Page 28 of Fated to the Drakarn Commander (Drakarn Mates 4)

Zarvash's head tilted. "Need assistance?"

The offer was unexpected. Zarvash commanded strategy, not close-quarters combat. But the look in his eyes held a flicker of something deeper—an understanding that transcended mere territorial disputes.

"No." This kill had to be mine. Alone. The insult was personal; the retribution would be also. "But … I appreciate the information."

He inclined his head, accepting my decision. Then, unexpectedly: "This way." He turned, melting with surprising silence down a narrow side passage I hadn't noticed, barely more than a fissure in the rock. "He favors the abandoned storage caverns. Thinks himself unwatched."

I followed, the anticipation of the hunt tightening every muscle, honing every sense to brutal clarity. The air grew heavier, thick with dust and the musty scent of long disuse. Every drip of moisture, every skittering pebble echoed in the oppressive silence.

The passage widened abruptly into a cavern, vast and shadowed. It was once a storage chamber, now empty save for drifts of dust and the ghosts of forgotten supplies. A perfect hiding place. A perfect killing ground.

And there—stronger now—was the distinctive musk. It was fresh. He was close.

Zarvash faded back toward the entrance, a silent ally positioning himself to cut off escape. He was not interfering. Just … ensuring. I gave him a curt nod of acknowledgment, then advanced deeper into the cavern's heart, my claws silent on the dusty stone floor.

There was a scrape of scale against rock. It was too loud. Too deliberate.

I whirled, wings flaring instinctively, a shadow expanding in the gloom, just as a blade whipped through the air where my throat had been a heartbeat before. The Ignarath—sickly yellow eyes wide with a potent cocktail of hate and fear—lunged from behind a crumbling pillar, desperation lending his movements a wild, unpredictable fury.

"You should have fled Scalvaris when you had the chance," I rumbled, satisfaction a dark curl deep within me. This was better than an ambush. Face to face. Warrior to scum.

"You broke the compact!" he snarled, circling warily, his blade held low. "The Temple?—"

"Temple law offers no sanctuary to shadow-claws operating outside of Scalvaris hospitality." I matched his movements, step for predatory step, letting him feel the weight of my presence, the certainty of his doom. "You are unregistered. Unacknowledged."

Raw fear flashed across his face, momentarily eclipsing the hate. Good. Let him understand. No protection waited for him there. Only death.

"The female isn't yours," he spat, desperation making him reckless, stupid. "Plaktish has plans for all those sky-fallen."

Red. The world dissolved into a haze of pure, killing red. Thought ceased; only the imperative remained.

I lunged.

Not the measured attack of a disciplined warrior. This was older. More primal. Sheer, unmitigated rage given form.

He was fast—credit where it was due. His blade sliced upward, catching a stray beam of light from a distant heat crystal. But I was beyond caution, beyond pain, beyond anything but the need to silence him, to end the threat he represented.

My claws found his weapon arm first, shearing through scale and muscle, grating against bone. He screamed—a high, thin sound that was abruptly satisfying. His blade scored a burning line across my shoulder—a flare of pain quickly consumed by the greater fire within me.

It was unimportant. Nothing mattered but ending him.

He tried to twist away, seeking escape, but I surged forward, wings flaring wide to block his retreat, herding him back against the rough, unforgiving stone of the cavern wall. His eyes darted frantically, twin points of terror seeking an exit that wasn't there. Finding only me.

"What she is," I snarled, advancing steadily, claws digging into the stone, "is utterly beyond your squalid comprehension."

The fear-scent emanating from him was thick now, almost cloying. It was prey fear. Perfect.

"She's nothing!" he spat, a final, futile burst of defiance. "Just human meat! Just?—"

My hand clamped around his throat, fingers digging deep, cutting off the filth spilling from his mouth. I lifted him, his own weight aiding the pressure. His claws scrabbled uselessly against the thick scales of my forearm, drawing blood I barely felt. His eyes bulged, the yellow irises swimming in white. Terror now. Raw. Absolute.

"She," I growled, the word scratched from somewhere ancient and possessive within my soul, "ismine." The claim resonated, a binding truth spoken into the shadowed space. "And youtouchedher."

Truth. Sentence. Execution.

One sharp, brutal twist. The sickening crack echoed, swallowed by the vastness of the cavern. It was finality. Silence.

I let the body drop, a limp weight thudding onto the dusty floor. Satisfaction warred with the lingering rage in my blood. It wasn't enough. He should have suffered longer, paid more dearly for daring to lay his filthy claws upon her. For threatening her. For theplanshe mentioned …

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