Total pages in book: 247
Estimated words: 235897 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1179(@200wpm)___ 944(@250wpm)___ 786(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 235897 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1179(@200wpm)___ 944(@250wpm)___ 786(@300wpm)
“No,” Mira garbles, and Theophanie tightens her gnarled grip on the blade, pressing it harder against Mira’s throat. Another ounce of pressure and her skin will split.
“Shhh. Speak again, and I’ll spill your dragon’s blood all over this field,” Theophanie says into Mira’s ear as the others reach me.
My sister stills as the men reach my sides.
“Let them go.” I will slaughter the dark wielder where she stands. Energy hums in my veins, ready for the first opportunity to strike.
“Stay calm,” Xaden says, shadows curling over the toes of his boots and drifting south as we start to walk closer. “Stay in control.” He glances toward the doomed city.
Keeping the promise I made to Brennan means not looking, so I don’t.
“That’s usually my line.” I keep my eyes off Mira, focusing solely on the dark wielder.
“Not yet. And four on one hardly seems fair.” Theophanie glances at Brennan, then Bodhi. “I didn’t ask for either of you to attend.”
“I thought you requested brothers? Next time be more specific about who’s invited,” I suggest.
“And yet you didn’t bring the brother he wanted.” Theophanie sighs. “Berwyn will be disappointed.” A thin line of blood appears along the edge of her knife.
“He’s on the way,” I say quickly.
“Berwyn.” Xaden tenses, and his focus swings south toward the city again. That’s where he needs to be—in position to save as many people as possible—but he’s made it clear he doesn’t want to leave me.
“Yes. Hence the term brother.” Theophanie glances my way. “I won’t make the mistakes with you Berwyn made with Jack. He spills his Sage’s secrets too easily.”
“I’m not turning.” My hands curl into fists.
“You are,” she states like it’s certain. “In just a few minutes, in fact. I’m intrigued to see what the actual catalyst will be.” Her eyes light up. “Saving your sister? Defending your lover? The trite-yet-always-popular revenge? I’m betting on a combination of all three.” Her head tilts, and she rests her cheek against the top of Mira’s head. “Speaking of which, time is up—”
My heart lurches, and a gust of wind blows from the north.
“He’s here!” Garrick shouts.
I glance left and find Chradh standing where there had only been empty space moments before, his foreclaw clutching a familiar runed armoire. They made it, but the knife still at Mira’s throat makes it hard to feel any sort of relief.
“Show him to me,” Theophanie orders.
Xaden rolls his neck, and the shadows around his feet drift past Bodhi’s.
Garrick dismounts, then walks to the Rybestad chest with slower steps than usual and pulls the key from his pocket. It only takes a few seconds for him to open the chest’s doors.
“There he is.” Theophanie smiles, but I don’t risk taking my eyes off her to examine how Jack is doing, especially not when Mira looks like she might pass out at any second. “Just one little matter of business to attend to, and then we’ll begin.”
“He is emaciated and wan,” Tairn tells me. “Suspended in air as the chest intends, and he appears…sedated. I can show you through my eyes if you prefer—”
“Description is perfect, thank you.” I lift my chin. “Both Jack and I are here. Our end of the deal is fulfilled, so let Mira and Teine go.”
Brennan’s hands flex at his sides.
“That wasn’t the deal.” Theophanie tsks. “I said we’d let Draithus stand, not that your sister would live.” Her mouth curves in a sadistic smile. “First thing to learn about us is that we’re careful with our words. And the second? We also lie.”
She draws the blade across Mira’s neck and slits her throat.
It was not without risk that the first dragons bonded humans, for though they clearly hold the power, their bonded riders made them the one thing they could not tolerate: vulnerable. Many dragons suffered the loss of their bonded riders in the name of self-preservation.
—The Sacrifice of Dragonkind by Major Deandra Naveen
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
“Mira!” I scream louder than a dragon’s roar as crimson blood streams from the laceration in my sister’s throat.
Everything seems to happen at once, like a group of musicians cued for a performance.
“Time to play, Violet.” Theophanie hurls the dagger—at Jack.
A sea of gray wings rises in the south, and my boots pound across the field.
Xaden projects a stream of shadow toward Theophanie, but the bands fly southward.
What the fuck? No time to think. I’m already running at the dark wielder, alloy-hilted dagger drawn, when the closest wyvern launches and plucks Theophanie from the ground as it flies overhead.
Mira collapses to her knees in the grass, grabbing for the fatal cut with both hands, and suddenly nothing else matters. Not revenge. Not Draithus. My sister only has seconds.
Malek, please, no.
“It’s all right.” My voice breaks, and I discard my dagger and hit the ground, catching her as she falls. Blood streams through my fingers as I press my hand against the pulsing wound at her throat. Pressure. She needs pressure.