Page 54 of Claws of Death

“Myron,” I huff his name when all I want is to scream at the top of my lungs. But there’s no air left.

I can feel the tattoo melt under the weight of the smoldering torch, can feel it dissolve into tears of black ink until they’re spilling from my eyes.

Until I’m crying the sorrow of the world.

“No—”

No one hears my protest. No one feels me burning.

I’m alone.

And where a bright, glowing connection once represented my bond with my mate, absolute, solid darkness falls.

Myron

Five tired Flamesare no match for me on a good day, but five times that many?

I’m panting, my magic sluggish as I send one silver whip after the other to lash the Flames’ fire out. At least, Ayna is out of the building, safe with Herinor—or as safe as she’ll ever be with him. He might not lend her a hand to protect his own life, but he’s doing about anything he can to make sure he aids me in my attempts at protecting her.

How I wish I could trust him to do whatever is necessary to keep her alive. He won’t lay down his life without a second thought the way I’d do for my queen because, deep down, his heart is nolonger his own.

I shove all thoughts aside, focusing on the reassuring sensation of Ayna’s presence through our bond while I slice into one godsdamned Fire Fairy after the other. They are surprisingly fast and agile for how clumsily they’re setting their feet. A few months ago I would have been terrified of even one Flame, but my full Crow strength and power has its advantages—and I don’t only mean those in the bedroom. I’m faster than the Flames, more accurate with my aim. Also, I’m flammable, which makes me an excellent target for the Flames’ magic.

Fireball after fireball rushes at me. The moment I bat one away with my sword or my magic, the next one is coming at me. It was way too easy to coordinate my efforts with only five Flames to fight—four after the initial minute when I ripped one Flame’s throat out with a well-placed strike of my sword—but with the reinforcements joining them, I’m at my limit. One by one, they draw nearer, the entrance hall shrinking with dizzying speed. Not long and they’ll have cornered me.

At least I was able to buy Ayna some time. Shaelak knows I owe her my life, my sanity, and then some. Perhaps this is my way of paying her back.

Wherever those reinforcements came from, they wouldn’t have simply come for me had they spotted Ayna and Herinor outside. They did come in through the main door after all.

If I only knew where the others are. They should long have found us and backed us up.

The male closest to me sneers at me before sending a fireball at my chest. I duck, letting the heat bounce off as tiny ashield as I can master to save my strength. It won’t matter how many Flames I’ve fought if some escape to go after my mate.

Hurling a stream of silver light at him, I sever the male’s neck, watching his grin slip as his head slides off his shoulders.

“Not so funny now,” I murmur, attention already on the next one.

They are shooting at me, drawing their circle ever tighter, but they aren’t going for the kill the way I am. Something feels very off about that.

I can’t detonate the entire building without burying myself alive, so I refrain from extreme measures—for now. If I manage to get to the door, I can lead the Flames into the forest where I can seek cover behind tree trunks. Even if they’ll burn, I’d rather have a place to shelter me from their fire when they decide to hit full force. Herinor and the others can also join the fight more easily if they can sneak up on the enemy rather than having to step into a room devoid of hideouts.

I remember playing hide and seek with Royad at the palace in the Seeing Forest. My father never liked the game, said it was for cowards and Crows never hid from anything. Not even in a game.

My opinion differs from his, though. Battles are all about tactics, and places to hide mean time to think, to take a breath, and quickly heal a wound. It means the difference between life and death in a fight twenty-three against one.

That thought in mind, I lash out to the side with my power, leaving my back unprotected while I let my magic escape my shield. It’s a necessary move to bring down the numbersstacked against me, and I pay for it with a hit in the spine. Pain explodes in my back, taking my breath for a heartbeat, making it difficult to lift my arm to block the next blow. That one is aimed at my neck, and if I fail to greet it with my blade, it will end with me headless and bleeding all over the pretty floor.

Shield up and sword moving, I twist out of reach, slicing into the Flame’s arm, severing it, if I’m precise, but I don’t have the time to notice in detail how the lower half of her sword arm plops to the floor. I’m already on the next opponent. This one seems to be dead set on striking me on my cheek like he is challenging me to a duel.

Honestly, I want to laugh in his face, want to flash my teeth the way I used to when stabbing my way through a battle, but something feels off in my shoulder.

It starts with an intense tingle, the sort I’m used to when Ayna experiences heightened emotions. That’s not where it ends, though. My vision blurs as a trail of fire runs through the outline of the bird tattoo on my skin, searing pain stealing my breath, my thoughts, the last of the strength that I thought I had.

Knees buckling, I collapse to the blood-smeared floor right next to the stump of one of the Flames’ necks I’ve severed.

“Myron!”Her scream is a song on the storms that have always tried to force us apart. It’s a melody of anguish, gut-wrenching onslaught of terror. My entire world goes dark as my skin bursts into figurative flames. Not one hint of orange glow fills the entrance hall. Not one single fireball. The Flames have vanished from view in the starless cocoon wrapping around me. Yet, the excruciating pain won’t yield.

“AYNA!”

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