Page 34 of The Shard and the Serpent (Shard Daughters #1)

Magical Fucking Scissors

Warrick

My focus flicks between my girl and the magical fucking scissors. Any man would be terrified of the look on Rayze’s face. I can’t tell if she wants to eat me, kill me, or fuck me.

The Bond echoes with a desire for all three. At the same time. Possibly using the scissors, for all I know. I’m at a loss for what exactly is happening, my skull throbbing between my anger at being used by her, my pride at the fact she did so, and—

Who is this woman? Perfect for me. It’s so clear now. She hid little pieces of herself all this time, and I’m way too invested in letting her feed me every morsel. She isn’t Hallie, but she also isn’t Rayze—not in the way I thought I knew either of them.

“Scared, Ivor?” she asks, fluttering her lashes.

“Obviously,” I say and fold my arms, nodding at the scissors. “What the fuck do they do?”

“Just touch them.”

“Despite our previous interactions, vicious, I’m not an idiot.”

Rayze huffs. “They’ll show you our Bond, okay?” Then under her breath, “Though I was looking forward to the surprise, asshole.”

My lips tilt. “You know you’re funny when you’re not trying to suppress yourself under all that broody.”

“Will you just touch the damn scissors?”

“Do I get a prize if I do?”

“Yes, I won’t fucking kill you .”

I chuckle. “Okay, okay.”

She thrusts the scissors out, tapping her boot and rolling her neck.

Sucking in a breath, I gently drag a finger over the bright silver shears. Rayze watches me closely, and I frown. “Are you fucking with me?” I ask. “Nothing’s happening—”

Power. Power unlike anything I’ve ever felt.

My wide gaze drops between us, shock tensing my shoulders. “Fuck,” I whisper.

The Bond.

It curls and twines in thick cords. Sparks fly across thousands of threads, each braided and tangled to create a phantom limb—its ends disappearing into my gut and hers.

I grab the back of her neck to steady myself.

It’s beautiful. It’s twisted. It’s us .

She leans in, lips parted, but I don’t kiss her. I let my breath drag over the seam of her mouth.

Sin . My angel of sin.

Her breath hitches. “Cut it.”

The Bond wrenches tight.

“What?” I jerk back.

“I want it gone,” she says. Her knuckles whiten around the scissors. “Shear it in half, Warrick. If our path is one we walk together, then our Bond will withstand this power.”

“And if it’s not?” I murmur.

“I’ll knot every piece of me in your mind, even what I’ve given back.”

Rayze

Warrick’s eyes darken, their steel-blue deepening to two frustrated pits. His chest dips, and I almost feel bad.

Almost .

The problem is I can’t trust this man, not unless I know he’s willing to risk everything.

He’s still Russell’s blood, still the Heir to a disgusting trade, and while I’ll give him some credit for trying to build a better legacy for himself, it’s not enough to trust him with further knowledge of the Shard Daughters.

It’s my duty, above all else, to protect magic. I can’t let him know any more secrets until he’s made it clear where he stands on the Bond and on the realm.

I’m not a thing to be owned. No one is.

“You want me to be rid of you?” he asks. “To cut something as rare as our Bond or to extract you from my Godsdamn mind? You think I can walk through life as if you’re not the only person I have in this realm to love?”

My breath stutters, and his eyes widen a fraction at his mistake. Warrick glances away and rubs the back of his neck.

He slaughtered that nest. It’s a start in the right direction, and maybe this is simply what remains of the little girl who used to love with all her heart—but I want to believe he can be a better man than his father. Part of me has to believe that.

Otherwise, this stupid wounded thing in my chest is going to break further.

I lift the scissors up between us. “This isn’t about love, my snake,” I tell him, my voice cracking around the word and drawing his attention back to me. “This is about trust. You want to be in my life? Then you’ll do this for me.”

Darkness curls from a mirror at his back, and the lethal spires of Fate’s crown glint.

I’m out of time.

“Will you give me your loyalty?” I ask. Then sharper, “Do you want me to forgive you? Because this is it, Warrick. I won’t give you another chance.”

“I want to. I’m trying.” His jaw shakes, the emotion in his eyes of a surrendering man.

So beautiful.

“Then cut it.” I push the scissors toward him. “No more sarcasm or jokes, Ivor.”

Warrick stares at them for a long moment. Panic creases the corners of his eyes, and he glances away, his jaw working when he sees Fate’s shadow. A war breaks out across his features, the veins along his neck bulging with tension.

“This is what you want?” he asks, turning to me.

I hesitate but nod.

Then he slams to his knees.

