Page 81 of Revenge of the Forgotten

Bridger’s powers concealed the echoes of their footsteps, giving them a muted entry into the main room, where voices traveled through the open door at the back of the cottage.

“We have to leave right now,” Khort bellowed.

Bridger held up his hand, his soldiers slowing to a stop behind him. He pointed to his left and right, sending them to the shadows of the room where he would let them hide until it was time to pounce.

“If Marlena knows we’re here, it’s already too late, Khort.” Arlet was calm, talking the hot-headed shifter down. “If we run, we won’t see them coming. If we stay, we can hold our ground. It’ll give me time to get Vega out of here.”

Bridger made his entrance, lowering his shields as he cleared his throat and leaned into the doorframe.

But Vega’s eyes were on him long before that, glued to his presence.

“I agree with Arlet. I think you’re already too late.” Bridger looked around, watching Khort jump in front of Vega. Smoke came out of his nose, making Bridger chuckle as he pushed himself upright. “It’s a bit small in here for your wings, buddy.” He motioned to the low ceilings. “Chill.”

Bridger’s air of cool, calm, and collected rattled everyone around him. His eyes landed on Vega as he circled the room. She moved from being slumped on the floor, her eyes puffy from crying, to standing tall when he’d come into the room.

Khort huffed. “Get your eyes off her or?—”

Bridger didn’t let him finish, the blade of his dagger sliding through his fingers with a smile. “Or what, Khort? You’ll soar off into the night sky and roar because I took the girl? Again.” Bridger’s laugh was dark.

Vega stepped out from behind Khort, her fingers dancing with her captivating electricity. “Are you always such a dick?” Her voice floated through the room, always so easy to listen to, even when she was being snarky.

“Oh, hello, Kitten.” His gaze darkened as he looked her up and down. Bridger licked his lips for effect. And to get under Khort’s skin.

“Don’t fucking call her that.” Hook, line, sinker. Bridger’s distraction was working, allowing his soldiers to get into their places behind them in the corners of the room.

“But why not? She used to love it when I called her that. I have a few more nicknames I can try out. Should I use a different one?” Bridger provoked Khort, hoping for a fight before he snuck out of here with the one thing that he couldn’t stand to lose.

Vega.

A bolt of lightning struck where Bridger had been standing seconds earlier. He moved too quickly for her. Without the memories of her power control, she was predictable. “You’re going to have to be quicker than that, baby,” he purred at her, his dagger whipping out of his hand, soaring over his shoulder, and slicing through the air towards the guard who thought he was sneaking up behind him. It struck home between his eyes without Bridger having to turn around. “And so will your guards.”

Arlet and Khort jumped into action. Arlet grabbed Vega and disappeared right in front of Bridger’s eyes. The shock of their disappearance lasted only long enough to allow Khort a blow—the punch landed right between Bridger’s eyes, cracking his nose.

A quick and easy break that would heal itself in no time. Bridger was getting really sick of broken noses from these two.

The blood dripped down his sharp features, mixing with the wry smile on his lips. Bridger’s hand shot up to wipe the blood dripping down his chin with the back of his hand. His laugh was feral as he reached behind his back and unsheathed his sword. “Think you can hold up in a fight with me as an actual man, Fera? Or should we take this outside so I can let you hide behind your overgrown lizard body?”

Khort lunged for him again as Bridger struck out with his sword. Khort swung and dove, maneuvering to the corner of the room to grab his own weapon. His move was swift, but when Khort made his move, Bridger forced his shield up. Khort’s blade struck air as thick as a brick wall, breaking the tip clean off.

Khort laughed, shaking his head. “I thought you wanted to fight me like a real man. If I don’t get to use my powers to outdo you, then neither do you.”

Bridger allowed his wall down, beckoning Khort with two fingers. “If you insist.”

Khort threw his useless sword to the ground with a clank. The twitch of Bridger’s lips welcomed the chaos of a brawl. He sheathed his sword between his shoulder blades and brought his fists up in front of his face. Khort watched his every move but took his eyes off Bridger’s legs as they settled on his hands.

It was exactly what Bridger hoped he’d do. Bridger knocked Khort off of his feet with a swift kick, but he landed smoother than expected, crouching as Bridger attempted a blow to his face with his knee. Khort used the momentum to push himself up and landed beside a wooden chair he picked up to wield against Bridger’s next blow. The chair splintered, pieces soaring through the small room.

Bridger caught a piece mid-air and spun it in his hand like he would a dagger. He threw it in a straight line, and it nicked Khort’s arm. He hissed in pain, a hand hurtling to cup the wound. He pulled his hand back, blood covering his palm. Khort let anger get to him—he’d always been quick to throw off, forgetting he needed to focus on the moves he made physically and not mentally.

Bridger grabbed him by the arm as he charged in his direction and flipped Khort to the ground, vibrating the floorboards with the force of his fall. He put his boot on his neck, pressing down hard enough to block his airway but not to kill.

Bridger smiled down at him, triumphant. “Checkmate.” He was about to crush Khort’s windpipe, adding more force, when a scream erupted through the house.

Bridger didn’t give Khort the option to move, turning his head to find Vega in Junie’s grip, writhing in pain. “Enough,” Bridger snarled. Junie complied, keeping her grip on Vega to remind her what she could do if she decided to fight back.

“Get your hands off of her!” Khort gargled underneath Bridger, his hands fighting against Bridger’s boot to free himself. Bridger pressed down harder.

“The more you fight, the harder I push,” Bridger purred, the pain he caused to Khort working like a calming drink. “Come on out, Arlet. Or I kill them both.”

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