Page 47 of Wicked Depths

A figure bursts from the shadows, sword raised, his form nothing but a blur of tarnished armor and desperation. His eyes lock onto Vaela, wild and alight with something terrible, something triumphant.

I snarl, moving before thought, my body coiling, fire surging at my fingertips—

But Vaela is faster.

She exhales, a whisper of power spilling from her lips, her magic curling toward the soldier, winding around his legs like living chains. Water surges from the river, snapping up his limbs, dragging him back. He thrashes, gasping, the liquid tendrils climbing higher, wrapping around his throat, his fingers clawing at the unyielding grip of the tide.

His sword clatters to the ground, useless.

I breathe deep, watching the river answer her command, watching the fear that bleeds into his eyes as the water begins to pull him under, the depths opening to swallow him whole.

Then a flash of gold at his throat.

I go rigid.

An amulet, pulsing faintly beneath his armor.

The water hesitates.

His lips curl into a smirk.

Vaela falters—just a fraction, just enough—

And then he moves.

A hidden dagger glints in his grip, his body twisting, using the momentum of the water’s pull to hurl himself forward. His blade slices through the air, aimed for her throat.

Rage sears through me, a wildfire igniting in my veins.

I lunge.

My claws tear into him before the dagger can strike true.

His breath leaves him in a choked wheeze, his eyes widening in shock as I slam him to the ground. Blood splatters, hot and thick against my skin, my talons sinking deep into his chest, shredding through flesh and bone as if he were made of parchment.

He sputters, his lips parting, but no sound escapes.

I bare my fangs, twisting my grip, feeling the frantic, fading beat of his heart beneath my claws. “You dare,” I snarl, voice shaking with barely restrained fury, “raise a hand against what is mine?”

His body convulses once then stills.

I let him drop.

The clearing is silent.

Only the ragged pant of my breath remains, the remnants of my rage curling through the air like smoke. My magic surges, begging for more, demanding more, but the battle is already over. The corpses of the humans lie scattered across the clearing, the river still swirling with the last traces of Vaela’s power.

I turn to her, my claws still dripping with blood.

Her eyes are wide, her chest rising and falling in sharp, shallow breaths.

Not with fear.

No.

Something else.

Something that makes my already-burning blood run hotter.

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