Page 8 of Daghel

My ears are ringing and throb with my pulse as my heart leaps to a gallop within my chest. I shove at the male still sprawled over me, and he blunders awkwardly in his attempt to rise as he mumbles a hasty apology. He jumps, his hand gripping my arm as the wail of an alarm sounds through the car moments before the metal door slides open and a conductor hurries through, a look of alarm stamped on his face. The other occupants pause in their attempts to right themselves as we all stare at him and meet his frantic, sweeping gaze.

“R-raid!” he shouts. “Orcs have descended from the Cold Mountains!”

The words have barely left his mouth when the metal door squeals violently and splits from what appears to be a giant blade piercing it. The conductor whirls toward, his eyes so wide that the whites show starkly around his irises. The color drains from his face and stumbles back from the door, his entire body shaking like a leaf. His head snaps around and for a moment, he meets my eyes. I pray that he has some sort of plan to get us out of there or that he would at least remove the elf pinning me down so I have a chance at getting to safety, but he makes no move to help any of us.

With a terrified shake of his head, he spins back around and runs down the narrow aisle toward the other end of the car, abandoning us all to our fate. I watch in disbelief as the door slides open and he hurries out without a backward glance. Those already on their feet attempt to follow him, only to have the door slam shut before they can reach it and the emergency locks snap into place.

The sound is deafening, and the silence that descends is so thick that one could hear a pin drop. The wail of the alarm hasceased, presumably because the orcs have made it to the control panel at the engine. The silence is terrible for that reason alone, loudly proclaiming our doom, which is only punctuated by the squeal of metal upon metal when the blade begins to move, cutting through the steel like a blade through a block of cheddar. The door shrieks in protest but it is drowned out by the screams that fill the car, and I push frantically at the elf, who seems to be clinging to me like a cephalopod. Cursing, I jab him hard in the ribs, but the swing lacks momentum with the angle that my arm is pinned against the side of the car. He merely grunts and latches on even harder.

“Get the fuck off,” I growl and attempt to pry his fingers from my arm.

“Please do not let them have me,” he blubbers frantically. “They do depraved things to their captives… but to an elf from among the noble houses…” He swallows with a nauseated grimace and tucks his head against my shoulder. “I cannot go with them! You must save me!”

Metal continues to screech, the sound droning on and getting louder as the blade cuts a path through the door, and I struggle harder, clawing at him ineffectually. Damned elves and their high pain thresholds. What was amusing when they came to me as clients is not so amusing now when I’m trying to get away from one.

“The only thing I must do is try to make it out of here alive,” I hiss in reply. “Do you think I wish to be captured by orcs?”

I swallow back my nausea. As much as I enjoy flirting with the unknown, orcs are violent and brutal. They have often made headlines in the papers over the years. The information comes filtered through various channels to the citizens of Zyerk. But those stories always felt far removed from reality as we safely consumed the news of raids and attacks throughoutthe kingdom and well beyond our borders with our morning breakfast.

“This doesn’t make sense,” I mutter to myself beneath the din of panic. “Orcs rarely attack trains. Trains are heavily fortified and well armed. It is practically unheard of.”

“Tell that to the male carving out a new door,” the elf lifts his head to hiss at me. “Clearly he did not get the memo.”

I shoot him an annoyed look and resume my attempts to dislodge him. I freeze, however, when the cutting sound stops, and the car grows quiet as everyone turns toward the door with frightened expressions. There is no sign of movement from the other side, and I can practically hear the heartbeat of every person in the car beneath their heavy, panicked breathing. A scream suddenly rises and is taken up by the rest of the crowd surging further away from the door to bang and claw at the rear doorway as gloved fingers with hemmed slits for the lethal claws slowly slide through the gap into the metal. They curl and wrench, peeling the metal back like a lid from a tin can. The male who emerges is a dark gray color that makes his yellow eyes appear unnervingly bright. His bare chest is covered with scars and several new wounds bleed freely, giving him a horrific appearance as he steps into the car.

The entire car seems to shift with his weight, but that is hardly surprising considering that his head skims the ceiling. His appearance is fierce enough with his large tusks and the numerous weapons strapped to him, but what is truly terrifying is the smile that lights his face when his gaze falls upon the women clustered together at the rear of the car. Chelsea stands among them as she clings to her beau, clearly hoping that her safety will be secured by him, but the man is making no effort to shield her from the orc’s perusal.

The male doesn’t take more than a handful of steps, however, before he stops and his tips up his head. A heavy scrapeechoes from above and every eye turns toward the ceiling with trepidation as the orc smirks knowingly at them. Another louder scrape and then the entire car begins to vibrate as if caught in the jaws of monsters. Bolts pop and drop to the floor as the top of the car is pulled back as the blue face of a wyvern peers down at us from above. My heart nearly stops in my chest as the creature wrenches the metal away with a twist of its powerful neck. Flinging it away, the wyvern’s head descends through the hole, its long dark tongue snaking as it brushes along the chairs, drawing more cries from my fellow passengers.

