Chapter 248 Courtyard Clash

Chapter 248 Courtyard Clash
Klaus roared, a raw, deafening sound of pure pain and fury. He grabbed the thick steel collar of Draven’s breastplate with both hands. The muscles in Klaus’s back coiled, the deep pink scars stretching to their limits.

He ripped the heavy steel armor completely off Draven’s chest.

The leather straps snapped. The iron rivets popped like dry twigs. Klaus threw the ruined, scorched breastplate across the terrace. It crashed against the wall, leaving Draven exposed in his torn, blood-soaked linen tunic.

Draven was a seasoned killer. He did not freeze. While Klaus’s hands were occupied with the armor, Draven reached down to his heavy leather belt. He pulled a long, jagged dagger from a hidden sheath.

The blade was not steel. It gleamed with the stark, unmistakable shine of pure silver.

"Klaus!" I screamed, the sound tearing raw from my throat.

Klaus looked down just as Draven drove the silver dagger straight up, burying the blade deep into Klaus’s left side, sliding the metal neatly between his ribs.

Klaus froze.

The reaction to the silver was instantaneous and horrific. Thick, white smoke poured rapidly from the entry wound. The smell of searing, burning flesh flooded the terrace, harsh and sweet. Klaus’s breathing hitched into a rapid, ragged wheeze. His bright sapphire eyes widened, the pupils contracting sharply as the toxic metal burned directly against his lung.

My vision blurred. A violent, tearing panic ripped through my chest. The blood-bond connecting our hearts screamed, flooding my mind with the sheer, searing fire burning inside his ribs.

I tore my arm free from Cassian’s grip. I ran toward the steps, my heavy boots pounding against the black marble.

"Stay back!" Klaus choked out.

He did not fall. He did not roll off the Captain.

Klaus looked down at Draven, his face contorted in a mask of severe, tearing agony. The dark veins on his chest pulsed erratically, fighting a losing battle against the silver poison buried near his heart.

Draven smiled. It was a bloody, desperate sneer. His teeth were stained bright red. He kept his hand firmly on the hilt of the silver dagger, twisting the jagged blade deeper into Klaus’s flesh.

"You heal," Draven rasped, spitting blood onto Klaus’s bare chest. "But you still feel it burn."

Klaus reached down. He did not grab Draven’s hand. He did not try to pull the silver dagger out.

He wrapped his massive, calloused hands directly around Draven’s thick neck.

Klaus leaned his weight forward, driving the silver blade even deeper into his own side to get better leverage. The white smoke billowed thicker, curling around their faces. Klaus’s jaw locked tight, the tendons in his neck standing out like thick ropes.

He squeezed.

Draven’s bloody smile vanished entirely. His amber eyes bulged. He let go of the dagger, his hands flying up to claw frantically at Klaus’s thick wrists. Draven’s heavy, steel-plated gauntlets scraped uselessly against Klaus’s pale skin, tearing long, bloody gouges down his forearms.

"You locked me in the dark," Klaus whispered. His voice was a wet, broken rasp, fighting past the blood filling his mouth.

Draven choked, a high, desperate, whistling sound escaping his crushed windpipe. He thrashed his legs, his heavy boots kicking wildly against the stone floor. His face turned a dark, bruised purple.

"You let me starve," Klaus continued, his grip tightening with terrifying, slow intent. The silver burned inside him, melting his flesh, but he simply poured that pain directly into his hands.

I reached the bottom of the stone steps. I stopped, staring up at the violent, bloody tangle of men on the terrace.

I wanted to touch the stone. I wanted to send the black rot racing up the steps to melt the Captain into a puddle of hissing decay. The dark magic burned in my fingertips, begging for a target.

But I watched Klaus. I watched the feral, consuming need for closure burning in his glowing blue eyes. This was the man who had ordered the silver hooks driven into Klaus’s chest. This was the man who had treated an immortal king like a feral dog. I could not take this kill from him.

Draven’s thrashing began to slow. His hands fell away from Klaus’s wrists, his thick fingers twitching against the white marble. His pale amber eyes rolled back, entirely consumed by the crushing pressure on his throat.

Klaus did not let go. He held the Captain down, his massive hands locked like iron vises, long after Draven’s body went completely limp.

The quiet of the courtyard rushed back in, broken only by the harsh, ragged wheezing of Klaus’s breathing and the soft, wet sound of the blood dripping from his side.

Slowly, Klaus opened his hands.

He pushed himself back, sliding off Draven’s lifeless body. Klaus collapsed onto his knees on the hard stone. He reached down, his trembling, blood-soaked fingers wrapping around the hilt of the silver dagger still buried between his ribs.

He let out a loud, roaring yell and ripped the blade free.

He threw the silver weapon across the terrace. It clattered loudly against the stone, covered in dark, smoking blood.

Klaus fell forward, catching himself on his hands and knees. His head hung low between his shoulders. Thick, heavy drops of blood poured from his side, pooling rapidly on the pristine white marble. The white smoke continued to curl from the deep, charred hole in his ribs.

I ran up the remaining steps, dropping to my knees right beside him.

I did not care about the dirt or the blood. I wrapped my arms tightly around his broad, trembling shoulders. I pressed my face against the side of his neck. His skin was burning hot, slick with cold sweat and grime.

"I have you," I whispered, my voice breaking completely. My hands shook as I pressed my clean, linen-wrapped sleeve firmly against the smoking wound, trying to staunch the heavy bleeding. "I am here."

Klaus turned his head slowly. His bright blue eyes were hazy with pain, but they focused entirely on my face. He looked at my dark, tangled hair and the tears cutting tracks through the soot on my cheeks.

He reached up, his heavy, blood-stained hand cupping the back of my neck. He pulled my forehead down to rest against his.

"The Hound is dead," Klaus breathed, his chest heaving against my hands.

I looked past his shoulder. General Draven lay motionless on the stone, his neck brutally crushed, his sightless amber eyes staring up at the heavy, bruised sky. The commander of the Emperor’s guard was broken.

"He is dead," I agreed, closing my eyes and leaning into the solid, heavy weight of his body.