Page 65 of Cursed Shadows 5

It runs, limbs too long, ears too floppy for its disproportionate body, and it gallops towards Taroh even while his cries still flood the dungeons.

Dare and the hound work together.

Daxeel finds he doesn’t ache to join them.

He just watches… hollow… distant… tired.

Until Dare pauses his work. He stays crouched for a moment, bloodied hands on his knees, his breaths full and serene. Then,slowly, he lets a smile steal his lips, a smidge of pride in his work,his art.

Then he does Taroh a small favour that has Daxeel frowning. He flicks the carving knife at the muzzle, severing it in two.

The strip falls to the blood on the floor, fast followed by the surge of sick that spills from Taroh’s mouth. He hacks on it a moment, another bile burp that crawls up his throat, then—in a blubbering voice—asks, “I thought you meant to kill her. Why do this? Why do this to me when we can work together for our revenge—”

Daxeel grins something feral, but it is empty, insincere, and if one looks closely, they will see that it is more of a grimace.

The sight of it silences Taroh and twists his face with a wave of obvious defeat.

“I found myself unable to kill her.”

Daxeel’s admission strikes Taroh silent. Not even his sobs echo throughout the chamber. He fights them back.

Dare stays crouched by the prisoner’s side, but he just throws strips of flesh to the faerie hound, who has curled up by his boots and found a deep post-feed sleep.

“I faced her on the summit, that little survivalist, the killer she is beneath the veneer… and I reached for the blade that would bring her no harm.” Daxeel’s bared-teeth grin fades to darkness. “I aimed to be free of the pain she brought me. That was always my intention—to sever our bond. Then…” His mouth twitches into a hybrid of bitterness and nostalgia. “She went and did that thing she does. Steals me completely, renders me entirely useless, and walks away with absolute victory—and my bleeding heart in her hand.”

“Humans call it karma,” Dare’s murmur is bitter.

Daxeel tosses a glare at him.

But not even he can silence Dare’s mind.

With a shrug, Dare twirls the carving knife in his hand, then leans over Taroh again, ready to resume his work. He aims for the underarm, which Daxeel thinks strange for a fleeting moment, then considers how it would feel to have his own underarm muscles cut out, then he understands—and takes a mental note for his own work.

“Karma,” Daxeel echoes.

“That’s what Bee called it.” Dare shoves a ball of fabric into Taroh’s warped mouth. “Karma. What you put out into the universe will come back to you. Bad, good, neutral—it is a cycle.”

Dare’s quiet for a moment before he yanks out the muscle he’s been fishing around for. His hand is slick with blood. “I’ll go to Eamon once I have cleaned up,” he says, and gestures to the bits of flesh all over him. “Find out where to look, where tostartlooking for her.”

Daxeel lets the doubt be spoken. “This is his friend, he is fond of her. Are you so sure he will lead you to her when you thirst for revenge?”

Dare throws a look up at him.

Without a smile to dance on his lips, or a gleam to glitter in his eyes, Daxeel decides to pity the kinta—pity her for whatever is coming her way.

“I will not kill her,” he concedes.

“Then what will you do?”

“First, get my gold back.”

He offers no second, no third, no fourth—and Daxeel doesn’t pry any further.

Dare has had time to cook up all the ways to enact his revenge on Bee.

Dare is no adversary to be taken lightly. No enemy to be overlooked. Dare is not a male to be slighted, let alone stolen from. That’s what she did. Lured him, drugged him, stole from him… it’s not the gold that is the core of the problem. It is the shame she brought with her slight. Truly, she should have known better, being what she is.

As Nari has learned, these slights aren’t easy to overcome. But then, a thought strikes him.

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