Page 25 of Nansar
She fought like a wild creature, bucking and twisting, her small body straining with desperate strength. But she was so tiny compared to them, so heartbreakingly fragile. The Ardurian backhanded her viciously across the face, the sharp crack of flesh on flesh echoing through the clearing, snapping her head to the side.
Something instinctive and savage roared to life inside my soul, my vision going red at the edges.
I didn't think. Didn't plan. I simply moved, pure instinct driving me forward like a spear thrown by an unseen hand.
My blade was in my hand before I consciously drew it. The Ardurian didn't even see me coming, too focused on his vile intentions. I drove the blade through the back of his thick neck with such force that the razor-sharp point emerged from his throat in a violent spray of dark blood. He made a wet, gurgling sound, his body going rigid, and collapsed heavily onto Chloe.
The Romvesian's dark eyes went wide with understanding and fear. He released Chloe's wrists and scrambled backward like a startled insect, reaching desperately for a crude knife at his belt.
"Aljani," he hissed, rising into a defensive crouch, his voice carrying a mixture of recognition and dread. "This doesn't concern you. The human's just a—"
I didn't let him finish. I yanked my blade free from the Ardurian's corpse with a sickening slurp and advanced, my vision narrowing to this single target.
The Romvesian was faster than his companion, more skilled. He darted in with his blade, aiming for my ribs. I deflected the strike almost contemptuously and he danced back, circling me warily. He had real training—I could see it in his footwork, in the way he held his weapon with confidence born of experience.
It wouldn't save him. Nothing would.
He lunged again, feinting high then slashing low toward my thigh. I caught his wrist mid-strike, my fingers closing around the joint, and twisted hard enough to hear the satisfying crack of bones snapping like dry twigs. He screamed. I drove my blade up under his rib cage, angling it toward his heart. His eyes bulged, blood bubbling at his lips. I leaned in close, my horns blazing with heat, nearly touching his ridged face.
"It concerns me now," I growled.
I ripped the blade free and let him fall.
The whole thing had taken perhaps thirty seconds. Both males lay dead or dying in spreading pools of their own blood. My chest heaved, my horns blazing with heat I couldn't control. The rage sang in my veins like music, demanding more violence, more blood, more death.
Then I heard the sobbing.
Chloe.
I spun toward her, battle fury draining away as if someone had opened a floodgate, replaced by something else entirely. Something tender and protective and infinitely more dangerous to my peace of mind. She was curled on her side in the bloodstained grass, her arms wrapped around herself, weakly kicking to dislodge the Ardurian from atop her, shaking so violently I could see it from where I stood.
"Chloe." My voice came out rough, still edged with violence I couldn't quite suppress.
She didn't respond, just kept making those broken, terrified sounds that tore at something deep inside me.
I sheathed my blade with shaking hands and moved to her, pulling the Ardurian's heavy corpse away from where it had fallen partially across her. She immediately curled tighter into herself, her sobs intensifying until they were almost screams.
"Chloe, you're safe now. They're dead. They can't hurt you anymore."
"No, no, no, no..." She was rocking now, her eyes squeezed tightly shut, lost somewhere in her own private hell, reliving nightmares I couldn't see.
I crouched beside her, suddenly uncertain despite my size and strength. Every instinct I possessed screamed at me to touch her, to hold her, to comfort her, but I remembered what she'd said about not liking to be touched. About Declan. About what had been done to her.
"Chloe, look at me. Please, little one."
She only screamed louder, her hands clawing at her own arms hard enough to leave angry red marks, as if she were trying to scrape away invisible stains.
I couldn't stand it. I couldn't watch her tear herself apart while I stood by doing nothing.
I reached for her with deliberate gentleness, and she exploded into panicked motion, striking at me with her small fists. "Don't touch me! Don't touch me!"
"Chloe, it's me. It's Nansar. You're safe."
But she wasn't hearing me. She was somewhere else, sometime else, trapped in memories of whatever horror Hewes had inflicted on her.
A memory surfaced unbidden—myself at perhaps eight years old, waking from a nightmare so vivid I could taste the ash and blood. I'd been screaming, thrashing in my bedding, clawing at shadows that weren't there. My father had come, and when he'd reached for me, I'd fought him with everything I had. I'd hated him then—hated his expectations, his disappointments—and blamed him for my mother going away.
I'd screamed, striking at him just as Chloe was striking at me now. "I hate you! Don't touch me!"
