Page 45 of The Shard and the Serpent (Shard Daughters #1)

Good Snake

Rayze

HUNT. ME.

Lightning flashes through the tall windows of Warrick’s apartment, illuminating dark emeralds and crisp blacks. The heavy thrum of Fang’s Edge beats up through the floor, lulling me into a delicious trance as I taste and savor.

He looks so pretty in leather.

Warrick moans into a gag, his wrists secured to his headboard with thick, leather cuffs. Blood trickles below his pecks, the fire in his eyes making every swallow generous.

I work him until he spills down my throat, and when I release his cuffs, I’m met with a blade to my ribcage.

“Run,” he growls, and I sprint toward his apartment window.

There’s a power to the chase. I always win, and if I don’t, it’s because I let him overpower me. Our Bond is no longer only heat or a simple, tethered string. It’s a bridge. Across it is his trust, his faith.

It’s exhilarating to know his next moves and yet to not—to be chased through flooded streets, battle our way through crowds, and end a day with his body strapped to a bed or mine tied to a chair.

We love the sting of a cut, the dominance and submission of bondage.

It’s addictive, empowering, profound, and I’ve met my match.

The scissors rattle in my pocket, the Bond wavering with every step I take away from him. With every cut, it grows back stronger. Defiant. As if being cut was always its destiny and our hunt is prophecy.

Angel , he sings along the Bond and a shiver rolls down my spine. I pump my arms, my boots slamming into the pavement before I skid around a corner.

Show me what you’ve learned, pretty , I shoot back, flashing a smile over my shoulder when I catch a glimpse of him tearing through the night crowd toward me.

I dart toward a fight pit. Rain batters the plastic scaffolding around the rusted metal fencing for the ring. Posters hang in strips through the alley— BEWARE MASKED INSURGENTS —marked in torn, red blocked ink.

I skate my fingers over the mask clipped to my waist beneath my trench coat and smile. It was my snake’s idea to start wearing them when we raid nests.

It’s not working , Warrick’s frustration cracks across the Bond.

I hop over the railing and land in a crouch among the fighting pit.

Like most in Synlon, it’s a dug out circle of flooded water and mud. It sloshes around my calves, the small drains along the perimeter keeping the water from rising higher despite the steady downpour.

A small burst of desire breaks behind my eyes and lights my core. I grasp the muddy wall for support and whip my glare to the tall shadow lurking at the edge of the ring, watching me and waiting. Pleasure threads are the easiest, my snake, and not the point of this lesson.

Warrick’s Heir mask glitters as he steps out from the dark alley and peers down over the railing. “The point of every lesson is to hear your praise,” he says, his voice low and rough behind his mask. “I find I get it most between orgasms.”

My lips twitch with a grin. Talk along the Bond, Warrick. We need to practice.

Let me come down there and fuck you , he whispers through my mind.

I shudder with an exhale, and he lifts his mask to flash me a wicked smile.

Better? he asks.

I narrow my eyes. Pull a thread other than pleasure, and we’ll discuss ‘better’.

He drapes a leg over the railing. Then another. He rests against it, holding himself up, before he pushes off and falls down into the pit. Dark water splashes. Rain sheets around his lifted mask as he wades toward me, the water hitting at his ankles with our height difference.

Conjure a portal , I command. Use a word to anchor your power if you need to.

Raindrops cling to his dark lashes, the white streaks through his black hair molded around his brows and temples. “I can do that?” he murmurs and dips a finger below the collar of my coat.

Warrick .

He smirks. Yes?

I gently grab his hand and force his touch away. Focus. If you can manipulate pleasure threads, then you should be able to conjure a portal.

I wouldn’t think that was easy , he admits.

It’s not, but it’s easier than most magic, and conjuring one is different from making it take you where you want to go. They’re separate commands.

Despite holding back his hand, he reaches for me with his other. I sigh as he slips it beneath my coat and grasps my hip. Then he kisses me hard and wanting, pushing me into the wall of the pit. Mud squelches over the leather of my trench and weights the wet strands of my hair.

He releases me with a dark grin, running his thumb over the corner of my mouth. “Sorry,” he mutters. “Your mouth just looked so beautiful branded with my cum.”

I flush, my lips parting. “More,” I manage, releasing his hand and grabbing his hips.

Warrick chuckles. Focus, angel. Portals. Tell me about portals.

I release a long breath and guide him until we stand a foot apart. Look into the water.

He reluctantly drops his eyes from my face.

