Page 88 of Don't Fae With Dragons

“Impossible,” Cory roars.

The White Warlock grins coldly and replies, “Oh, but it’s true! You didn’t know? Your preciousfaerybared her soul to me in a moment of ecstasy.”

I pant and force myself to keep my eyes on Kar. A flash of movement passes in the trees directly behind him, and I barely make out Max’s shape as he prepares to attack.

Cory must see Port behind me, too, because when I nod imperceptibly at him, he returns the gesture. His rage is all-consuming, though, and I’m not sure he’ll be able to wait to attack Kar at the right moment.

I pant out, “You were a mistake, Kar.” He scoffs, but I feel his resolve cracking, so I continue. “Your touch was distasteful. You were commanding but selfish, confident but ignorant. Aurora did all the work anyways, didn’t she? You just ... sat there. That’s not the mark of a man, is it?”

Kar shrieks and lunges for me, and I leap backwards as Max, Port, and Cory pounce at once. The three of them have shifted halfway into their dragon forms, their teeth and hands shaped into fangs and claws. The four men tumble to the ground, Kar screaming in panic as they do.

Then I watch Cory lift a sharp-clawed hand to the sky, prepared to plunge it into Kar’s heart, and I scream, “Stop!”

Cory falters, just enough, and the White Warlock tries with all his might to escape their grasp. Max and Port pin his arms and wrench him into a standing position. A bead of sweat falls down Cory’s temple, and I see his left hand clenched, twisting viciously. As his hand jerks in a small circle, Kar cries out shrilly and twists in pain.

“What are you doing to him?” I exclaim.

Cory snarls, “He’s trying to psychically transport himself. I’m forcing the matter of the Realm to hold him here.”

I feel my eyes widen as I realize how painful that must be for both of them. I have no attachment to Kar, but I can’t stand the thought of someone dying for my sake.

I’m desperate to run to Cory’s side and beg for Kar’s life, plead for him to be exiled rather than killed, but terror at the sight of my lover’s fury keeps me rooted to the spot. I gasp out, “You can’t kill him.”

“He would have killed you!” Cory roars.

“I will not let Ethelinda be ruled by violence!” I bark back. Cory wavers at that, and Kar takes in a desperate gulp of air for the first time since Cory trapped him.

“Please,” Kar gasps. “Please.”

As much as I hate him, his words twist at my heart. I beg Cory, “We’ll banish him, forever. If he returns you can –you can do what you must. Now is not the time for such bloodshed. Cory,please.”

Everything goes quiet. Even the forest stills as Cory’s fiery rage condenses itself into nothing more than a smoldering ember. I watch Cory in a panic, afraid he’s chosen to kill Kar.

Then he whispers to the White Warlock, “Go.”

CHAPTER 52: CORY

Max and Port have forced me to train with them, a pathetic attempt at salvaging my sanity. I’ve been wracked with jealousy, as humiliating as that is to admit, after exiling the White Warlock, Kar.

Though I loathe myself for it, I’ve also been furious with Milica. It’s a burden I know my packmates can sense –they glance at me with worried eyes, pat my shoulder as they pass by, and speak in whispered tones to each other in the night. Mili, for her part, has tried to speak to me. I haven’t been able to bear it.

As such, I find myself here again: fighting to numb my firestorm of emotions. I’ve been a fair opponent insofar as I can control my furious energy, but I know Port and Max are already a bit overwhelmed by myparticularlyhigh levels of spite in our current spar.

I’m working with my favorite weapon, my prized bludgeon. It’s a bit of an eyesore to most, as it’s a particularly violent weapon. Most of these sorts of clubs are for use with one hand, but mine I wield with two.

The wood is heavy and solid, and an arc of metal curves around the tool’s body. The head is covered in spikes, great for intimidation and damage, both. It’s a fearsome beast, and Maxand Port prefer to battle mewithoutit. It’s not the most graceful of weapons, nor the most noble.

Still, it’s mine.

I can’t spar with it alongside the shifters, since I don’t want to murder them at this time, but I have been running drills with their help. A few patches of ground have been beat to sorrowful, muddy patches as a result of my swings.

I realize I’m panting, eyes wild with open frustration as I sling the bludgeon straight into a tree. That, of course, was not supposed to happen.

“Oh, that’s a fix!” Max cries out.

Port walks over to me, wincing, and gently nudges my shoulder. “Perhaps a break?” he suggests.

I scoff, but stash my bludgeon back in my satchel and stomp off. Where I’m going, I’m not exactly sure. I just need to walk.

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