Page 67 of The Shard and the Serpent (Shard Daughters #1)

Snake of Madness

Warrick

Synlon’s gone dark. The city sits like a carcass, abandoned for the safety of Underground caverns, but the streets—oh, these beautiful, blood-washed streets—they’re left to pirates, snakes, and me .

Blade through flesh. Crack of a skull, a nose, the lightning on my tongue. Breathe— deep breath, deeper —and bleed. Yes. Blood everywhere. On the floor. The ceiling. In the gutters. Staining the alleys. On me but not mine. No, never mine. Just theirs. Everyone.

Everyone who keeps me from her.

Dark rivers spell a hidden name. Her. Name. But to know it is to fracture further.

Who is she?

I yank my blade from a pirate’s chest, groaning as my vision flashes white. Pain shudders behind my eyes—blinding and brutal. My knees nearly give. The realm tilts.

Then a memory claws its way from the dark.

A grassy hillside and an infinite storm. A girl. Blood pouring from her eyes, her nose, her ears. Small and screaming, pretty sparks casting from her hands like fallen stars.

I fell to my knees. We all did. My father. Hers. Hers ? A shadow of a queen at her back—

“You’ll pay for this,” Hallie sobbed.

Even from the cliff’s end, I could see them. Dead girls dressed in melted iron, the dining room wet with red past the open front doors of a seaside estate.

Squallspire .

Then as quickly as it came, the memory sears into nothing, leaving a void in its wake.

I lurch with a snarl, vision swimming, and slam my blade through the next bastard in reach.

Steel meets spine. Blood arcs. Rain breaks against shoving bodies in a hard slant, lightning forking through the sky.

I fight toward Fang’s Edge. Pirates blockade the entrance of my club, snarling and swinging their axes, but I tear through, blade flashing, boots splashing through the rain.

I’m pieces. I know I am. Nothing about my mind makes sense except my need to save my fucking city and know her again.

Whether to love her, to kill her—I crave her.

Whoever she is. Whatever she may be. If she’s the darkest thing in the realm, I’d rather be dragged into her depths than remain incomplete.

Somewhere, she’s hiding. Green eyes in mirrors watching over me. I see you . Hallie. No . Not quite. Maybe once. Not anymore.

Who’s Hallie?

WHO ARE YOU?

Who is who?

It’s taken months, but I’ve killed my way across Synlon, carving a path for Serpents to fight, splattering pirate blood on Kraken banners, cursing the ships hissing above. Tick, tick, tick —up goes the body count and whispers grow in the streets . Vicious, pretty things just like her.

Surely she hears them, too.

Synlon calls me names. The Snake of Madness—solid branding, I’ll allow it.

Heir Turned Blood Betrayer—accurate, sure, but hypocritical, considering every bastard in this city wanted Russell dead.

Then there’s The Boss We Follow Because the Alternative Is Getting Butchered by Pirates—at least that one’s honest.

My personal favorite? Insane Fucker With a God Complex.

Yes, I’m a crazy asshole, but I’m a crazy asshole with a plan .

If people would open their eyes and close their fucking mouths—citizens are screaming more these days—they’d clearly see The Kraken and his fancy warships are in the sky . Not on the ground. Not taking my fucking city.

Okay, and yes , Torren Trask took control of The Dredge and forced a siege. But for fuck’s sake, I’m batshit and one man. At least I’m fighting. I could’ve left the city behind. Exiled myself to some Godsdamn peace and quiet.

But I need Synlon safe. I’ve already lost my fucking mind. At least let me have this. I mean, fuck , I didn’t survive Russell just to lose it all when it matters most. Although truthfully, instead of Torren being the one to fuck me up the ass, I’d prefer her.

I hate her, but that doesn’t mean we can’t have an excellent time.

Vicious fucking devil. Little instigator driving all the Big Bads to battle. She thinks she’s so smart. Thinks Torren and I will just obliterate each other, and she can kick back and relax.

No, no.

She’ll come to me. Especially after tonight.

Who?

I suck down on two fingers with a groan.

Yes. She’ll come.

First, I have a promise to keep. I may be mad, but I’m a man who keeps his word.

I stab past pirates into Fang’s Edge.

Cages still line the ceiling, swinging with the weight of Skin.

Most hang limp in chains, bruises fresh, collars locked.

The lofts above still serve their purpose, too.

Closeted negotiations, private deals, and perverse indulgences hidden behind half-drawn curtains.

All of it’s been orchestrated by cronies who dare to think they can claim my title by keeping the Skin Trade alive.

All my life, I could do nothing. I had to let this shit fester. Sit back and take it.

Then— Gods dammit.

I growl as the thought floats away. Crackles and distorts. An entire piece of my life fucking burned to ash in my skull.

I scan the crowded lower floor. Too. Fucking. Crowded. Everyone here believes I’m nothing. Believes business as usual. Traded Serpent alliances for Kraken like I’m fucking expendable.

Yet I leave a glistening ruby trail in my wake everywhere I go. How many more need to die before she comes to me? Before the pirates trying to take my city realize I’ll burn it to the ground before I let them?

Fucking Gods, is anyone listening?

Louder, then.

One by one, Skin bend the bars of their cages hanging above and drop into the crowd, their eyes ringed blue with Volt and their malnourished bodies strengthened to lethal impact.

Buyers beware: the used goods have teeth. I grin and bring my pipe to my lips, Volt crackling over my tongue.

Crimson rains from the cloaked lofts of the club’s balcony, splashes from torn throats, and I stroll through the stampede.

Traitors try to leave and—w hy can’t they? —Oh, right. I chained the doors closed.

Humming to myself and puffing on my pipe, I climb into The Pit, the fighting ring set in the center of the club.

Then I wait.

This is what happens when you inject miserable mortals with power after being abused. It’s really quite beautiful how they rip cronies apart one limb at a time.

“Can you hear me, angel?” The question slips from my tongue without warning, my muscles tightening with arousal. Yes—I called her angel .

I study the glass pipe pinched between my fingers.

Smoking Volt? Grand. Helps my memory before it burns it blacker. I choose a void to catch a glimpse. It’s that, or to not remember at all, and fuck that.

Injecting the shit? As close as I’ve ever been to magic.

Unless you count my tongue in her pussy.

I whack my forehead. I need to stop thinking about that bitch and her fantastic, tight—

Blood splatters over me, a Serpent crony gargling before his head clangs off the fighting ring and he slumps to the ground.

The culprit? A little girl that can’t be more than twelve.

Maybe tripling their dosage was too much.

Eh, it’s getting the job done.

An injection of Volt a day administered to the Skin of Fang’s Edge. Quietly. Carefully.

“What would you do for me,” I asked the first I offered the drug, “if I could make you more powerful than the snakes and pirates who locked you in this cage?”

He was a child, only eight, but when he gripped the bars of his enclosure and pressed his little face between them, he smiled in a crazed way I now know intimately. “Anything.”

Anything.

A fucking army in cages just waiting for me.

How fun.

“Come out, come out,” I call behind my mask and pivot, the diamonds on its plastic surface reflecting the half-blown neon lights of the club into thousands of iridescent specks. They glitter and bounce across feral Skin as they tackle Serpents and pirates to the ground.

Time to play.