Page 56 of Slayer

Whether it comes from my siren or shifter blood, I’ve never been entirely sure. I used to think it was the siren side, the moon ruling the tides, pulling at the sea the way it pulls at me. But shifting is always easier beneath a full moon. Smoother and stronger, but more dangerous. Maybe that’s what I need to save them tonight.

The screams grow louder, fraying at the edges of the air. Time is slipping away. It won’t be long now.

I shift into the black alley cat. This form is much easier on my body than the raven. I sprint through the garden, low and fast, slipping between shadows before leaping up onto the castle fence. I perch there, tail flicking once as I look down over the town.

Flames roar high enough to lick the sides of nearby buildings, heat warping the night air. Gods, these people don’t just fear witches and pirates. They loathe them. I spot the five of them instantly. Bound and beaten, faces swollen beyond recognition, bodies bloodied and broken. Some are barely upright. My hair stands on end at the thought of Maddoc’s final moments. Watching his swollen, broken body turn to ash.

Five souls.

I can save five of them, I can do that. How ironic that I'm on the other side of violence now. Instead of taking lives, I'm the one giving them second chances. After they're free, their survival will be their own fight, but at least they’ll have the chance.

I run. My paws pound against stone and dirt as I race toward the ritual, the smell of smoke and fear thick in the air. Idiots. Every last one of them. Don’t they understand what happens when you burn a witch? Magic doesn’t vanish. It has to go somewhere. Magic always needs a host.

I blend into the chaos, slipping between the legs of two women at the edge of the crowd, my claws gripping the stone beside their ankles. I tilt my head and look up at them.

They’re smiling. Eyes wide, hungry, watching the fire with eager excitement and not even noticing me beneath them. The crowd roars, voices rising in a frenzy so loud it feels like it might rupture my eardrums. Cats have incredibly sensitive hearing. I steady myself, waiting for the moment to strike.

Two witches. Three pirates. I’ve always wondered how they even manage to catch witches. Most witches reside in Alek, and the people of Coral Haven aren’t built for the fight awaiting them on those shores. Pirates are easier to come by, since so many of them are foolish or drunk enough to wander too close to Coral Haven’s waters. Some are taken from Shoreline Village. Others are simply just unlucky.

Up close, the truth of the prisoners’ treatment is obvious. They’ve been starved. Some of them have been held captive for weeks, maybe longer, their bodies hollowed out, strength leeched away one day at a time. The others look fresher, but no less broken. But one thing remains: the fire in their eyes to live.

A guard shoves one of the witches forward. She hits the ground hard, knees cracking against stone and splitting. Her hands scrape across the rocky surface as she tries to catch herself.

Blood wells from her skin. Another guard steps forward and throws the next prisoner down. Then another and another until of them are lined up before the fire, faces turned toward the flames waiting to consume them. I steady my breath. The moment is coming.

Hmmm. So they’re bringing the fire to them. A drum slams once, deep, thunderous, and the square falls silent. Every head turns left as a royal steps forward, dressed in a captain’s uniform. The roar of the crowd silences.

“Tonight,” he announces, voice echoing in the square, “we burn the ones who carry magic in their veins. We burn the ones who pillage, corrupt, and kill.” He gestures to the prisoners. “Everything we despise lives within their souls. And for that, they must die.” Ironic. They should really look into who their king is.

The crowd erupts. How insanely sheep-like they are to follow blindly, unaware of what any of this truly means, their hatred made communal. Chaos blooms brighter than the fire itself. Cheers, screams, and fists are raised in fevered approval. Gods, the king has every single person on this island possessed.

I glance down at my paws. Ash dusts my black fur.

“By order of the king!” a guard roars. Each soldier steps forward, lifting a length of wood wrapped in fabric.

Here we go. I hesitate before shifting, scanning all the faces around me. No one seems to pay attention to the black cat. My instincts tell me this is the time, while they’re all chanting.

Power tears through me as the raven surges into being. Wings unfurl with violent force, sending a shockwave through the crowd. The women beside me are thrown backward, crashing to the ground with startled cries.

Silence spreads again as every pair of eyes locks onto me. I take flight, my wings beating hard as I soar above the firepit. Heat licks at my feathers, smoke shifting around me as the crowd looks up. Their terror strips them bare. They can feel the shift of power, the turning of the tide. These royals are already dead; they just don’t know it yet.

I fold my wings into my body and plummet. Wind tears through my feathers as I drop fast and precise. I snatch one of the guards by the shoulders, my talons locking into his flesh. A bloodcurdling scream rips from his throat.

I hurl him straight into the flames. The crowd stumbles backward in a wave of panic. But they don’t run, they merely back up and watch. They came to see blood spilled, after all.

The scream is shrill as the flames eat the royal alive. I savor it. The next two meet the same fate, fire consuming their screams until there’s nothing left but heat and ash.

Soon, only the captain is left. I land a few feet in front of him, stone cracking beneath my weight. My black eyes lock onto his, staring straight through whatever remains of his soul.

An arrow cuts through the air, slamming into the rocky ground right in front of the captain. The fletching quivers.

Oh, how I love an archer who can’t hit his target.

I launch forward and the captain unsheathes his sword. Silver flashes, catching the orange and gold of the fire as the blade clears its scabbard.

He charges. I beat my wings once and lift just above the ground as he lunges far too slowly. His blade cuts through empty air. I expected a captain to be more experienced.

I veer left as he swings to my right, the wind off his blade grazing my feathers. Before he can recover, I pivot midair and dive. My talons rake clean through the fabric and flesh on his back. I feel the resistance give beneath me, muscle parting, heat spilling as blood wells fast.