We stare at our reflection. It ripples with the rain, our faces a warped mess. My makeup smeared. His a fracture of the curious gleam in his eyes and the faint sparkle of his mask propped against his forehead.

Between ripples, you’ll find a stillness. The ebb and flow of power—it’s everywhere. Always. Just like our Bond, it exists even if you can’t see it. With the slices of my magic you’ve been gifted, you should be able to feel that power in everything now. It may be subtle, but it’s there.

Warrick bends down to skim his fingers over the surface.

Portals are simply seams between magic. They are the darkness of Fate. Voids that can be traveled through rage.

He lifts his gaze to mine, his lips curving. “Rage?”

Yes. I crouch in the water and nod to its surface. It’s easiest to find the voids between threads through reflections of your own power. It’s why Daughters travel through mirrors. We create portals by pulling from the rage within ourselves and pushing it into the void.

I use my thumb to wipe away a raindrop before it can hit his eye. He leans into my touch, his eyes fluttering shut, and my heart pounds.

The magic of realms, of universes, of Daughters—it’s all the same. It exists from a natural reservoir of pain. I suck in a breath. It’s why Daughters are taught to sharpen our pasts and wield them. Doing so connects us with that inherent rage and allows us to take full control of our power.

His smile falters. His eyes search mine. And if you decide to let that anger go?

I drag my thumb over his cheek. “Impossible,” I breathe. “In all things, there are voids. Darkness that must be battled or wielded.”

Warrick takes my wrist and drags my fingers from his cheek to his mouth. He kisses each tip, skimming them with his breath.

“And love?” he asks against my callouses.

“It’s in love that the greatest of horrors can exist.” My eyes burn as I curl my fingers against his chin and he tucks his lips against each knuckle. “Where we have the most to gain and everything to lose.”

I imagine that’s true , he whispers along the Bond, peering through his lashes as he forces my fingers open and presses a searing kiss to the center of my palm. There’s nothing I wouldn’t kill to love you.

My chest dips. My eyes widen. “Forget,” I breathe.

* * *

Rayze

“It won’t be long now,” Aleksi says, her, Omen, Sonya, and I zooming in across the map of Synlon in The Crown Prism. Every night, we take out a new nest, leaving The Dredge more and more exposed.

My spine straightens when the double doors slam open and Warrick strolls in.

Covered in blood.

I cross to him, my eyes pinned to the sack slung over his shoulder. “What have you done?”

He stops before me and lets the sack fall between us, the clack of hollow, hard objects within. With a gentle, crimson-stained finger, he tucks a single strand of hair behind my ear. “Hello, angel.”

Bone white peeks through the open slit of the bag, and my body vibrates with tension. “What. Have. You. Done?”

Warrick leans down until he’s impossibly close, his face a fraction from mine. “They.” He combs a possessive finger down my neck. “Touched.” My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth as he settles a hand over my heart. “You.”

“ Who , Warrick?” I hiss.

He frowns. “The men from our raid last night, and a ‘thank you’ will suffice.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose, cursing low. “My snake, we haven’t been on a raid in over a week. Who the fuck did you kill?”

“Hey assholes, we’re in the middle of a meeting,” Aleksi barks, pushing up her glasses.

He kicks at the bag and a skull rolls free. He plucks it into his palm and tugs out his Serpent blade, dropping to the ground and crossing his legs. He leans forward, elbows to his knees, and starts to carve into the bone.

“What are you doing?” I demand.

Warrick glances up at me. “Whittling.”

“ Whittling ?”

He cocks a brow and looks pointedly toward my sisters. “Something has to get me through these long as fuck meetings.”

“You weren’t even invited,” Aleksi growls.

“Strange considering I give you most of your intel,” he murmurs and proceeds to Godsdamn whittle. “Again, a thank you would be nice.”

I release a breath and rejoin my sisters.

Sonya traces me over with a worried look. Is he okay?

We’re running out of time , I sign. Volt is distributing further through Synlon.

Omen dips her spiked head in agreement. We need to take Alodon before he’s too compromised.

“Ivor,” Aleksi calls.

Warrick casts the four of us a lazy look. “Yeah, Red?”

My sister bristles but points at the map. “What do you know about the nest for The Vile?”

A slow grin unfurls across his face.

My thighs clench at the sight, and I glance at the bag of bones he brought. Fuck. I do remember those men now. A trio of snakes at the last nest we took out. They’d managed to pin me for maybe a minute before Sonya took their throats.

He went back and killed them all? For me?