Page 106 of Shadowlands Omega

I had plans for Merlin, too, all of them intended to last years in the lowest rung of my dungeons. And she spoiled those, too, when she forced my hand. My axe all but cut her in half. She died instantly in rivers of blood that left a bitter taste in my mouth as acrid as the smell of burning garbage. I wanted more. Worse. For her to suffer. But I was even required to abandon the body, which will now never to hang from my gates, in favor of securing Kiandah and getting her back to the keep, just as I had to abandon Freya to the Fates.

Guilt clenches in my gut and I release a low roar. The fucking Fates took fucking Freya, all three of them working together to contain her in the cage that the undead Berserker once occupied. I was powerless to stop them.

They are gone now, fled far if they are smart, and I do believe they are. Things did not work out in their favor entirely, but as I cross Orias Village, finding it successfully cleared, and rise up the hill so that the keep comes into view atop the next hill over, I know that the Fates are smart enough.

The keep is under attack and the undead — thousands of undead — are fighting to gobble it up.

31 | Kiandah

Shadow Keep

The Last Stand

I expected to wake up back in Yaron and my chambers in Okayo’s care after having had my throat slit and being stabbed in the back by fucking Merlin.Instead, I woke up to the feeling of Yaron’s furry body wrapped around me, a deep, stabbing pressure in my back and in my throat — and shortly thereafter, to the sight of zombies attacking the castle.

Yaron’s beastly body charges to a stop in the center of the highway line and, if given the chance, I know what he’ll say, so I speak first, “You can’t leave me here.” My family’s in there. The town is in there. All of Shadowlands is in there. But I know those arguments won’t sway him, so I try another. “There’s nowhere for me to go.”

He glances towards Owenna, his fur matted with venom. He has scratches all over him, deep and appearing infected. Owenna’s still asleep — ancestors, I hope. Yaron glances up at Sipho, who is barely conscious as he holds her against against his lap to the best of his ability.

“I can watch them, my Lord,” he says, each word laced with pain as he pulls Owenna up and against his chest. Her body is slumped, but she moans when Sipho moves her, a pained sound that fills me with relief. “I’d give my life before I let anyone harm them.”

“Sipho,” I command, speaking without giving Yaron a chance to. “Take Owenna and find cover. We will come back for you when the battle is won.” And then to Yaron, “Sipho and Owenna are too injured to fight. ButIcan.”

He doesn’t speak. I don’t even know if he can. I gently tangle my fingers in his fur and tug. “I couldn’t fight before because there was too great a risk of hurting the living, but not now, not against them. You have been my shield before, for all of this time. Now let me do this. Let me be this for you. Let me do what I do best — the only thing I know how. Let me save them. I can do this.”Let me save you.

He still doesn’t move, he barely even acknowledges me, but keeps his snout swiveling between Sipho and the undead on the hill, so I do the only thing I can think of — I punch him as hard as I possibly can. “That, my little Berserker, is my command, nowmovebefore you anger your Lady.”

He releases a roar and doesn’t hesitate a second more. He plunges ahead, leaving Sipo and Owenna behind, fighting on despite the wounds he’s sustained. I can feel him flagging, though, and it worries me. He can’t even help me fight an entire army of undead…

…I’m going to have to do this all by myself.

Nervous flutters pick up in my belly as we approach the undead masses swarming the gates of the keep. There are so many of them. Maybe more than hundreds, even. They face away from us, trying to get into the castle. High walls keep them out, but some are climbing and climbing successfully. They haven’t gained entry yet and it’s because of the mounted resistance — not just Crimson Riders, either. The people have come out in defense of their town, their city, their Berserker Lord and his Lady.

They are defending the keep.

Townspeople fight arm in arm with Crimson Riders using swords and battle axes, sure, but also torches and pitchforks to try to hold back the horde. I can’t make out faces from here, but I can see up the hill how savage the fight is and I can see that the dead are gaining ground. They’re winning.

My heart is a drum and I taste ash in my mouth. I can feel Yaron’s indecision, sense his hesitation. He would abandon his castle and his keep to protect me, I’m sure of it. And I both love and hate that I could be the downfall of the Shadowlands.

I won’t be its downfall. And I won’t be his, either.

I’ve had enough of other people saving me.

I use his fur to pull myself higher on his body so I can speak over the sounds of battle, battling for his attention. “Charge ahead. Get me past the horde. Get me on the side of our fighters.” He lunges ahead, but rears back up the moment the first undead — a male with one eye missing and a broken left arm — turns towards us. He opens a mouth full of fangs, dripping with venom that’s black, not silver like the venom that now swims through my veins, bonding my lovely beast to me forever.

I grip his fur harder and shift, pulling myself up onto his back with shaking arms. I’m strong enough from my time in the kitchens, but injury and inactivity have taken their toll. I’m panting by the time I’m upright. He lurches forward and decapitates the zombie, but he’s not moving forward with any sort of zeal as eight or nine undead Alphas turn towards us.

He releases a low growl and begins a slow retreat. I bend forward over his back, my fingers tangled in the black fur of his neck, streaked with silver. Those silver streaksdothings to me. I brush my lips behind his ear. It twitches wildly, this massive thing as large as my face is, as I say, “Move forward, beast. I am your Omega. Do not disobey.”

He starts forward, rattling loudly and swiping creatures out of the way with his massive paws. He’s attacked by several at once but he’s quick to dislodge them, and the ones he doesn’t, I am able to douse in fire. Bright blue flames spiral from my fingertips in gusts and bursts, incinerating zombies to dust the moment they make contact.

We move forward like this, the swarm getting thicker and thicker, my flames getting hotter and hotter, my hands shaking with need — a need to do something even greater. We reach the line of our fighters, who part before us, trying to create a path for their Lord and his Riders to reach the keep, but I shout, “Stop, Yaron. Turn. Let me dismount.”

As my feet hit the sodden ground, I see Renard fighting close to where I stand and shout up at him. “Order your soldiers to fall back behind the line of fire.”

He swings his sword and it lodges into the shoulder of an undead female who lunged at him and grabbed hold of his forearm. His vambrace is covered in black bite marks. He’s sustained many bites and scratches so far, but his determination is clear. I can see it in his eyes, in the lines of his face. He looks at me and at his Lord standing at my side, fighting off any undead who come too close to me.

“You should get inside, my Lady!”

---