Page 87 of Thorns of Deceit: The Beast Within

Nothing mattered but that damn bird fighting to emerge.

Hurry. Save him.

Skylar felt her back split open. Wings erupted from her flesh in a spray of blood and dark mist. The Gryphon pressed out, steam rising from its feathers as it materialized. Reality warped around the massive creature now standing beside her, its presence distorting the very air.

She slumped forward. Gasping. Lungs burning. Bloody strands of hair tangled between her fingers. Vision swimming. Her clothes unmarred, as if nothing had happened. But pain still echoed through every fiber of her being.

Her awareness expanded. The Gryphon’s sensations bled into her own. Human and beast blurred. Through their shared consciousness, she felt its gaze sweep over the crowd. Ancient. Terrifyingly aware.

Its thoughts flooded her. Protect. Kill. Destroy.

Yes.

The Gryphon moved, faster than thought. Its massive form shielded Arye, golden wings dipped in silver unfurling with asound like thunder. A living shield. Arrows clattered against impenetrable feathers, falling uselessly to the marble floor.

Behind her, Arye’s sharp intake of breath. The rustle of fabric as he moved. Her name on his lips, a whisper. She forced herself not to turn. Not to meet his gaze. Fear of what she might see there kept her eyes fixed ahead.

Through the Gryphon’s eyes, Skylar saw the room with terrifying clarity. Every detail etched in sharp relief.

For a heartbeat, silence reigned.

Then, chaos erupted anew.

Thorncrest soldiers faltered. Disbelief. Terror. Some dropped their weapons. Others stumbled back, tripping over corpses in their haste to flee.

But it was the Regalclaw nobility’s reaction that truly damned her.

Gasps rippled through the crowd. Shock. Confusion. Then, horrified realization.

Where Duke Anathemark should have stood, only a woman in an ice-blue gown remained. Long silver-white hair tumbling free.

“Impossible,” someone whispered.

“The Duke? But that’s?—”

“Fraud!”

“Burn the witch!”

“No, let her save us first!”

Each word a dagger to Skylar’s heart. Her carefully constructed life crumbling like sand.

Shame burned hot in her chest. Regret, bitter on her tongue. But there was no time for either.

The arrows had stopped. The battle hadn’t.

A laugh cut through the din. Cold. Mirthless. King Lyinell’s voice dripped with cruel amusement.

“So, the Anathemarks have been deceiving us all. You lie as well as you fight, ‘Duke.’”

Rage boiled in Skylar’s veins, hot and vicious. The Gryphon’s bloodlust merged with her own, a primal urge to rend and tear.

She wanted to rip out King Lyinell’s throat. To feel his blood on her claws. To watch the life drain from his eyes.

The intensity of her own thoughts should have frightened her. It didn’t.

Skylar’s hands clenched. Nails bit into palms. She couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t face Arye or her mother. Their gazes burned into her, but she kept her gaze forward, focused on the Thorncrest soldiers regrouping. Their shock fading. Grim determination taking its place.

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