Page 221 of The Mercy of Dawn

The pain in her chest cracked and splintered, and an inferno tore through her. She never thought death would be such a spectacle. That it would feel like such a consuming, painful—

Cyril’s knees hit the ground, and her chest heaved at the first whisper of air.

Damp and rank, fucking godsent air, that she took down in violent gulps.

She was…no longer chained.

And her leg—oh gods.

Cyril couldn’t look at it, at the torn flesh and muscle, exposed and bleeding freely.

It ached, so fucking bad, but it bore her weight and she staggered upright as the creature whipped around, snarling.

“Filthy sun-fae bitch,” it seethed in its rattling echo of a voice, and it charged.

Cyril didn’t have time to parse what happened. She didn’t have time to even consider why the hells her body felt like it was fucking buzzing, like it was full of more life than it ever had been.

She had to fucking move.

Cyril lunged forward against the pain and swept in low. She said a quiet prayer to whatever old god still deigned to listen as she reached down into her boot and—

Thank fuck.

She freed a blade from the concealed sheath in the leather and swung it back towards the creature’s knees as she slid under its reach. Blood-soaked dirt and gravel flew up in every direction around her.

The ground shook with a thud as a blood-curdling shriek rang out.

Cyril hit her mark.

Her chest heaved as she tried to catch her breath, spitting out blood and debris and whatever the fuck else was in her mouth. Cyril pushed herself up onto her elbows and knees, but claws tore into her ankle and ripped her back across the room.

“Let me go!” Cyril roared as she twisted and writhed, trying to wrench herself free from its grip. Its claws were fucking merciless as they hooked into her boots and through her flesh.

It tossed her onto her back with enough force to send Cyril’s vision spinning and another torrent of pain down her spine. Her blade clattered from her hand as the creature pinned her with its crushing weight. It felt like a plate of lead landed on her hips, boring her down into the earth, but Cyril kept writhing and wrenching and pounding her palm against its chest.

“I like it when it fights,” the creature rumbled, its serpentine face hovering above hers. It snaked a hand back up her neck as it cackled, “But now it dies.”

Her next movements were a blur.

Cyril slammed her forehead up into its face, its razor-edged teeth tearing into her skin. As the creature grunted and sputtered, it reared back, giving Cyril the precious inch of the quarter she needed to reach her blade. It took all of her might to plunge it into the side of the creature’s neck.

She went to rip the blade forward, to slit the fucking thing’s damn throat just like Bron taught her to do, but thick, black blood poured out from the wound. Cyril lost her grip on the slick handle as the creature rolled off her with a wet, gurgling shriek.

Cyril staggered up to her feet, the gaping wound in her leg nothing more than a dull ache now, and she freed the blade from her other boot.

That fucking blonde woman was still chanting, muttering words Cyril couldn’t process, oblivious to the world around her as the runes painted around the room pulsed with life.

Cyril would deal with her after—she had more pressing issues.

The creature on the ground writhed and grunted, trying to pull the blade free from its neck. Cyril dropped her weight down onto it and something like pain surged in her periphery as its claws tore into her side.

She plunged her blade into the other side of its throat, gripped both handles with every last bit of her fleeting energy, and ripped them across in opposite directions.

A final, gurgling breath left the creature before it went limp.

One more to go.

Getting to her feet this time took a concerted effort. Her chest burned as every breath sawed in and out of her lungs. She staggered forward a step, both blades clutched in her hands, but the woman splayed her arm towards Cyril and a blast of force blew her back against the wall.