Page 75 of Kissed By the Gods
“If they turn west toward Morendahl, we stay down.” His voice is clipped and precise. “But if they follow the coast …”
He doesn’t finish, and he doesn’t need to. If they follow the coast, they’re looking for something to kill.
The creatures sweep closer. They’re not headed for Morendahl.
He points toward a small cave behind us, tucked into the rocks. “Hide in there.”
I stare at him, aghast. “I’m not letting you fight them alone!”
He gives me a little shake. “For once in your life, Leina, listen to fucking orders. You don’t have a faravar. It will be impossible to fight them with both of us on Einarr’s back. And if they see you here, grounded, you’re dead.”
I nod, throat too tight to speak, hating the logic in his words. I back into the mouth of the cave, my scythe gripped against my chest. Ryot doesn’t wait for more. He vaults onto Einarr’s back in one practiced movement, and then they’re airborne. The Kher’zenn spot their dark black shadows against the bright, blue sky instantly.
They peel off from their flight path to angle toward him. Einarr wheels once, then twice, drawing them farther from the cliff—farther from me. When they’re in range, Einarr dives and Ryot’s sword slices through the air, aiming for the first creature.
But the second one doesn’t follow Ryot. He jerks his draegoth around, toward me. I force myself to breathe, pressing backagainst the rough stone as the Kher’zenn smiles. HeknowsI’m here.
The draegoth dives in a spin, but the mouth of my cave is too narrow and far too low for a draegoth to wedge itself fully inside. I scramble backward, swinging my scythe in warning as I go.
The draegoth manages to get its head inside the cave. It snaps its teeth at me, but it can’t reach me—not without bringing the rocks down on us both. The Kher’zenn, though, slides from the back of his creature.
He lands with a grace that’s wrong in its perfection. He’s tall—taller than Ryot—and lean, his armor a strange weave of metal and leather. His hair is a silvery white, falling long around his shoulders, and his eyes?—
His pale eyes catch mine and hold. He’s beautiful in a way that’s not meant for mortals. Something unseen tugs at me, deep in my chest, threading through my ribs and pulling me toward him. I tighten my grip on my scythe, digging my boots into the rock.
No. Not this time.
I plant my feet and swing.
The Kher’zenn slips sideways with an inhuman ease, my scythe missing his throat by a hair. He doesn’t draw a weapon. He doesn’t even seem alarmed. He watches me with an expression that’s curious.
I swing again, aiming to sweep his legs out from under him. He jumps effortlessly, impossibly high, and lands a few paces closer to me.
“Leina Haverlyn,” he says, his tone an admonishment.
I stiffen. How does he know my name?
“You don’t have to fight.” He tilts his head in a way that’s more animal than human. “I have a message for you.”
I keep the scythe between us, edging back toward the deeper shadows of the cave. It’s only then that I realize the swirling, silver text on my scythe isglowing. But I can’t inspect it now.
“A message? Seems doubtful, as we don’t share any acquaintances.”
His pale lips curl into something that might be a smile. “Don’t we?”
I lunge, swinging the scythe in a vicious arc. He ducks, moving almost too fast to track. His hand snaps out, catching the snath near the blade with his bare hand. I wrench the scythe free with a snarl, driving the butt of it into his ribs. He grunts, stumbling back, but it’s not enough—not nearly enough. He’s already regaining his balance, but this time, he pulls the shredwhip free of his belt and snaps it with a deafening crack.
A roar splits the air.
The draegoth at the cave mouth rears, its massive head swinging wildly. Einarr’s wings beat the air in a thunderous gust as Ryot drives his sword deep into the base of the creature’s skull. Blood sprays, dark and hot, and the draegoth collapses with a crash, blocking the cave mouth with its dead weight.
He snaps his head toward the entrance, distracted.
I don’t waste it.
I drive forward, scythe arcing upward in a two-handed strike. The blade finds his chest, punching through with a wet, scraping sound. The Kher’zenn simply stares at me, his pale eyes wide with something like wonder.
“She will find you,” he whispers.
