Chapter 253 253
Chapter 253 253
I lift my gaze just in time to see a huge gray-furred wolf raising one of his claws, ready to make me disappear in a single blow. Zerion cracks a whip, severing the animal’s paw instantly. It roars in pain and Azrakiel leaps from behind, twists its neck, and ends its life.
“Will you be able to handle it?” Zerion asks, opening my fingers and placing the whip’s handle in my palm. “I remember how much you loved watching it in action when we trained.”
The moment I close my hand around it, I feel an immediate connection, as if it were part of my arm. Both vampires, with whom I’ve had the chance to hone my combat abilities, position themselves at my side like a shield. We advance slowly, carving our way toward the true objective. I have no idea what material the whip is made of, but it slices through limbs effortlessly. When my arms ache, I use small lapses of time in which I feel protected to search for the threads of the souls around me. Some don’t expect it when I cut them as if it were nothing, and I watch the life drain from their eyes. If I looked behind me, I’d see a trail of corpses left in our wake. With so many immune to the vampires’ gifts because of my stolen blood, only the brutality of hand-to-hand combat remains.
For a second I raise my eyes and what I see freezes my blood. Antony is surrounded, and I know that no matter how fast I am, I won’t make it in time. Still, I refuse to give up without trying. I can’t lose anyone else. The inner wounds are already killing me; one more and I won’t be able to get up. It’s then, in the middle of those thoughts, when a deafening scream rips through the air. Everyone, vampires and shapeshifters alike, has to stop and cover their ears or try to shield them however they can from the noise.
I search for the source until I locate a very angry Nymera on the other side of the battle. It’s impossible not to see her, with her wild white hair, standing amid all the bodies we’ve left behind. Even though I feel like I’m about to lose my hearing, I know this is my chance to reach Antony. I run, gritting my teeth against the effort it costs me. When I’m close enough, I hurl the whip, loop it around his rival’s throat, and pull hard, drenching Antony with his blood.
The enemy’s companion manages to react, ignoring the Blood Wraith’s scream, and tries to lunge at the vampire. Before he can harm him, I sever his hind legs, sending him crashing headfirst.
The noise ceases, and it’s then that the vampire regains composure and crushes the shapeshifter’s head under his boot, scattering his brains across the ground. We share a look that says too much; there is gratitude, there is pain, and there is a sense of family that I can only share with a few. Fewer and fewer each time.
“What is she doing here?” he asks, breathless.
“You should know. Her scream is for you.”
He searches for Nymera with his gaze, who is on the other side of the field, away from the fighting, recovering from the effort of her scream with her fists clenched.
“Are they fleeing?” asks Azrakiel, approaching us from behind.
“We can’t let them,” I growl.
Still, Ragna remains unmoved, watching how events unfold. Every shapeshifter who tries to retreat receives a tilt of her chin forbidding them to leave the slaughter.
I feel closer and closer to my target, and she knows it’s only a matter of time before we are face to face. Perhaps she doesn’t have a soul I can annihilate, but her body is still mortal, with the right damage there will be no way for her to recover. Morwenna hasn’t changed her appearance and for a moment she steps back when our paths cross, ready to flee, but I’m faster and steal the chance from her. I reappear behind her, bury my hand in her brown hair and yank it, forcing her to her knees.
“If what you expect is for me to beg for mercy, I’m sorry to disappoint you,” she spits.
She gives me a tight-toothed smile.
“No, I don’t expect anything from you,” I answer with the same contempt. “I don’t even want to know why you’re so fucked up as to help kill an innocent baby. I just want to see the color of your blood and the look in your eyes when I finish you.”
The tingling sensation through all my limbs returns again, stronger than before. My black hair moves around me ignoring all the rules of logic, and my eyes have never been so fixed on their target.
“I expected death to have a different face,” she says, closing her eyes.
Everything around her seems to inspire thoughts of ancient forces, even her scent reminds me of books forgotten with the passage of time. Behind me I hear how Azrakiel, Zerion, and Antony buy me every minute, fighting, preventing enemies from reaching me. My gift may be terrifying, but it requires seconds that in the middle of a battlefield are far too precious. I squeeze my eyelids shut, feeling the map of veins charged with power spreading into every tiny recess of my body. The soul threads of Moirah are golden, like caramel, honey, and sand. When the fingers of my gift stretch toward them, they seem to want to climb like a cat at its master’s feet. As if life had been too hard a road and the promise of death was a breath of fresh air. I open my eyes and find the Destroyer’s locked on mine.
“If you were going to give up so easily, why did you do all this?”
“Would a grand explanation ease the pain I’ve caused or atone for my sins?” She shakes her head as she smiles. “Not all villains have grand motives behind them, little death, some of us are simply villains. So finish what you started.”
“You’re not going to fight?”
“I’ve been doing that all my life, let death find me in peace.”
Despite everything, the Destroyer awakens my curiosity the way forgotten books do, the ones she reminds me of. I wonder if it is part of her nature, a defense mechanism. Yet her story will never be discovered and will die with her, for though she is without doubt an extraordinary, fascinating creature, I will never forgive her sins.
“You don’t deserve it.”
“Then cut my throat if that satisfies you more.”
“Elara!” Zerion shouts.