Total pages in book: 295
Estimated words: 282090 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1410(@200wpm)___ 1128(@250wpm)___ 940(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 282090 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1410(@200wpm)___ 1128(@250wpm)___ 940(@300wpm)
“How far are you?” I ask Tairn. Rain doesn’t strike the remains of the grass as much as it splashes into water that has yet to run off.
“Less than a minute.”
“I don’t have to strike him,” I whisper as the idea hits, scanning the flooded field. “Get Mira to the steps. You’ll be safe there.”
Brennan looks at me like I’ve just suggested our world is flat. “Until the next time he drains—”
“I need you to trust me. Get our sister to the steps.” I glance up at my brother and soak myself in Tairn’s power, giving it free rein, letting it fill every inch of my body.
“Violet—” There’s so much love and worry and fear in his gaze that I can’t help but force a smile.
“I know what I’m doing. Now, run.” I take the alloy-hilted blade from Brennan and turn away from them both.
“What the fuck are you doing, Violence?” Xaden demands.
“Shh. I’m concentrating.” I slam my shields up, blocking him out as the venin pivots.
The asshole smiles wider when he sees me.
“You’ll be quite the prize,” he calls out over the rain, striding toward me as if we have all the time in the world. “And to think, you’ll bring a dragon with you! You can’t be parted for long, can you?”
I grasp an alloy-hilted dagger in each hand and wait.
If I lose my temper, I’m dead.
Charge him and lose? I’m dead.
Wait too long and let him get his hands on me? Yep, dead.
The female I killed on Tairn’s back watched my fighting style and instantly adapted, which means I have to wait until the last possible second to show my hand.
Rain sizzles as it hits my heated skin. If I reach for much more, I’ll lose the ability to control it and burn out, so I hover on that edge as I hear another sound overpower the rain.
Wings.
“I don’t need to stress the importance of timing, do I?” Tairn asks.
“My timing will be perfect.” The pounding of my heart steadies with each step the venin takes, sure of my course. There’s no room for error. I glance right just long enough to see that Mira and Brennan made it off the field.
“I expect nothing less.”
The dark wielder is only feet away, his gaze raking over me, no doubt looking for my weaknesses, when I feel the gust of wind from Tairn’s wings at my back.
Now. I throw the daggers at the venin simultaneously, this time calculating for the force of the rain. The instant I see them slice through his boots, pinning his feet to the ground, I whip my arms out to the side, releasing all my power in a scalding torrent of lightning.
I stiffen my arms and lock every muscle.
Tairn’s talons wrap over my shoulders and grasp tight exactly as lightning strikes behind the enraged venin, lighting up the sky in a brilliant flash—and charging the water that covers the arena and the venin’s feet with lethal energy.
The dark wielder shrieks in agony, then falls dead, splashing into the field as we fly overhead.
I did it. Dunne be blessed, I did it.
“You cut it close.”
I roll my eyes and breathe deeply despite the rain that runs down my face as Tairn banks left, taking us along the curve of the arena, back to the palace.
Sgaeyl, Teine, and Marbh have all taken up defensive perches on the terrace above, positioning themselves to incinerate the crowd.
“I will devour anyone who makes a move against you. My patience has ended.” Tairn’s wings beat slower as we approach the patio.
“I’ll be sure to warn them.” Tairn waits until I have my balance on my soaked, slippered feet, then stalks forward through the crowd to the cries of fliers and aristocrats alike, cracking the marble beneath his claws until he reaches the grass and pivots, swinging his tail like the weapon it is and completing the four-cornered defense the dragons have structured.
Brennan falls into step with me, Mira propped under his arm but walking on her own beside him.
“You all right?” I ask under my breath as we pass nobles with umbrellas. This was fucking entertainment for them.
“We’re not the ones you should be concerned for,” Brennan mutters as the last line of aristocrats—including Cat and Syrena—parts, revealing a situation far more dangerous than the one I was just in.
Xaden’s lifted hand is raised at his chest, clenched in a partial fist, and wrath chills his eyes as he stares up at the viscount, whose feet kick for the ground.
Tecarus tears ineffectually at the shadows strangling his neck and, from the garbled sound of his breathing, he’s slowly asphyxiating.
“Xaden, please don’t!” Cat cries.
Xaden’s grip only tightens as the rain dissipates to a drizzle.
Tecarus gurgles, and fliers draw their weapons, but one growl from Sgaeyl is enough to keep them from advancing on Xaden.