I pulled back from the tree, chest heaving. Kamini was Luna’s daughter? Which would mean Kamini should have ancestral powers too . . . I lowered my hand and stared out at the clearing where the Phaetyn fought—
A body fell to the ground in the archway, startling me back to the present. The Phaetyn on the ground was one of the rebels I’d seen earlier today, the stocky one who barely spoke during the conversation in the lean-to. I blinked as his chest jerked in time to the gurgles of his labored inhales. I watched as his eyes grew glassy and as his chest stilled. He looked dead.
But, he couldn’t be dead because that was impossible.
A small trickle of green oozed from his mouth. I peered down his body, and my gaze halted on the knife protruding from his side. The silvery fabric of his aketon was torn, and the skin around the wound was visible through the tear. His pale skin had lost its luster, probably typical for death, but that wasn’t what made my heart stop.
The skin surrounding the knife wound wasn’t the same color as everywhere else. The Phaetyn’s blood was silvery iridescent and oozed from the wound, but even that didn’t hide the dark streaks of black. Black.
I swallowed, and my mind whirled. There was only one thing I could think of that would cause that. But it was impossible because that meant this fight was a real fight where Phaetyn were dying. And there was only one way to kill Phaetyn.
My heart pounded to life as rage filled me. I sucked in a deep breath and stood. I’d better be wrong. I’d bloody better be wrong.
I ducked under the railing and shoved a royal Phaetyn guard out of my way, my arms moving in a blur. I charged toward the quartz house. Scales covered my chest and my arms, my talons shifted out, and my vision sharpened as my eyes changed. I was barely holding it together; only the hope that I was wrong kept me from going full Drae.
Phaetyn stepped in my path, but I flung them aside like flies. A sting pricked my back. I whirled and grabbed at the offending guard, my talons shredding his tunic and slicing into his skin. He bellowed in pain as his skin darkened around the wound, and I roared.
I stepped over his writhing body.
I screamed in rage, and several Phaetyn scampered out of my path as I broke into a run.
The fighting idiots blurred, and I charged up the steps and through the door of the Pink House. I sprinted down the hall, fear squeezing my chest. What if I was too late?
One of the guards stood outside the room, shouting when he saw me. With one swipe, I sent him crashing down the hall. The door was ajar, and I pushed through.
No, no, no!
I burst into the room, and horror struck me dumb.
Tyrrik lay on the bed, unconscious, only his lap covered by the blanket Dyter had spread over him before we left.
Five guards surrounded Tyrrik. One guard sat at the head of the bed, pouring crystal clear liquid into Tyrrik’s mouth. Two guards sat on either side of the bed. One sliced deeply into Tyrrik’s thigh and then spat in the open wound. Spitting . . . their Phaetyn juice would poison him, keeping his wound from healing. The other Phaetyn ran a blade through a still oozing wound on the other leg. Judging by the rows of gashes on his legs and arms, they’d been at it for a while. Black blood oozed from many of the wounds, and as my gaze traveled up to Tyrrik’s chest, I saw the basins under his arms, collecting blood from the gashes on the inside of his elbows. Two more guards sat on Dyter’s bed, dipping weapons in Tyrrik’s blood.
Red-streaked darkness filled my chest; pounding with my heart, it filled my being. My shoulders lifted, my mouth contorting, fangs descending as I screamed a heart-ripping roar of rage and pain. Blue scales covered my frame, my talons lengthened, my eyes formed slits, but somehow, somehow as my wings began to stab out through my back, I paused.
If I shifted full Drae, I’d bring the entire Pink House down, and while that would kill the guards, it might also kill Tyrrik.
The guards scrambled upright, brandishing their blood-coated blades at me.
One of the guards lunged forward as another threw a knife. The blade bounced off my blue scales and clattered to the floor as the other guards moved to within striking distance. I snarled, lost to my instincts, and crouched like the predator I was to meet their attack.
I grabbed the outstretched blade of the guard and pulled him close, driving my talons deep into his stomach. He shrieked, and I jerked my hand upward, slicing through his abdominal organs until I hit bone. He opened his mouth, silvery blood gushing out, and I flung him away so his blood wouldn’t further injure my Drae. The Phaetyn’s body crashed against the wall, and he slid to the ground in a heap.
The other guards had halted their advance while they watched my fight with their companion, and now the remaining four Phaetyn converged and advanced as a single unit. Like it matters. I would destroy every one of them. They were prey. I was powerful.
They threw weapons at me, and I batted several of them from the air before catching one of the guards peering over my shoulder toward the door. Were they just stalling until help arrived? My anger boiled, and I bent my knees, catapulting myself toward them. I charged, slashing at the Phaetyn with my talons, roaring. I saw nothing but the monsters that hurt my Tyrrik, for surely he was mine. Wetness splattered me, and I continued to shred until there was nothing but pieces of what had once been life.
I stood afterward in the middle of the blood-splattered room.
My gaze landed on Tyrrik. My ears fixed on his labored breathing. I only smelled his blood. I knelt at his side and picked a blade up from the floor. I sliced through the pads of my fingers, pushing my blood over his wounds to help them heal.
I heard footsteps in the hall and whirled to face the next threat, but Dyter’s scent preceded him, and though my talons didn’t retract, I’d already knelt beside Tyrrik again before he stepped through the door.
“What the hay . . .” Dyter gasped, skidding to a halt. “Holy fecking Drae,” he panted, closing the door behind him.
His eyes were as wide as saucers, and his mouth hung open as he struggled to catch his breath. “What—” He pointed at the gore splattering the walls and severed parts littering the floor and then turned to the side and threw up.
I felt like I should apologize to him, but I wasn’t the least bit sorry. Not at all.
“Watch the door,” I growled through my fangs. “They poisoned Tyrrik.”
“We need to leave now,” Dyter said, wiping his chin.
I listened to Tyrrik’s straining heartbeat. “There will be no later for Tyrrik unless I heal him now. They were spitting on the knife to keep the wounds open and drain him. There are droplets of Phaetyn poison inside him again.”
“As quick as you can then, Rynnie,” Dyter said, as he bent to pick up one of the weapons littering the floor.