Despite my heart making a valiant attempt to escape the confines of my chest, I can’t seem to scream even if I wanted to. My throat has closed up with horror ever since the orc entered. Now with the wyvern also investigating the contents of the car, I can’t imagine how it can possibly get worse. And yet somehow it does because the wyvern’s neck flexes and another orc swings down from it, dropping into the car with a heavy thump. His white hair obscures most of his features, but he is such a pale shade of gray that he almost looks like a wraith as he straightens… and straightens. He is larger than the other orc, to where he has to keep his head bent as his eyes rake over the cart, and his eyes are black as night, but any other differences are hard to tell—much of his face is obscured by a flight mask fastened over his lower face and the fur cloak hanging heavily over his shoulders. He looks to the other orc and nods, bringing a feral smile to the male’s face as he charges toward the humans clustered at the other end of the car.

Screams grow louder amid the squelching of spilled blood and the gasps of life bleeding out of those who are stupid enough to resist. The dull sound of bodies hitting the floor fills the cabin, but it is all a background din as my world shifts and focuses on the approaching sound of the pale orc’s footsteps. The steps grow slower as he comes near my seat, and the elf tremblesbut surprises me by jumping to his feet. For a moment, I can breathe freely and feel the briefest hope of being able to survive this when I’m yanked to my feet by that pitiful male and thrust between him and the orc with enough force that I’m practically thrown into the enormous beast of a male.

His arms come up around me in an almost instinctive reaction, his large, gloved hands clasping me firmly enough that I feel the faint prick of his claws through the layers of clothing separating us. I don’t dare look up at him. I stare at the wall of muscle in front of my eyes apprehensively as the elf begs for his miserable existence behind me.

“Take my female!” the elf wails. “Having a breeding female of the house is worth more than my miserable life. Spare me and be assured that this blow will be felt and recognized.”

A breeding what? My head turns incredulously toward him so fast that I’m certain I will suffer the effects of whiplash for a few days, but I cannot help it. The male gives me a tiny smile, but his eyes go wide, his mouth gaping open in horror as his body snaps toward me in a singular, violent motion. He makes a choking sound, and my eyes drop to the large blade plunged through his torso. He gurgles on the foaming blood rising to his lips as it mixes with his spittle and then immediately drops when the sword is yanked free with a squelching sound.

The orc doesn’t make a sound. I would think him cold and unaffected entirely. I expect him to release me so that he can follow after the other male, but that glimmer of hope dies when he gathers me up into his arms, securing me tightly against his chest, and turns toward his wyvern without hesitation. His long stride eats up the distance quickly, but not quick enough to spare me the anxiety of watching the beast’s large eye grow closer and closer. I stare at it in horror, wondering if he’s going to feed me to the creature. Its head drops lower into the hole, revealing more of its heavily scaled neck and the long spines jutting fromits horned crown down what’s visible of the length. It croons at our approach, its eye fastened on me. But it doesn’t open its mouth as if expecting to be fed. Instead, it holds perfectly still as the orc steps around its head to place a booted foot on the back of its jaw, his free hand going to one of the spines to hold tight as the wyvern lifts its head and gives him a boost, drawing up through the roof.

The wyvern’s neck is not as long as it looks because the orc immediately swings up onto the shoulders that must have previously been pressed close to the hole in the train. I cling to the orc, suddenly afraid of being dropped to my death, but his arms enclose around me tightly the moment he finds his seat, pinning me to his chest as the wyvern drops from the train with another warbling croon. The wings on its forearms snap a few times to clear the snow from them as it turns away from the wreckage. We tip sharply as the wyvern lifts its upper body toward the heavens, but with a powerful thrust of its legs and the beat of its wings, we are airborne, leaving the train and everything familiar far behind.

Chapter

Five

DAGHEL

The female’s scent invades me. I understand now what drew Drisk so strongly to the point of ignoring all previous plans and orders once we came within attacking distance. Now that I have her in my arms, I not only understand, but am willing to face the consequences for our actions. Going against orders has a harsh penalty, but it’s one that is quickly forgiven when it comes to a mate. Even the way she clings to me makes my instincts go wild with a need to claim and possess that I have never felt before.

And she is a fighter. Although she remains still within my arms, her face hidden against the fur of my cloak, I saw it burn within her eyes when the elf thrust her toward me.

Elves. I fight back a sneer as my mind recaptures that moment. The male had thought to deceive me by claiming she was his own breeder and thus secure further glory to a male who captured her. Little did he know that I care nothing for such things, and his deception and willingness to ignobly sacrifice her did nothing but stir the monster within me. I felt the darkness rise within me, thirsting for his death as it drove a piercing coldstraight through me. It was only the warmth of her small body pressed against mine that kept me from doing far worse than merely plunging my blade through his gullet.

And she is mine now.

That knowledge sweeps through me with a heavy sense of contentment, followed by a focused, instinctive protectiveness. The realization hits me hard, and I hold her to me, knowing that a whole future I never dared to imagine is resting within the safety of my arms. A content growl rumbles in my chest, and I feel her hand flatten across the muscle in response as she lifts her head to nervously glance up at me. The corner of my mouth twitches up in reassurance, and I watch in amusement as her slender brows draw together in confusion. It is no wonder she is confused. The smile feels foreign on my lips—I seldom had much to smile about. Grief and pain made endurable by a few meager pleasures that mostly have been the result of Drisk claiming me have marked too much of my life.

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