Page 2 of Savage Crown

His grip falters for half a second. I throw my full weight back, knocking him off balance. As we stumble, I twist my body and sink my teeth into the soft flesh of his wrist. He curses, his grip loosening just enough for me to break free.

I don’t hesitate. My dagger is in my hand before I even register drawing it. One quick slash.

Blood spills between us.

Kiernan lets out a strangled gasp, clutching his arm as crimson leaks between his fingers. His expression twists with rage.

I run.

Down the side of the building, over the edge of the rooftops, into the underbelly of the city where the filth runs thick and the desperate hide among the ruins.

The slums. Rylan’s hunting ground.

I push through the narrow alleyways, my breath a harsh rasp in my throat. The stone walls press in, suffocating, endless, but I know this place. I know where he lurks.

The Midnight Den.

I slip into the shadows of a forgotten corridor, my body trembling with exhaustion. The Den is close—an unassuming door hidden in a maze of ruined buildings. No signs, no markings, but the air tastes of danger and ink, of secrets waiting to be sold.

I stagger forward, knocking once.

Silence.

Twice.

The air shifts. I feel him before I see him.

Then the door opens, and Rylan steps out of the darkness.

His emerald eyes flick over me, unreadable. The scent of him hits me—smoke, leather, something darker.

"You're bleeding," he says, his voice low and amused. "Trouble, little human?"

I force myself to stand straighter, though my body screams in protest. I raise my chin.

"I have something you want."

A slow smirk curves his lips, dangerous and knowing.

"Do you now?"

I hold up the satchel, letting the moonlight graze the stolen parchment. His gaze sharpens, his amusement vanishing.

"Let me in, Rylan." My voice is raw, edged with exhaustion and desperation. "We need to talk."

For a moment, he only watches me, considering. Without a word, he steps aside, allowing the darkness to swallow me whole.

I walk willingly into the wolf’s den.

2

RYLAN

The stench of blood follows her inside.

The human steps over the threshold, her breath ragged, her body trembling from exhaustion. A crimson stain blooms at her side, soaking through the threadbare fabric of her tunic, but she doesn’t falter.

Instead, she lifts her chin, meeting my gaze with something that looks a hell of a lot like defiance.

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