Page 37 of Warlord's Plaything

Like I’ve done this before.

In another life.

In another war.

Fuck.

One of the warriors swings high, aiming for my head.

I twist, grabbing his wrist—but my grip is too strong.

Too strong.

Something sharpens in my blood.

Heat coils under my skin.

His bones snap under my fingers.

He screams.

And something inside me likes it.

"Hira!"

Dagen’s voice cuts through the haze, snapping me back just as another blade swings for my ribs.

I block, but my chest is heaving.

I’m buzzing.

Not just from the fight.

Not just from the blood.

But from whatever this is.

The heat. The instincts that shouldn’t be mine.

And they know.

The dark elf warriors see it.

They hesitate, just for a second, their eyes flicking between me and the bodies at my feet.

They’ve fought humans before.

They’ve killed countless slaves in the sand.

But they’ve never seen one fight like this.

And I can feel their fear.

Like I can taste it.

It makes my pulse spike.

Makes something hungry coil in my stomach.

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