Page 57 of The Shard and the Serpent (Shard Daughters #1)

Imprint

Warrick

Rayze.

Her name tunnels through my skull. I shout it, its very shape choking me, as I’m locked into a cage connected to the front of hers, her body limp among a throng of corpses.

Wrists cuffed, I wrench a bar between my fingers and rattle it, but it’s no use. I know these cages. I know these chains. There’s no escape.

ATTENTION: CITIZENS OF SYNLON—the city’s speaker loop stutters and cuts to static. Then a sharp clank of gears cuts through the night, and I crane my head back.

Saltmaw.

From the belly of The Kraken’s prized warship, ropes drop like nooses. Shadows crawl down them—boots first, weapons next.

Pirates.

They land on rooftops across the city, crouching with their rigged weaponry like they’ve cornered prey.

I press my forehead to the bars, my eyes locked on the black flag of Saltmaw, the skull and tentacles of The Kraken crest a snarling blaze against the storm.

They think this is it, that this is all the fight Synlon has to give, but this is a city raised on the brutal trade of bodies as currency.

We don’t give a fuck about dying.

Torren Trask wants Synlon? Not while there’s blood left to spill.

“Warrick,” a woman groans beside me.

My head whips around. Blue eyes lock with mine through the cracked lenses of a black, diamond mask. Something about her face gnaws at the back of my mind.

Blood soaks her side. Her hand shakes around a shard of metal lodged above her hip. “You have to wake Rayze,” she hisses.

The wagon lurches, and I stumble into the bars. Gears grind beneath us. Steam hisses up through the slatted floor, and the iron lattice-work overhead rattles as rain pours through, soaking us both.

“These cages,” she continues, “they’re just steel. The locks can be broken, but we need her power.”

“What the fuck do you mean power ?” I snap, glaring at her through the curtain of water.

Dark realization shadows her features. She sucks in a shaky breath. “Rayze. Focus on Rayze. Do you remember your angel?”

My heart pounds. I twist against my chains, straining to look into the next cage. My angel still lies crumpled, arms bound and soaked through, her blood mixing with the runoff.

“She’s out cold,” I murmur, voice hoarse and broken. I focus on her chest, hope to see it dip with her breath, but the rain is too thick. Breathe, baby. Keep breathing.

“I’m Aleksi,” the woman tries. “Red. You call me Red.”

I blink back water and scan her again. “Red,” I whisper.

She offers me a pained half-smile. “Despite the fact my hair’s Godsdamn orange.”

“Fuck you. It’s red,” I argue, her braid coming loose in the rain.

“It’s my fucking hair, Ivor. I think I know what color it is.”

“Yeah? You and your big ass glasses, and you can’t even see your own hair.”

The words slip free like muscle memory. Warmth blooms through the back of my skull, and I shudder. She isn’t wearing glasses, but she usually does. I’m sure of it.

We’ve argued about her hair before. Talked until dawn, sprawled across a couch beside a fireplace, tipping back ale and throwing down cards.

“There you are,” she breathes. “That’s it. Hold on, Heir.”

Shard Daughters. The memory uncoils. It shifts and expands like a wound forced open. Family.

Aleksi coughs as she struggles to sit up, and an agonized moan breaks through her gritted teeth.

“Stop.” I slam to my knees at her side, cursing the restrictions of my chains. “Don’t fucking move, Red.”

She swallows hard, her eyes locking with mine—the fear there of a warrior in her worst nightmare. “I couldn’t move more if I wanted to.” Her lips tremble. “I can’t feel them, Warrick. I can’t feel my legs.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s permanent,” I snap, “but it might be if you let that shrapnel drive any deeper. So stay the fuck still.”

I lean over her. Rain slams into my back as I shield her from its onslaught. Without water rinsing the blood away, I get a better look at her wound. “Don’t remove that metal,” I tell her. “It’s the only thing keeping you from bleeding out.”

She nods, her face a sickly pallor.

“How much Volt have you taken?” she rasps, her fingers curling weakly into mine.

I glance at Rayze again. Her body hasn’t moved. “I don’t know.”

Aleksi swallows hard. She’s quiet as the Serpent cronies and Chrome Guard surrounding our cages leave to march further ahead. Only one stays, his Volt-ringed eyes surveying us through his helmet before he hitches the harness for the wagon over his shoulders and lugs us forward.

Aleksi shakes her head. “It’s in the armor. Their weapons. They’re taking it straight into their fucking veins.”

I shake my head.

“Volt,” she spits, seeing my confusion. “It eats at our magic. At the places Rayze—” She draws in a pained breath. “Where she left an imprint.”

A low, seething noise tears from my throat.

Everywhere. Her imprint is deeper than bone or thought. She’s woven to my fucking soul.

The wagon dips down a ramp, trench water flooding through the floor slats.

“The Storm took Sonya,” she whispers. “They know. They fucking know about the Daughters.”

Fangs . My heart lurches.

“There’s protocol if we’re captured.” Her voice cracks. “If they’re after our magic.”

“This isn’t fucking over,” I growl.

But a convulsion rolls through her body, and her eyes darken with resolve. “Death before betrayal. Death before broken.”

“No.”

Aleksi lifts a trembling hand and grabs my chin, forcing my eyes to hers. “Sin’s hands are crushed. Her leg’s sliced open. Mine don’t move.” Her gaze pierces mine. “You’re it, Ivor. You get us out, or you make sure we’re dead before they use us. Do you understand?”

I rip my chin from her grasp, and her hand falls like dead weight. I trace her face—the fluttering of her lashes and the shake of her lips.

Something festers low in my gut.

A weight writhes, pulsing and coiling. A pressure that cracks through my ribs and rattles my spine like a scream trying to tear out of me.

It slithers behind my sternum, claws at the meat of my chest like it’s starving for violence.

Like it wants to break me open and wear carnage like armor.

It burns into the lining of my nerves, left behind by someone who loves me hard enough to scar.

Angel.

A slow, dark smile crawls across my mouth. I twist around and lock eyes with beautiful, brutal green.

Our Bond coils through the space between our cages. It thrums. Winding. Binding. Dragging our heartbeats into a single rhythm.

She leans into the bars, one leg braced and her arms chained. Rain carves down her cheeks, and she—

She hums.

It’s low and dark, almost lost to thunder, before it cuts through everything. There are no lyrics, and yet my mind jerks violently.

As if possessed by hidden commands.

Power slips into my mouth, coils under my tongue.

It’s a hum that’s carved through Serpents and poured through mirrors. A song that’s torn from my throat while I butchered my men. I’ve never heard her sing it before, but it’s hers.

It’s always been hers.

My snake , her voice caresses the wreckage of my mind, so soft and perfect.

I curl my fingers around a bar, gaze locking on the angry pulse at her throat. My angel , I whisper along our Bond.

Cages aren’t built for us. Not for what we become when we bleed together.

“ brEAK .”

The command rips from our throats in unison. Not a word, a weapon.

Metal shrieks.

Blood spills from my nose.

White spikes over her shattered knuckles. Over mine.

Then the lock on the cage explodes.