Page 57 of Traitor Witch

The desperate are more deadly than the villainous when they see an opportunity. Nilsa is a walking target to everyone, despite her plain clothes. She doesn’t even seem to notice how much danger she’s in.

When one has the audacity to step in front of her, knife drawn, she just laughs.

I go to intervene, but a flick of her wrist has alreadydisarmed him. In seconds, he’s pinned to the wall with his own weapon.

What. The. Fuck.

“That wasn’t nice,” she whispers. “Now piss off.”

Even injured as she is, she hasn’t broken a sweat. I’d expected a Solar to scream, run… do anything except… that.

She just shrugs the whole incident off and heads further into the slums.

Only to stop as three more block her path.

But these aren’t humans or slum dwellers. They stand in a line, loaded with weapons. All three of them are shifters—if I had to guess from the smell, I would say some kind of small predator—foxes, maybe? They wear a matching mercenary insignia on their cloaks, and their expressions are carefully neutral.

“Nilsa of Coveton?”

My mate nods once.

“Surrender and face judgement or fight and die. The reward doesn’t change.”

Nilsa draws her own blade this time.

Why hasn’t she used her magic? She must have some basic defensive spells if she can disarm a man so easily, yet she doesn’t draw from the rising sun.

Is she too weak?

She’s still swaying slightly, exhaustion evident in the line of her spine.

The mercenaries see it too. They smirk, anticipating an easy kill.

This time, there’s no holding me back.

My growl shakes the street.

With one arm, I scoop the drained witch off her feet. With the other, I rip out the throat of the shifter who dared to threaten her. My claws drip with blood, and I hesitate, waiting for the inevitable urge to lick it up. Shifter blood isn’tanywhere near as compelling as human, but when my emotions are riding me, the bloodlust normally doesn't care.

But it holds almost no appeal now. Not compared to Nilsa’s blood.

My witch lets out a tiny pained gasp. The sound tells me—too late—that my actions have pressed her new tattoos against my body. When her head falls back her eyes are closed, her breathing even.

She’s passed out.

Beside me, Kier draws his sword and turns his focus on the others who decided to approach. There are more than the original three, and the fae becomes a blur as he shifts between them, his blows flashing. He doesn’t use his frost magic, and I wonder if that’s him making a point or if his mate bond with Nilsa is messing with his power.

I keep hold of Nilsa as I take on the next attacker, cradling her even as my fangs rip into the neck of another. The blood drips from me, but I don’t let any get on her, using my speed to dodge the spurt of red liquid.

The next few have shifted, proving me right as I’m pounced on by three foxes.

I grab one before it can reach us, tossing it into a wall so hard that it doesn’t get up again. The second sinks its teeth into my arm and scrabbles, trying to get its claws in so it can reach my mate. I rip it away, uncaring of the way its teeth shred my flesh. I’ve had worse from better. It joins its buddy, slamming into the wall and forming a heap.

The third is clawing its way up my leg, snapping at Nilsa’s exposed back. I grab it by the throat and roar straight into its tiny, vulpine face before sinking my fangs into its neck.

Ugh. Fur in my teeth.

I grimace and throw the shifter away, only to tense when the cat hisses and leaps at me.