we?” I grit out. “You’re keeping things from me. We know each other, don’t we?”

Rain drips from my hair, streaking across her cheekbones. I shove it back, and her eyes track the movement.

“Maybe,” she mutters, and her pupils blow wide. Mischief pulls at the corner of her mouth, her lashes fluttering.

I clutch the beam with an unsteady heave. “I find it hard to believe I’d let you walk away.”

“Is that so?” she breathes.

I tuck my chin to my chest, eyes squeezing shut against the hard wave of lust that crashes through me.

“Having trouble concentrating, snake?” she whispers.

My eyes flash open, my grip on the beam wavering as I stare down at her flushed beneath me. She’s such a beautiful, wicked thing. There’s nothing pure about her. All corruption and rage. A dark soul caged within supple, blushed skin.

I hum as blood streaks down from a cut at her cheek.

Her coat fans out on either side of the beam like limp wings, lined with arrows and hidden steel. Her leather-braced breasts press against my bare chest, and that little skirt—I bite back a groan—it’s hitched high on her hips.

Her boots scrape for purchase, thighs twitching on either side of the beam. Either side of me . Her back arches against her bow, and a strained sound escapes her as she struggles for purchase.

My gut twists, my lust leaking away at the sound of her displeasure. My mind doesn’t know her, but my body sure as fuck does. This? The way I thrust an arm beneath her without hesitation, pulling her flush against me? This doesn’t just happen.

“I got you,” I say.

I know her. The curve of her waist hooked against my arm. The hitch in her breath as our chests collide. How she clings to me, hands gripping my shoulders in the same, natural instinct.

Her eyes track my face in—shock? Relief?

I shiver, her wrists hooking around my neck and her breath hot against my throat. This close to her, enveloped in her heat, my vision blurs. I drag a possessive hand up her thigh. She’s so soft, so warm.

Such a perfect trap.

Instinct screams, Run .

No, thanks. I’m good.

She locks a leg around my waist.

Fuck yes.

Her center grinds subtly against the thick strain in my pants, and a trembling moan rattles out of me.

Her fingers curl into my hair. “Warrick,” she murmurs.

I don’t know how she knows my name, but I sure as fuck am going to hear it from that mouth again. “Hmm?”

Eyes locked, I slide a cautious finger between us. I expect her to pull away, to shove me off the beam, but her nails drag over my scalp in a silent demand, her hips shifting closer.

Tension coils low. I reach—and stop.

Wet. Bare.

My throat works as I glance down from her knowing smirk.

She wears nothing under that skirt. Her tights cut off mid-thigh in thick, soaked bands, leaving her aching and open against my palm.

“You run around like this?” I ask, hoarse.

“You never know when a snake will give chase,” she whispers.

My gaze lifts, but my fingers don’t stop. Can’t.

I stroke her. One. Single. Tease.

Something growls awake inside me, shakes between every nerve-ending. My body trembles, the realm narrowing to her and only her.

Her eyes fall half-lidded. Her mouth parts with a soft sigh.

Then—“Fine,” she breathes, and white sparks glint through her eyes. “Remember. Rathem.”

My hand freezes as a force slams into me. Like a heavy weight ripping from my skull, memories that sat like forbidden shadows rupture into blinding clarity.

I clutch my head with a groan. She struggles for balance, but I can’t help her. I can only cage the scream building in my throat, teeth bared against the pain.

The thing in my gut swells.

I squeeze my eyes shut, but all I find is her.

Her voice as she pulled me from sea.

Her snarl as she fought at my side.

The way she came with me, because of me, along the Bond.

The. Bond.

“Warrick,” she says, her voice sharp with warning.

“Rayze,” I gasp. Her name tears from me like a wound—

And I tip off the beam.