Page 43 of The Curse of Ophelia

There were only half a dozen of them, all twice my size and intimidating, but only half a dozen. A rogue group. One of the many that denied the treaty that ended the war two years ago, turning their backs on their queen. As I heard the hatred in their cries and watched the light reflecting on their sharpened axes, I feared such revolution seeping into other tribes.

The air in my lungs turned to ash the longer I looked at them. Their clan was to blame for everything that had gone wrong in my life. These were the warriors who’d destroyed our homes and people. These men and women tried to tear Mystiques apart, and would have stopped at nothing to wipe us from the planet and assume our position as protectors of the mountains.

A need for vengeance fed the hum in my blood as I bellowed, “Fight!” and sent Sapphire flying down the hill toward the rogues and their waiting weapons.

Tolek, in the front of the group already, led the charge, Astania galloping full out. He unsheathed the long sword from his side, his muscles contracting as he swung it above his head, speeding toward the first enemy.

My blood pounded through my body in encouragement. My genes wanted a fight. I laid flat against Sapphire’s neck, willing my energy into her legs to move faster, to catch up to Tolek and demand revenge for everything the Engrossians took from me.

The enemy in front raised a grisly-looking ax, a sickening smile displaying yellowing teeth as Tolek approached. He was still, the weapon poised to strike, eyes glinting like pools of death—dark and ominous, yet gleeful—as he anticipated my friend.

The motion of his ax launching from his hand was a flash in the wind. But Tolek was faster, swinging so far to the side on Astania that he had to wrap his long legs around her to stay on. He swiped out with his sword, slicing cleanly across the neck of the Engrossian.

The man fell to his knees, deep red blood bubbling through the wound in his throat and tainting the billowing grass. He hadn’t even enough time for his eyes to widen in shock. The sound of his gargled chokes followed me as I passed.

Fucking Angels, Tolek Vincienzo was impressive.

Cypherion sped up beside me, heading directly for an Engrossian whose eyes were trained on Jezebel’s back. My sister was facing down two enemies of her own, spear in-hand. Elektra shone beneath her, and together they were the image of legend, embodying a myth not yet written.

“Rina, stay back,” Cypherion warned, ripping his scythe from his back.

Rina. She was untrained. Vulnerable.

But my friend sped up, steady on Calista’s back, and snatched a knife from the strap around Cyph’s arm.

“I will protect myself,” she growled in return, directing her horse to the outskirts of the battle where the threat was minimal. Her stare held a heat I recognized—revenge. Rina had lost as much as we had. She may not be in the heart of the fight, but she would take down anyone who dared to touch her.

I smiled wickedly at my friend’s strength and rocketed into the fray, pulling Starfire from my hip. “It’s time for vengeance,” I purred to the blade. She glowed in the face of battle. The sun warmed us both as we sank into a predatory mode.

My eyes locked with the largest of the Engrossians. His frame should have been intimidating, but I was thirsty for blood. His black eyes met my magenta, then took in the gold of my hair, and recognition dawned.

“Alabath,” he hissed.

My eyes narrowed at the purple scars crisscrossing their way around his bald head, the pattern a unique map of his triumphs.

“You must be Victious.” My gut coiled, and I knew I was correct without his nod of confirmation. Victious, once the leader of the Engrossian armies who fell from grace upon refusing the treaty and now led small bands of warriors in attacks against Mystiques.

Victious, who my father had nearly lost his life to during the war.

“I believe I have a debt to repay,” I crooned, the sound almost seductive. Sapphire and Victious’s deep gray warhorse circled each other, huffing. I timed my breaths to the mare beneath me to steady myself, turning us into one being.

Victious smiled hungrily, his scars standing out starkly against his skin. I wondered which were for the Palerman attacks.

“Your father will love to receive his daughter’s head, I’m sure.” He glanced to Jezebel as she ran her spear through the heart of an Engrossian, a victorious scream bursting from her lips. “Maybe I’ll include hers, as well.”

At the threat to my sister, my anger snapped and I charged.

It was uncalculated. Sloppy. Unlike my usual techniques.

And exactly the reaction Victious wanted to draw from me.

His ax met Starfire in a whirl of sparks. One. Two. Three times. I blocked each fatal strike of the Engrossian blade aiming for my neck, but even my honed skills were fading too quickly. Even more severe than during the fight against Tolek. For the first time since she was forged, Starfire was heavy in my hand. She did not feel like an extension of myself, but an iron rod, my wrist sagging beneath her weight.

My wrist…the affliction spreading through me, contaminating my blood and weakening me…

I continued to counter his blows, but his power was greater than mine. He kept me on defense, rendering me unable to attack.

“An Alabath who’s not as good as rumors said?” He sounded hungry—for my blood.

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