Perfection . My stomach swirls, tension leaving my shoulders, and my chest warms with appreciation. He’s making an effort, and even if it’s the least he can do after everything The Serpent put my family through, I’ll honor my word.

One second chance. He better make the most of it.

Warrick inhales. He grasps my legs, tugging me close. “Fuck, Hal,” he says, and my heart squeezes at the old nickname. “Sorry,” he mutters and waves his hand at his temple with a small smile. “Someone scrambled my mind, you know.”

I suppress a grin.

He runs his thumbs over the backs of my knees. Takes a breath.

“Destroy me,” he murmurs. “Put me in chains. Make me your whore, your soldier, your hound,” he continues, his voice gravel. “Tell me lies. Beat me with truths. Do it all, my angel. Do everything you want.”

He shakes his head and leans forward, pressing his forehead against my knees. “Execute me, if you want, but do it with me on my knees—I. Serve. You.” Then he looks up at me, grief swimming in his eyes.

“And I’m sorry for taking that month away,” he whispers. “So fucking sorry. You’ve no idea how long I searched for you after Squallspire. Ruel was so convinced I did something to you, and I—”

Warrick glances away, his eyes glistening with emotion he tries to hide. He holds my legs tighter. “I failed you.”

My chest falters, and he sweeps his hands up my thighs. Light, gentle touches that send our Bond into a desperate wail.

“This is where I belong,” he says. “Claim me or kill me, vicious. I’ll never take that choice from you, but don’t take my mind. There’s no universe where I want to forget you again.”

I sway, my hand crawling up my neck. I swallow against my palm, my pulse thundering. I don’t know what to do with an apology like that, especially one that seems sincere.

Words are such pretty things. Use them right, and entire realms will bow.

Feed a person exactly what they want to hear, whether you can back it up or not, and they’ll still fucking swoon.

It’s beautiful and sad to know that universally most of us just want to be heard and wanted, and I desperately wish I could say I’m the exception, that words don’t fool me.

I’m not, and I really wish I could believe this isn’t him manipulating me.

He grins and it’s the kind that’s all him. Toothy. Menacing and yet somehow tragically charming. Warrick fucking Ivor. The darkness in his eyes slips away, blue shining bright within the dungeon.

“I’m yours, Rayze Angeline,” he says softly, devotedly—and Gods, let it be true. He stands, confident as he slips the scissors from my hand. His throat works, his breath stuttering as our Bond reveals itself to him once again. “For always,” he promises, his gaze locking with mine. “Bond or not.”

A breath. Shared. Infinite. Ours .

Then he aligns the scissors against the massive, wailing heap of threads between us—and cuts.

Desperate shouts of pain tear from us. We fall back, a sob cracking from my lips unwarranted.

Agony breaks through my entirety, enough that I don’t need to see blood to know I bleed, but if this is the cost to trust him again, I don’t give a damn.

I’ll take every pain, bleed across every plane of existence, do anything to know that maybe I can have both things I crave so desperately: love and revenge.

I crash to my knees, my arms wrapping around my stomach with a dry heave. I choke as Warrick drops the scissors, his hands shaking. I crawl to them, raking in one hollow gasp after another. My hand trembles as I clutch the weapon, their steel hot to the touch.

What remains of the Bond brightens across my vision as I grip the scissors. Between us, severed threads recoil. They tuck beneath our skin, no longer connected or reaching for one another.

My chin shakes, and I run a thumb over the silver loops.

Tears prick at the corners of my eyes, an infinite grief rising from the depths of myself that I’m terrified will drown me.

Not because it’s the last cut but because I know it’s the first. Bonds can’t be broken so easily, and if I’m going to make this work, then the pain I feel now—

Warrick touches me. Steadies me. His hand sweeps over my bicep, gentle and warm before I’m dragged against his chest. “You’re okay. We’re okay.”

A cry burns in my throat but I force it down, his lips pressing against the stray tears that dared to fall.

“Look at me, angel,” he whispers, blood dripping from his wounds in a steady tap.

I grip the scissors tighter.

“Please.”

I lift my eyes, my gaze kissing the dark ink of the twin serpents snaking up his body. I shudder at every flash of a silver piercing and stare at the tiny hook of a scar through his lip.

“Vicious,” he murmurs.

My eyes finally find his, and his nails drag down my spine.

The threads between our souls reach again.

Small, colorful, translucent strings sprout from my gut and his, weaving into a tight plait between our bodies. My eyes on his, and the Bond regrows.

Faster .

Darker .

Tears sink against the seam of my lips, my hand gripping the shears. They cut into my palm, blood stinging in resolution as the small piece of my magic stowed deep inside him burns brighter.

Mine .