Page 27 of Scorched By Fate

And then the air changed.

No—the air cracked.

A massive shadow collided full force with the brute, sending him spiraling sideways into the jagged rock as a shockingly loud snarl burst through the suffocating quiet. It wasn’t until the edges of the shadow sharpened—unfolding fast, precise, and rippling wings caked in black heat—that I realized what I was looking at.

Vyne.

He moved so fast it barely registered—the sleek motion of his wings slicing through the stifling air as his tail swung in a sharp arc, knocking one of the smaller Drakarn clean off the plateau.

ELEVEN

VYNE

The scent hit me first.

Hers.

Something darker hung in the air with it; blood, bile, the feral stink of fury unchained. Of Drakarn rage.

My muscles coiled tight, instinct sharpening into something closer to weaponry than thought. Something was wrong.

The ridge came into view faster than I should’ve managed—faster than the ache clawing at my wings could complain. My descent sliced clean through the air, every violent beat of my wings driving me closer. The landscape blurred, streaks of crimson and volcanic black giving way to brutal clarity as the plateau rushed toward me.

Selene.

If they’d— If she?—

No. Don’t think. Act.

I saw her as the details burned into place—a momentary impression, devastating for how quickly it tunneled into me. Cornered.

Her back pressed against the ridge’s precarious edge, knife raised in a desperate line of defense. Defiance painted everyexhausted line of her battered frame, her small human form trembling on the verge of collapse but refusing to yield.

They circled her. Rogues.

Drakarn who’d traded honor for savagery, their movements small, calculated, cruel. Their tongues flicked, claws raking across stone as they prowled closer, vicious intent hanging heavy in the heat.

Not just death. They wanted worse.

The sky all but shattered when I hit them.

The gust from my landing sent two of them sprawling, their bodies slamming against the ridge’s unforgiving surface with sickening force. Stone buckled underfoot, splintering as shards cracked outward from where my talons anchored deep.

The third rogue—the largest of the pack—spun toward me, hissing out a sound that was equal parts rage and surprise. His movements were sluggish compared to my strike, his slick, too-bright scales catching nothing but failure as my claws drove deep into the heavily muscled curve of his chest.

The sound he made—a wet, gurgling screech—satisfied something cold inside me.

“You touched her. You die.”

My voice grated low, unrestrained. It didn’t simply echo across the ridge; it commanded. Final. Absolute. A promise etched into the rock beneath me.

None of them moved fast enough.

The smallest rogue lunged at the edge of my wing—but before he could strike, my tail lashed out, slamming into him with a crash that made him collapse. He dropped first to his knees, then fully forward into the dust, lifeless.

The brute recovered quickly, roaring as he lunged forward with a ferocity born of desperation. Massive claws swiped wide, aiming for my midsection—an attack too clumsy to merit caution. I didn’t pull back. Not back. Never.

Pivoting sharply, I darted to the side, the swing of his strike skimming the air I left behind. My wings hammered back fiercely, propelling me straight toward him as I slammed my claws into the side of its maw.

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