Page 61 of Scarlet Wars
“You want her to bond with him right now?” I hissed. I didn’t have to fake the anguish no more, the thought of it alone brought me to my knees.
“You can’t force her to choose me,” James growled, finally speaking up.
“I think I’ve made it clear what would happen if she doesn’t.”
Emma stilled. With her back to me, I couldn’t read her face, and the silence stretched until I thought I might lose my mind.
“You’re not going to kill Caden Colt,” she said finally, each word hard, and certain.
The High Chief’s mouth curled, wolfish. “You must’ve misinterpreted my actions.”
“You didn’t cut him in a deadly way.”
“Yet.”
She shook her head, keeping her spine rigid. “He’s First Offensive of Crown, in alliance with Cyclos and Slava. You kill him, the two largest Collectives in the world and Petru Stoyanbecome your enemies. Not to mention—if you’re wrong—you’ll be responsible for wiping our savior out of existence.”
The High Chief seemed to consider this for a second. “You might be right,” he said at last, his tone almost amused. “Luckily, there are enough people you care about.”
As if summoned by those words, the heavy doors slammed open, the sound hitting like a death knell, and a dozen Chiefs filed in, dragging Sean in between them.
Bloodied, battered, but still alive, jaw locked in that stubborn tilt that said he’d rather choke on his own blood than bow.
I heard Emma’s inhale beside me, the way her presence vibrated with disbelief that curdled instantly into something akin to fear.
My head lifted and I met my brother’s gaze, saw the streak of red down his cheek, the way his knees buckled but didn’t give, and something inside me went perfectly still.
Not rage. Not panic. Just cold clarity.
I turned back to the High Chief, every muscle in my body strung tight with precision. “Big mistake.”
Then I let my haze go again. Not wild, not messy, but methodical, a blade drawn from its sheath. It ripped out of me in an invisible wave, wrapping the space in the kind of silence that promised blood.
Three Chiefs stepped forward, meeting mine head-on, power colliding so hard the floor shuddered, the walls groaning under the pressure. For a breath, I held, forcing mine against theirs, driving into the choke with every ounce of control I had.
But three against one was a grindstone. They pressed down, smothering, neutralizing, their combined haze pouring into me until my lungs seized and my teeth clenched against the weight.
“You can’t win, mister Colt,” the High Chief said softly. “Your third cycle haze is impressive but no match for our numbers.”
A fourth and a fifth stepped out, unleashing translation so thick when it met mine the impact rang through my bones like an earthquake.
My haze buckled, crushed flat, and was shoved back into me until my lungs seized and my body locked.
And the worst part? The remaining Chiefs didn’t even slow. They kept dragging Sean forward as if my outburst hadn’t mattered, as if I’d been nothing more than a dog snapping its teeth before the leash yanked tight.
“You see, Ms. Thompson,” the High Chief continued, spreading his hands as though unveiling a gift, “Unlike the Board, who foolishly tried to dress themselves in ethics and rules, we suffer no such hiccups.”
He glanced briefly at Emma as though she were no more than a piece on a board. “Considering that, depending on which one of these men you choose, the whole of the Magi World either survives or is wiped out, we feel rather justified in our actions.”
Emma charged forward but James caught her by the arm and yanked her back. “Don’t be an idiot,” he muttered through gritted teeth.
A Chief fisted Sean’s hair and wrenched his head back, exposing the vulnerable column of his throat. Another drove a knee into his gut with such force the crack of ribs echoed.
Sean gagged on the scream, blood bubbling at the corner of his mouth as he doubled over, only to be yanked upright again. His skull smashed against the stone wall with a sickening thud, leaving a dark smear of red as he sagged forward.
I tried to move but with a lazy flick of the High Chief’s wrist, the air around me thickened, hardening into a coil of translation that clamped down on my throat. My breath seized, every gasp scraping like glass, the pressure building until black spots edged my vision. Across from me, James slammed back into his chairas invisible bindings locked his arms and chest in place, his jaw straining against the force.
Then, one of the Chiefs translated his Corona, the weapon humming as it materialized in his hand, and pressed the blade to Sean’s throat. A thin line of crimson welled instantly, trickling down over his collarbone.
