Page 79 of The Shard and the Serpent (Shard Daughters #1)

Pure Fucking Joy

Warrick

There’s such a thin line between love and hate. I wish I could say I’m a smart man, but Gods help me, I’m not. I want to stay angry. Pieces of me still are. I don’t know when I’ll forgive my devil, but I’d rather work toward it than fight it.

She thinks if it weren’t for the Bond that we wouldn’t exist. Our story. Our chase.

She’s wrong. So, so wrong.

I’m so fucking obsessed with her it’s at the point of possession. Place a blade through my heart, and I’ll return to her. Always. Forever.

In some ways, the memories are lost, but I know the truth.

She was my first love, and she’ll be my last. She owns every piece of me, essence and soul.

My heart is hers, and if that means she crushes it, so be it.

I’ll beg for it. Fuck, I’ll love it—and when she stitches me whole, I’ll kiss every inch of her in thanks for the motherfucking journey.

Call me a masochist. I don’t give a shit.

I am hers. She is mine.

There is no boundary we won’t cross if it means we’re together.

Pain—together.

Beauty—together.

We accept each other’s infinities, no matter how violent.

And tonight I accept her violence has waited too long to bow to mine. Tonight, it’s not about becoming one. It’s about serving each other in the only way we know how—her at the lead and me on the leash.

This city is hers. This fight is hers.

I. Serve. Her.

Rain floods Synlon’s streets. Brass shells slam down from the hulls of Kraken warships, orange smoke detonating in sync with my heartbeat. Citizens claw their way out of the Underground, nowhere safe from The Rigged as the monstrosities rampage through trenches and alleys.

Lightning forks across the sky, my boots pound into the pavement, but I’ve no fucking worries.

Rayze runs ahead. Fast. Wild. Beautiful.

She whips her bow from her back, knuckles sparking starlight, and vaults through clouds of Brass, loosing arrow after arrow—

Laughing.

Nothing but pure fucking joy as she slaughters her way toward The Dredge.

I don’t know that I’ve ever seen anything more beautiful or felt myself heal so quickly. That laugh. That smile.

She’s been hiding. From me. From everyone. Downplaying her power. Her thrill for the kill. Kneeling to her duty again and again.

This is her final bow, and I have every intention of holding her hand when the city screams for an encore.

I grin wide and slam my Serpent blade through the vent of a Rigged neck, dropping it as her voice slices through the screams.

“STOP,” Rayze commands, and the five pirates crowding her freeze. She spins— shoot, shoot, shoot, shoot, shoot —an arrow between each of their brows.

I stare, enthralled.

Starlight weaves over her knuckles and up her wrists, twinkling among the rain. Her hair and coat whip around her, blood dripping from her nose and washing away across her smile.

Gods, she’s beautiful.

Her eyes find mine, her pretty green dimmed. Vibrant, pulsing orange rings fill her gaze, the Brass dropping in consistent booms throughout the city fuel for her power.

This may as well be her playground.

She blows me a quick kiss and sprints away, weaving between Chrome Guards, Rigged, citizens, and pirates, her focus set on Saltmaw.

I know what she’s after, and I’ve no intention on missing the show.

Her father’s ship remains anchored to the top of The Dredge. Even with the middle floors collapsed, the coils atop the city’s epicenter produce the most power. Lights flicker out through the streets, The Kraken sucking the power grid dry.

But the sliver of power resting in my gut only brightens further in the dark. It stretches and folds with each inhale and exhale of Brass, anchoring me.

No, it’s more than that. It’s—I choke.

My head aches deeply. I’m remembering . More and more. Healing, maybe. Sane? Fuck no. Then again, I’ve never been, and I’ve got a title to live up to.

My woman doesn’t need a man.

She needs her weapon.

I swivel my blade and roll back my shoulders, the Threads of Fate sliding into focus. I sprint after her, every step lighter, faster, the crowd speeding by.

Everything blurs. There is only her. My devil. My angel.

Her taunting smile when she looks over her shoulder ahead.

Her bright laughter as she adjusts those adorable goggles.

My awe as she runs up the side of The Dredge.

Rayze

Arms spread, I anchor my body weight to the side of The Dredge, speeding toward the crumpled middle levels. Blood wicks from my nose and across my cheeks, my hair batting around my face and tapping angrily against my goggles. Rain drives into me, my coat dragging in the wind.

But I have something very few in the realm do.

I have Fate on my side.

I kick off splintered glass and tuck in my legs and arms, thrusting my shoulders forward and ducking my head.

I flip over the debris of the middle levels—“Hold!” I yell, starlight bleeding from my palms—then I stretch out my legs and brace for impact.

My forward momentum jerks to a stop, the strings around me close to snapping in half as my weight slams into an invisible wall of restraint.

I hiss between my teeth, but I don’t stop my race to the end.

The roof of The Dredge and its upper balconies are close.

I crane my neck and smirk.

Warrick bypasses scaling The Dredge and fights his way up one of the ropes attached to a nearby warship.

Smart, maybe.

But not fast enough.

This kill is mine .

I yank a shell of Brass from my pocket.

Then I slam it into the brick right beneath me. Orange explodes. My magic keens in pleasure. I soar into my final ascent.

Then—

Warrick

The city goes dark. Every bit of neon leeched. Wind and rain beat into me as I climb up a rope toward the hull of a warship.

My palms bleed, the rope slick from the rain and forcing me to slip every few inches I gain, but I don’t stop climbing.

Dark and rain. Blood and screams.

The hilt of my blade clenched between my teeth.

Heave —up, up. Don’t look down. Don’t stop.

Then a pirate drops in above me.

I lurch on my rope, his blade cutting against my ribs as he swings by with a snarl. I bite down against my hilt with a groan of pain, my stomach bubbling with red between flashes of lightning. My grip on the rope weakens, and I slip several feet down.

Panic and adrenaline collide, breaking like waves through my chest.

His legs reach to wrap around my waist. He cocks his blade back, one hand on his rope, inches from a kill shot.

Rain in my Godsdamn eyes, my hair plastered to my forehead, I jerk back from his grip, my rope wobbling. Then I wrench my hilt from my teeth and swing inward.

I jam serrated steel between his ribs, and he shouts, his grip releasing on his rope.

I kick him away, and he falls, his scream vanishing between rolls of thunder. I place my hilt back between my teeth and haul up my rope, the pain from my wound across my torso dulling as I lug myself into a thick fog of Brass seeping over the warships railing.

The hull glows above, coils humming. Brass saturates the air. I breathe it in and magic flickers beneath my skin. A dull glow seeps from my knuckles, draining color from the rain around them.

Fumbling for my chains, I unhook them at my waist, gaze locked on the cable wires strung between ships, a pulley system in place for communications and for easily navigating between decks without leaving their airspace.

I swing my chains from my belt and whip them around the top cable of the ship, but momentum yanks me sideways. I crash into the hull, cursing as my blade knocks out of my mouth and tumbles down. I tug on my chains, checking they’re secure, then I let go of the rope and hitch upward, swinging.

Two ships over—Saltmaw.

The Dredge.

Rayze .

I glide between decks, biting my tongue as I zip across the wire toward the next ship.

Its crew draws their weapons.