Page 23 of Forged in Fire
Time to show him exactly how well I learned the—
The guard reaching for me makes a choking sound and crumples to the ground. Within seconds, blood pools beneath his head, spreading across the concrete floor.
Another guard spins around, weapon raised, and immediately drops.
What—?!
I stare in astonishment, too shocked to make sense of this.
Confusion erupts around us as the remaining guards scramble for cover, shouting orders I can’t understand over the sound of my own heartbeat. Kieran’s eyes widen—the first genuine surprise I’ve seen from him since this nightmare began.
“What the hell—?” he starts, but his words are cut off as another guard falls.
Something moves in the shadows beyond the perimeter lights. Something fast and lethal and absolutely silent.
My dragon surges against my ribs as adrenaline floods my system. Whatever’s happening, whoever’s out there, they’re not Syndicate.
And then, all hell breaks loose.
Chapter 8
Riven
My finger rests against the trigger, muscle memory from a thousand kills guiding the familiar weight. Three hundred meters of elevation advantage. Clear sight lines. Wind negligible. Even accounting for target movement, this shot is well within my capabilities.
The job should be simple. One squeeze. One body. One less problem for whoever’s paying the Guild’s rates.
My hands shake.
Fuck, Riven.
Dragon fire races through my bloodstream, every nerve ending singing. The compulsion that’s been gnawing at me transforms into something that burns. My trigger finger trembles against cold steel.
What the actual fuck?
Through my scope, the target stands calm in the staging area’s center. Kieran Asguard. High-value elimination. The kind of contract that will fatten my bank account.
Take the shot. Take the fucking shot, goddammit!
But I don’t.
My breathing stops entirely when I take in the sight of her standing there. Bold. Defiant. Vulnerable.
Every muscle in my body locks solid. The rifle wavers in my grip as I watch her move.
And God, how she moves… Shadows slither around her feet, responding to emotions I can read in the fluid grace of her motion. Moonlight catches copper threads in her hair, and my chest seizes.
My scope brings her face into sharp focus. She’s… beautiful. Wide forehead, porcelain skin. Copper-flecked eyes that burn with intelligence and emotion. The determined set of her jaw. The way she carries herself—
I need to stop staring.
The target is still standing there. I track his movement, adjust for wind variance, try to regulate the ragged sound escaping my lungs.
Breathe in…
Breathe out…
Breathe in…
