Page 101 of Cursed Shadows 2

Daxeel hears the soft bootsteps, the gentle sound of leather flattening almost silently on the rough ground of the tunnel on their right.

It takes some seconds before Samick lifts his hand and curls it into a fist. Then he raises only two fingers.

Two approaching contenders.

Tap, tap, rub.

The sound comes from the other tunnel. Gloved fingertips drumming against a leathered palm.

Tap, tap, rub.

With that subtle code, the two contenders coming up the passage announce themselves as dark fae.

And in answer, Samick repeats it back to them.

Tap, tap, rub.

So quiet that litalves wouldn’t hear it, and if they did, they wouldn’t understand it to be a code at all, but mere soft sounds, unintentional.

The bootfalls inch closer out of the darkness. The trio wait for them.

Two dark males step out of the passage, the flickering looks of recognition pass quickly. There are no moments of relief at friends still alive, no embraces or words shared in the dark.

Still, Daxeel gives a nod to the golden-eyed one whose ivory skin almost gleams in the darkness when it should be a part of it. A hybrid, a brother.

In answer, Alasdare winks, then moves to take his stance on Daxeel’s left side. The other—Prit, a particularly nasty male they aren’t so familiar with—takes the right.

Shielded by four warriors, Daxeel is the middle point of a star of bloodthirsty and brutal fighters.

They trek ahead.

Slowly, the tunnel starts to thin. The walls, the ground, the ceiling—it all narrows until the five dark males pull intosingle file.

Leading the way, Samick lets his icy instincts guide him, and they must be close as he draws his ateralum sword.

On dragon hunts, an entire unit is dispatched to slaughter just one of the untameable beasts for its leathers. It’s a worthy risk that brings superior leathers to the dokkalves.

Even with the fierce warriors flanking him, Daxeel is no fool. If a dragon attacks, all five of them will be charred remains.

The trick is not to be seen.

That’s the plan too, and with Samick’s instincts, they take no wrong turnsor false steps.

NARCISSA

††††††

Hands still clutched onto Eamon’s and Aleana’s, the silence of the courtyard presses down on us with the same crushing pressure of the darkness.

As sharp as fae sight is, even for a halfling like me, I still struggle to keep up with the reflections dancing all over the black pool.

Perched on the edge of my seat, I land my sight on glimmer after glimmer. A futile search for Daxeel among the bloodshed.

And it is bloodshed.

In all corners of the pool, the wink of swords cuts through throats and sinks into chests.

Wherever the portal dropped them seems like it was random. Some are closer to the cliff, some dotted around the woods, but most are fighting on the rocky shore of dark water.

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