No, no sense at all. Rush to meet them, my dragon bit out.
I breathed through her rush of power, refusing to succumb to the fire sizzling in my blood.
I didn’t know if they were my foes yet. Not for sure. Maybe there was still a chance I could work them around to my side. Get them to fight with me.
Through the door, I stepped left, away from Vemar. He made no move to crowd me.
Tamara continued toward me, in no hurry. Her deep hazel eyes sparkled with intelligence and something wild and vicious that made my stomach flutter.
I barely stopped from swallowing the sudden lump in my throat. I felt like I was in trouble, but I had no idea what I might have done. I only knew the consequences would be incredibly severe.
NINE
FINLEY
The small crowd at Tamara’s back moved with her, organizing as they did so. A few women formed a line right behind her, moving in sync as though they’d been fighting together all their lives. The rest fell in behind them, Mr. Baritone keeping to the side, the tallest of them all. He took up a post at the corner of the last cell to the right as the women stopped in front of me.
I pegged Tamara at early thirties. The women behind her varied in age. They didn’t glance down at the sword, but I could feel the weight of their focus on it. Tamara didn’t bother looking at me, looking over my shoulder instead. It was like she’d already taken my measure and found me wanting.
“Where’d you get that sword?” she asked, the edge in her voice giving me chills.
“It’s like I said. I’m from the Wyvern kingdom—”
“I didn’t ask where you’re from,” she said, finally looking me in the eye, “I asked where you got the sword.”
I returned her stare, not sure how forthcoming I should be.
“It was a gift,” I said.
“A gift? That right?” She laughed, but the women behind her didn’t laugh with her. Their eyes said they’d like to be cracking their knuckles against my face, and the only thing keeping them from me was my interrogator.
“A gift from who?” she asked.
“The prince. Nyfain.”
The faux-smile dripped off her face. Her eyes narrowed. “You’re telling me the crowned prince gave you that sword?”
“Yes.”
“And those clothes you came in here with? Did he gift you those, too?”
“Yes,” I said, and a murmur rippled from the crowd. The women lined up rocked from side to side, clearly wanting action. And now I knew why—they thought I’d stolen the sword.
And yeah, I was pretty clear on how absurd it sounded.
“Honestly, there is a logical explanation for…all of this…” I grimaced because every unbelievable story started along those lines.
She took a small step forward.
Power simmered low in my gut. My dragon started pulling it from Nyfain and storing it. I didn’t stop her. I hadn’t come all this way to get killed because of a misunderstanding.
“I served as the captain of the queen’s guard,” Tamara said in a low tone. “She was kindness and grace, steel and might. She held that kingdom together. We would’ve died for her, all of us would’ve, oath or no. And I will not see her prized possessions parceled off by those disgusting demons and paraded through here to torment us. Give me that sword, and I will leave you to your cell.”
The fire within me started to flicker.
“No.” I meant to say, You have this all wrong, but the look on her face—in her eyes—stole my words. Pain. Loss. Grief. Seeing this sword again, worn by the likes of me, was reminding her of all she’d lost. It was reminding her of a life that had been stolen from her. A monarch that she’d loved.
I was obviously the bearer of bad fucking tidings.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Vemar scratch his nose. He wore a smile.
“No…” he said softly. “No reasons, no explanations, just no.”
I still didn’t know why he was the one who’d come to me first. Maybe he’d volunteered, crazy enough to risk getting skewered for his efforts.
Tamara ignored him. “You have one last chance, and then I will take that sword,” she said.
The fire within me pumped higher. Hotter. Power bristled. Stretched my skin. Still my dragon pulled more from Nyfain. More and more, readying for this. I’d kept my cool with the demons, for the most part. I’d been using my head…as much as I could. But all of that rage had built up, stored within me, until now I just wanted to explode with it. I needed to explain, but something told me she wasn’t interested in hearing far-fetched stories. She was interested in the dragon way of doing things—violence.
Who was I to say boo?
When I finally spoke, my voice was low and mean and filled with the rage they all did so well. “Well…you can certainly try…”
She lunged for me, but I was ready. I made a wedge with my arms, worked inside of her grab, and slapped her hands wide. I darted in and peppered her middle with punches, then ducked under a flailing arm, pushed it over my head to turn her, and launched her to the side.
Yes, with my dragon’s power, I was definitely stronger and faster than these malnourished, suppressed shifters.
The line of women advanced, and I rushed forward to get right into their business, hammering home punches and kicks, careful not to do too much damage. It seemed like they were justifiably angry about the sword, and anyone with allegiance to Nyfain’s mom…
They were my kinda people. I wanted them as allies.
Still, they’d started it, and I wanted to kick a little ass. Needed to. Thankfully, they’d respect me more for it.
I kicked out and then shoved with my foot, sending someone sprawling. Then I swiped the legs out from under another woman and kicked her as she fell.
A fist sailed through the air, and I turned my face to take it in the cheek instead of the eye while I clotheslined a woman and broke through the line to punch a man in the throat. I tossed him and grabbed the next person, hurtling them behind me too.
The problem was that because I wasn’t hurting anyone too badly, and because they were stubborn dragons, they popped back up like they were on springs and rejoined the fight.
End it hard, and then explain yourself, my dragon thought as I hammered my fist into a man’s sternum, then tit-punched a woman. That would hurt. I didn’t envy her.
Okay.
I tossed another man, felt a hand grab the sword and pull, and knew a moment of horror when the sword was yanked halfway out of its sheath.
Without thinking, I sent a shock wave of power all around me, shoving with my will and layering it with a stinging slap that wouldn’t be soon forgotten. Power gushed from me but filled right back up, singing with Nyfain’s essence. Begging to be used. Urging me to unleash more of my rage. He was joining the fight from a distance, and he would have his say.
I smiled. Tears came to my eyes. Fuck, I missed him. I hated being separated.
I pumped out power again, blasting it.
People fell back, stumbling over themselves to get away now. A man fell and then started crawling along the stone, no apparent destination in mind.
Mr. Baritone appeared in front of me like a phantom. A fucking enormous phantom with his broad shoulders and thick chest.