Page 10 of Bite Sized Bride
He draws his swords, the whisper of steel on leather a promise of death. The Batlaz at his sides drop into low crouches, their muscles coiling, their growls a deep vibration I feel in the soles of my feet.
The peace inside me is gone, shattered by the commander’s presence. The red storm roars back to life, a tidal wave of pure, untempered rage. But this time, it is different. The rage is not a blind fire. It is focused. It is aimed. And it is wrapped around a single, shining purpose.
Protect the small thing.
I move, placing my massive body between the commander and the property. I spread my arms wide, my claws extended, and let out a roar that shakes the very stones of the temple. It is a challenge. A declaration of war.
The commander does not flinch. “Kill the beast,” he commands. “And bring me the girl. The master wants her… intact.”
The Batlaz launch themselves forward.
They are a blur of black fur and green fire. One comes from the left, the other from the right, a classic pincer movement. I meet the one on the left head-on. It leaps, aiming for my throat, its jaws wide. I catch it mid-air, my hands clamping around its thick, muscular body. It writhes in my grip, its claws scrabbling against my hide, its teeth snapping inches from my face. Its strength is immense, but mine is greater. I squeeze. There is a wet, crunching sound, and the creature goes limp in my hands, its spine shattered.
I throw its corpse aside just as the second Batlaz slams into my side. Its jaws lock onto my leg, its teeth sinking deep into the muscle. Pain, white-hot and sharp, lances up my thigh. The red storm screams in fury. I roar and backhand the creature, my claws tearing a deep furrow in its flank. It yelps, releasing its grip, blood welling from the wound.
It is wounded, but not out of the fight. It circles me, its green eyes glowing with hate, looking for another opening.
The commander is advancing, his twin swords a blur of motion as he tests my defenses. He is fast, impossibly so. He weaves around me, his blades darting in, seeking the gaps in my hardened hide. A shallow cut opens on my arm. Another on my ribs. The wounds are nothing, but he is a hornet, stinging and retreating, his attacks designed to bleed me, to weaken me.
I swing a massive fist at him, a blow that would shatter stone, but he is not there. He flows around the attack like water, and his sword lashes out, slicing across my back. The pain is a whip crack.
The wounded Batlaz sees its chance. While I am turned, it charges again, aiming for my unprotected side.
“Behind you!”
The voice is small, but sharp with urgency. It is the property. The small thing.
I pivot, my massive form turning on a single foot with a speed that defies my size. I meet the Batlaz’s charge with a roar, my claws ready.
But something small and dark arcs through the air. A rock. Thrown by the property. It is a pathetic attack, a child’s gesture against a monster. But it is enough. The rock strikes the Batlaz on the side of its head. The creature yelps more in surprise than pain, its head shaking, its charge faltering for a single, crucial heartbeat.
I do not waste it. I lunge forward, my hands closing around the Batlaz’s throat. I lift it from the ground, its powerful legs kicking uselessly in the air. I ignore the commander’s sword as it slices into my shoulder. I ignore the fire that erupts along my nerves. I focus all of my rage, all of my strength, into my hands. I squeeze until the thrashing stops, until the green light in its eyes fades to black.
I drop the second corpse and turn to face the commander.
He has stopped his attack. He stands a dozen feet away, his swords held ready, his chest heaving slightly. He is no longer looking at me as a mindless beast. He is looking at me as an opponent.
“Impressive,” he says, a grudging respect in his tone. “But you are wounded. You are bleeding. And more of my men are on their way. You cannot protect it forever.”
He is right. The wounds are beginning to burn. My strength, while immense, is not limitless. And I can hear the shouts of more dark elves echoing through the forest.
I look back at the property. It stands by the altar, its small form trembling, but its eyes are fixed on me, wide with a terrifying, fragile hope.
Protect it.
The command is not from the master. It is from the quiet place inside me.
There is no victory here. Only escape.
I do the one thing the commander does not expect. I turn my back on him. In two massive strides, I am at the altar. I scoop up the property in one arm. It lets out a small cry of alarm, its body rigid with shock. It is so light, so fragile, like a bird in my grasp. I tuck it against my chest, my arm a cage of muscle and hide around it.
And I run.
I do not run toward the forest entrance. I run toward the back wall of the temple, the one that is still mostly intact. The commander shouts a command behind me, but it is too late.
I lower my shoulder and slam into the ancient stone.
The wall explodes outward in a shower of rock and dust. The impact jars every bone in my body, but the curse absorbs the worst of it. I am through.
