Page 96 of Kingdom of the Two Moons

I don’t wait for them to recover.Everything is a weapon.It was Lyrian himself who told me that. I grab the glass bottle of water that finds itself magically refilled every night on my nightstand and smash it against the wooden head of my bed. One end breaks, making a makeshift knife.

I sweep for their throats, but they dodge faster than before.

Then they attack.

Never let them get close.But they are fast. Like Riven in the woods.

The rest of the bottle is kicked out of my hand with appalling ease. Then one of them grips my throat, so delicate in his large hand. His eyes… they are a bright lilac. Like Riven’s.

“Silver elf,” he snarls right into my face.

I can feel his talons on my throat, ready to shred me open. But just as they close, his eyes bulge, widening with shock as the room explodes in a wave of darkness.

And in its middle, born out of it like something godlike forged out of purest night Caryan.

And I’ve never been more grateful that his gaze and the unleashed violence are not directed at me. Gods, he’s lethal. His face is a mask of unyielding brutality, his eyes livid. All the ferocity swirling in his aura promises a long and painful death. Darkness writhes and warps through the air as his power fills the room and every space around him. It forms stakes that pin the men’s wings to the wall, going right through flesh and bone.

The two men make no sound, only exchange a last glance.

Then, they each break something they must have been holding in the palms of their hands. The items crack.

One moment, they are here. The next, they are nothing but black dust scattered in the wind.

Caryan’s onyx eyes slide to me eventually. The flare of his magic is almost unbearable. Biting and hissing.

I stagger back from him when he comes for me. “What were they?”

“Nefarians.” He spits the word out as if it’s something unpalatable, fangs flashing. “Are you hurt?” he asks then, his fingers grabbing my jaw. But gently. Carefully. His touch so at odds with his fury.

“I’m fine,” I whisper and his eyes narrow.Wrong answer.

“Do not lie to me, Melody. Ever.”

A warning. His magic slithers along my skin like a promise. Silken. And lethal.

“I’m not hurt,” I correct myself breathlessly.

“I should have killed them very, very slowly,” he seethes, lifting my chin. His eyes come to rest on my still burning throat. His eyes are black as the night, his irises the shade of the blood moon outside.

“They… why did they want to kill me?” I ask against the heat of his touch. Against the heat of his whole being, still shedding black, biting tendrils of magic. Against his simmering anger—a living thing, mingling with his power.

He doesn’t answer but keeps scanning me for injuries.

“They called me silver elf,” I push on.

“Did they now?” Another snarl.

“What does this mean? That I’m a silver elf?” It sounds silly, impossible even, but that’s what they said.

Caryan ignores me.

I flinch back as his hands slide the fabric of my shirt up, the tips of his fingers tracing the ladder of my ribs, checking for bruises and broken bones.

“I’m fine,” I snap, harsher than I should, but the trespass took me by surprise.

“You are fine when I say you are,” he says right back.

I step back, trying to wrench out of his grasp, but tendrils of his black magic lock me against the wall, forcing my body to stay in place.

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