I frown. “What’s that me—”
Two large vibrant Moltenmaws plunge through the cloud, both trailing white flags from the tips of their plumed tails, their riders donning silver armor to match their gray saddles.
My heart chills.
“Shade emissaries?”
Kaan remains still.
Silent.
Another chest-cracking scream cleaves the sky, followed by a deep honking sound that rattles me to the core.
A pearly Moonplume dives through the heavy tuft of cloud, the white flag tethered to its ankle fluttering in the wind—its shredded wings scrambling to catch air and keep the creature from wobbling around.
Volcanic rage boils my blood as the beast churns, its head whipping around. It cranks its maw wide and leaks another screeching whine.
My gaze homes in on its beautiful, lustrous flesh riddled with blistered welts—
Everything inside me goes eerily quiet, my lungs compacting, a wedge of hurt I didn’t realize was tucked in my chest splitting wider …
Wider.
The beast plummets toward the city hutch, and my stomach drops when I catch sight of the saddle bound around its hide. Of the blond rider pressed flat against the poor dragon’s back.
Rekk Zharos …
Kaan threads his hand behind my head and forces my face into his wet chest, breaking my view of the tortured Moonplume. Like he wants to protect me from the horrid sight. But it’s already branded in my brain like a blistered boil that’s bulging … bulging …
Destined to pop.
Another pained screech, and Kaan curses beneath his breath, every cell in my body now blitzed with a slicing rage. My vision tunnels, mind numbs, a vengeful serpent slithering through my chest, weaving around my ribs, charming my stony heart into a slow, steady beat.
The promise of revenge tickles the tips of my fingers …
I’m going to peel the skin from his body. Pierce his eyes. Rip out his teeth—one by one. Rip off his nails just as leisurely.
He’s.
Fucking.
Dead.
I shove away from Kaan and storm from the water, the world around me smudging into oblivion. I barely feel the underbrush crunching beneath my bare feet. Barely feel the cool stone steps as I charge toward our sleepsuite—the distant drone of something bellowing behind me barely banging against my conscience.
All that exists is my dense, pulsing lust for Rekk’s blood on my hands. All that matters is how, exactly, this is going to pan out. Like sitting down to a ten-course meal, each plate boasting multiple ingredients all beautifully presented.
I grab my sheer sun-protection robe, shoving my arms down the sleeves and threading the belt around my middle. Flipping the pallet, I reveal the cache of weapons I purchased from The Curly Quill. I saddle myself with the bandolier and both sheaths, snatching at the perfect line of blades I’d meticulously stashed—imagining the way each sharp tip is going to bite into Rekk’s flesh.
My hands are swift as a lightning strike as I pack my sheaths full, blade after blade, picturing them stabbing through Rekk’s jaw.
Into his ear.
Flaying him from chin to navel.
He’s a filthy shit stain on this world, and I will exterminate him. Slowly.
Painfully.
I stuff my feet into my boots, lace them tight, tucking blades down the sides before I spin, making for the door. The ground shakes, the only warning I get before a chunk of stone falls before the exit, stalling my escape, the room filling with a blow of wind tunneling in from outside.
Frowning, my gaze climbs skyward, to where a jagged hole in the ceiling spills a thick shaft of sunlight all over my recently refurbished, upturned pallet. Again, I look at the chunk of fallen stone, the beautiful, elaborate images carved into it now cracked through, smaller bits of it scattered across the ground.
My attention stabs to where Kaan is standing by the end of the pallet, arms crossed as he watches me through shadowed eyes.
“You broke my wall.”
“Our wall,” he grinds out. “And I had to get your attention somehow.” His gaze drops down to my chest and thighs, up again. “What are you doing?”
I look down at myself, appearing almost feathered with the amount of blades I’ve packed upon my body. Most of which I barely remember wielding. “Hunting,” I say, lifting my eyes, meeting his sooty stare. “Anybody who treats an animal that way deserves to be flayed. Without remorse. Now, move the stone.” There’s a brief pause before I remember my manners. “Please.”
I could try to move it myself, but chances are I’ll just create more of a mess. I have no interest in making a fool of myself before the Burn King who can famously build or crush cities with a few well-crafted words.