Page 15 of Forged By Heart and Claws
He carried me to the couch and lay me by Elara, then kissed the top of my head. “Take your time. Let me know if you need me.” Then he disappeared.
Be careful,I connected as he entered another fight. The ringing spiraled through my head, adding to the churning in my stomach. Many-Greats brandished a broken chunk of wood like a club as he prepared to attack a guard, and Vyraetos continued to bind Thalira’s shoulder, where a bolt protruded. Tears rolled down her cheeks.
Fuck. She’d gotten hurt again. We had to find shelter and get the antidote, or she’d bleed out. I refused to lose another person I loved.
Yuki sagged against the wall, her long skirt resting on the dark marble, and hugged her bound hand to her chest as she sobbed and stared at Velessa’s body. Elara was barely conscious, her breaths slow and ragged, but she still held the crowns. The couches that had been staged to provide a rough barricade provided precious little protection.
As if Fate wanted to let me know it could get worse, more guards charged in, six from the southern hall and two from the western.
My chest tightened. How many more would come? Probably dozens. Maybe even hundreds. We’d held out so far, keeping the attacks to a trickle, but everyone had been wounded at least once. The cuts and nicks on me burned and ached, and Velessa’s blood had dried in my fur.
I couldn’t lie here and give up. Not after what Velessa had sacrificed for us. I had to fight, and most importantly, we needed as many hands on deck as possible, or more lives would be lost. Maybe even Vad’s. My heart seized and twisted.
I tried to push myself off the couch. The room tilted sideways, and the velvet cushions, slick with my blood, dragged against my fur as I slid to the floor. Every movement sent fire up my spine. My legs trembled under my weight, and my thoughts formed thick and slow, like I was wading through fog. I bracedagainst the cold floor, willing my body to move, but my legs buckled.
I hit the ground hard and helplessly watched chaos unfold around me.
Quen darted from the side of one of the leather-armored swordsman, her broken flaming spear a streak of orange in the smoke. She slammed it into the gut of a soldier charging from the southern hall, the crack of impact lost beneath his scream. He swung wildly, but she ducked low, a snarl on her lips as she twisted the shaft deeper into his abdomen. He dropped, clutching his stomach. He would be gone soon enough.
Rhielle was right behind her, a blur of motion and firelight. Her stolen sword sliced clean through a guard’s thigh, and the spray of blood that followed was so thick she had to have hit an artery. He dropped, trying to crawl, but she was already pivoting, purple skirts flaring around her legs as she brought the hilt of her blade crashing into another guard’s helmet.
I needed to help them. There were too many guards, too many blades, and not enough of us. I pushed myself again, willing my legs to move, but they refused. They were useless and numb, like the blood loss had carved me out from the inside.
A third guard rushed Rhielle from behind.
Quen moved fast. She dropped to one knee and snatched a sword from a fallen soldier. “Behind you!” she shouted.
Veralt was already moving.
He lunged, his stolen blade flashing as it collided with the guard’s spear shaft. The clang of metal cracked through the room. The guard stumbled, thrown off by the sheer force of the hit, and Veralt didn’t waste a breath. He struck with the flat of his blade, slamming it into the soldier’s ribs.
The guard hit the ground in a crash of metal and curses.
Veralt didn’t pause.
He stepped forward and stomped his boot down on the man’s head. Bone cracked beneath the pressure, and bile burned the back of my throat. The broad muscles across his back tightened as he lifted the blade high, then brutally struck the guard’s neck.
My stomach twisted hard. I’d seen death before… more than my fair share. But I would never grow numb to the sound of a killing blow or the flash of hate in an enemy’s eyes. They were people, after all, but they’d started the fight.
Above me, Thalen collided in midair with a winged guard. His talons, buried beneath white feathers, punched clean through armor and flesh alike. Both of them screamed as they spiraled toward the floor, locked in a struggle. The enemy's spear twisted and carved a jagged line across Thalen’s wing before they crashed.
Thalen hit hard, crying out as his body jerked and he curled protectively around the mangled limb. “Scaffing void!”
Myantha bolted toward him, skirts flying behind her. She was nearly to him when another soldier surged forward, spear leveled at her chest.
“Get back!” Silus burst from behind the stairwell’s half wall and grabbed her mid-stride, arm locking around her waist as he yanked her aside.
The spear grazed her shoulder, but she didn’t scream. Silus slammed his club into the attacker’s face. Bone cracked, blood sprayed from the guard’s nose, and he stumbled backward.
Myantha shoved free of Silus and dropped to Thalen’s side, looping his arm around her shoulders and dragging him up.
Silus didn’t stop.
He struck again, his next blow caving in the helm until the soldier collapsed, a broken mess at his feet.
I panted hard, every breath shallow and jagged. I had to get back into the fight.
Across the chamber, Vad ripped a spear from one of the fallen soldiers and hurled it with a roar. The weapon sliced through the air, striking a guard square in the chest with enough force to lift him off his feet. The man slammed into the wall and crumpled, stunned and gasping.
