Page 8 of Twisted Fangs

I collapse again, this time against a fallen log. My breath comes in shallow gasps, and my heart feels like it's trying to beat its way out of my chest. I'm so tired. The darkness at the edge of my vision creeps closer, threatening to pull me under.

"No," I murmur, shaking my head in a feeble attempt to clear it. "Not yet."

I press my hand against my wound, the cloth now soaked through with my blood. I need to keep moving. I need to find help. But my body betrays me, refusing to cooperate, the pain too much to overcome.

The ground seems to shift beneath me, and I realize with a jolt of fear that I'm no longer in control. My eyelids flutter closed, and despite my best efforts, I can't open them. The sounds of the celebration are a distant roar now, like the pounding of the surf against a shore I'll never reach.

"Please," I whisper, though I know not to whom I'm speaking. "Someone... help me."

And then, silence. My last thought is a vague hope that whoever—or whatever—is causing the uneasiness at the celebration might also be my salvation.

6

VALEN

The shadows embrace me as I move through the chaos of the dark elf celebration. My footsteps are silent against the damp forest floor. Screams pierce the night – both of revelry and terror. The dark elves' laughter mingles with the desperate cries of their prey a short distance away. It's a reminder of the night my world turned to ash and blood, the night the dark elves took everything from me. My hand tightens around the hilt of my sword, the blade thirsting for vengeance.

"Please, we have a child!" A man's voice breaks through the darkness, followed by the wet sound of steel meeting flesh. My keen eyes observe the man and woman’s heads tumbling to the ground several yards ahead of me.

My fingers flex against the hilt of my sword once more. Not yet. The timing must be perfect.

Suddenly, a woman sprints past me, her eyes wide with desperation. "Rhea, I'm c—" Mari's voice is cut short, replaced by a gurgled scream. I turn just in time to see a dark elf guard plunge his sword through her chest. Her body crumples to the ground, her eyes frozen in shock.

I follow the trajectory of Mari's last gaze and spot the cause of her desperate run. Just beyond the treeline, a young woman lies wounded, her hazel and gold eyes reflecting the stark terror of the hunted. Her breaths come in shallow, ragged gasps, and a makeshift bandage on her leg is soaked through with blood.

My heart, long since stilled by centuries of solitude, beats once more—a war drum echoing the rhythm of her struggle. I see more than just a marked tribute. I see the echoes of my past, the shadows of my sisters' pain etched into her every labored breath.

The dark elf guard who dispatched Mari with such cruel indifference now saunters toward Rhea, a sickening grin spread across his face. "A fighter, are we?" he taunts, nudging her with his boot. "This will be entertaining."

Every instinct within me screams for retribution. I've honed my skills in the arts of death and shadows for centuries, waiting for moments like this—moments when I can strike a blow against the dark elves' tyranny. But this is different. This is personal.

As the guard raises his sword, ready to deliver the killing blow, I step from the shadows, my every movement a silent promise of death. "Leave her," I command, my voice a low growl that carries the weight of my centuries-long vendetta.

The dark elf turns, surprise registering on his face as he takes in my imposing form. "And who might you be?" he asks, trying to mask his fear with bravado.

I don't bother with an introduction. Instead, I advance toward him, my every step radiating the promise of violence. "Your death," I reply, drawing my sword with a sound that makes his eyes widen.

He lunges at me, his sword swinging in a wide arc. I sidestep his attack easily, my own blade finding its mark.

The dark elf's scream is a symphony to my ears, a testament to my deadly precision. His severed hand hits the ground witha sickening thud, and I revel in the moment of his realization—the knowledge that his life is forfeit. My sword sings through the air, and with one swift stroke, I separate his head from his shoulders. His body crumples, and I step over it without a second glance.

My focus narrows once more to the woman lying there wounded. Rhea, they call her. Her scent—a mix of fear, resolve, and something uniquely her—cuts through the metallic tang of blood in the air. I scoop her into my arms, her body now limp and compliant. Her head lolls against my chest, and I can feel the shallow rise and fall of her breathing.

"Hold on," I whisper, the command more of a growl. Her hazel eyes flutter open for a brief moment, and I see recognition there, a flicker of trust that ignites something long dormant within me.

I plunge into the shadows, my speed and strength a product of my Vrakken heritage. The darkness cloaks us, a familiar mantle that shields me from prying eyes. Behind us, the forest erupts in chaos as the dark elves discover their fallen comrade. Their shouts are a distant echo, irrelevant to the singular task at hand.

Rhea's breath hitches in her throat, a soft, pained sound that would be inaudible to human ears. I pull her closer, my arms a protective barrier against the world that has shown her nothing but cruelty. Her head falls back, and her body goes slack as unconsciousness claims her.

The woods are alive with the sounds of pursuit, but I navigate the terrain with ease, my every step calculated and precise. I've spent centuries honing my skills, perfecting the art of guerrilla warfare. The dark elves are powerful, but they are not invincible—a lesson I've been all too eager to teach them.

I hear the crunch of leaves underfoot and the low murmur of voices drawing closer. The dark elves are on our trail. Their prideis wounded by the audacity of my interference. I tighten my grip on Rhea, my determination a steely presence in my chest. They will not have her. Not while I still draw breath.

I weave through the ancient pines, my Vrakken speed turning the forest into a blur of shadows. The unconscious woman in my arms weighs nothing to my supernatural strength. Her pulse thrums against my chest – weak but steady.

"Find them!" A dark elf commander's voice echoes through the trees. "The tribute cannot escape!"

I shift direction, cutting east through a stream to mask our scent. The icy water splashes around my boots. Behind us, the sounds of pursuit grow fainter.

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