Page 57 of Andreas

Areanel did not care what these men and women wanted. Slashing her blade in an upward angle, Areanel sliced an attacker’s abdomen and watched as they desperately tried to stop the blood with their hands.

She was uninterested in what cause they fought for, didn’t care that they wanted to dismantle a monarchy that oppressed other species, and that they hated her father—and her, in turn—for keeping the other kingdoms bound by a treaty that ensures their own betterment.

Areanel stood, chest heaving with exertion, and watched a rebel slam hard onto the ground, sending leaves and dirt scattering. The man reached for the red fabric covering the lower part of his face, pulling it away with a cough. Blood splattered the ground and her boots.

It no longer mattered. A rebel had killed her son. Taken her hope. They had ensured she would never see the rays of a morning sun without tears in her eyes and grief in her heart, for they only served to remind her of her son’s smile—one she would never have the joy of witnessing again. Silver lined her eyes, and Areanel’s heart clenched, but there was something dangerous underneath. An icy cold pressed against her ribs as the ache became a physical, living thing that whipped and beat at her chest from the inside out.

Her power threatened to unravel her.

As though it had a mind of its own, Areanel felt her power reach out, drawing in the magic around her. Her hands trembled with the force, and for a moment, Areanel watched as the man’s eyes widened. Fear. Paralysing, numbing fear. And in that fraction of a second, Areanel thought she saw the man’s features turn gaunt, like the life had been sucked out of him, but then his eyes flashed a bright shade of blue. His body fell flat with a thud, bouncing off the ground before it stilled. Dead.

What the hell was that? What had she done? Or the better question: How?

Areanel stared at her bloodied, shaking hands like they were a foreign piece of her. No longer her own.

Quickly, the power within her released its hold on the ropes of magic, and she pushed all thought from her mind to focus on the task at hand. It didn’t matter if these men and women weren’t personally responsible for Resmundur’s death—she had made a vow to eradicate all of them, no matter the cost.

Besides, they were no different. Each had chosen to align themselves with this cause to bring harm to her family. Whether they were right or wrong didn’t matter. In her eyes, they were murderers. And if she could kill every one of them, Areanel hoped it would avenge her son—maybe even satiate her anger.

But there were far too many for her to deal with alone.

As fearful gazes fell to her blood-soaked hands and blades, Areanel advanced. Slowly backing away, the archers yielded a step. Then another. With every stride she took, they retreated. Good, let them be afraid.

Hands shaking and lips quivering, they began to turn and race away. And Areanel enjoyed the bitter taste of their fear. It coated the roof of her mouth, leaving copper in its wake.

Three wide-eyed rebels raced forward, swinging their bows to distract her whilst the others ran for safety.

Adrenaline dulled the exhaustion, but Areanel could feel it slipping like sand from her grasp. She was running out of time before she succumbed to the consequences of overtaxing her powers.

Needing to work fast, Areanel knew she wouldn’t be able to dispatch the three currently pummelling her with combined attacks and race after the other archer, but she refused to let even one go.

Pushing the rebel closest to her away, Areanel kicked another square in the chest, sending them tumbling down the slope. The last made the mistake of looking behind to their fallen comrade, and Areanel used the opportunity to strike.

The blood that gushed from their side poured onto her hand before she could rip it away. With the three trying to regain their footing, Areanel took the chance to call for reinforcements. They should be close enough to hear now—she had felt the slight tug along their bond a few minutes ago; Winter was fast approaching, yet Areanel had informed the wolves to wait. But now, with the chance of some escaping, Areanel knew she needed to act without delay.

Bringing her hand to her lips, Areanel ignored the metallic taste of blood and let out a sharp, high-pitched whistle which echoed through the forest.

The three rebels that had attacked her fell silent, wide eyes now bugging out of their sockets as they glanced around. When they saw and heard nothing, the three shared a look of victory and planted their feet, ready to fight.

Wrong decision. Tilting her head, Areanel stretched her neck and rolled her shoulders to ease the slow ache before it turned into a burning rush.

Leaves rustled. The earth shook. The slow smile that carved along her face was anything but kind, but Areanel enjoyed how the rebels turned to see the oncoming threat of paws slamming into the earth with deafening beats, sending rumbles across the forest floor.

Excitement buzzed at the sight of Winter, Aurelius and Ash. Her three bonded wolves wasted no time attacking the retreating archers. Maws wide open, they snapped at the rebels who had fired upon her, and the sight of Aurelius taking one by their middle and throwing them up into the air sent a thrill down Areanel’s spine. When he snapped his jaw closed, trapping them inside, shaking his large head back and forth, Areanel almost laughed as a spray of warm blood dashed across the dense thicket.

Trembling, her three attackers turned to her, but Areanel was unsure if they shook with fear or rage.

Good. Feel the rage. Watch your comrades die. Only then would they feel a modicum of what she had when she’d found her baby boy.

A battle cry soon turned into a scream that tore through the stifling air. With a glance over her assailants’ heads, Areanel saw Ash using his head as a battering ram, knocking down a rebel who had rushed at him with a dagger. What they didn’t know was that Ash often enjoyed playing with his food. A proud smile pulled at Areanel’s lips as she watched her circle the rebel, pushing him to turn so that his unprotected back was now facing the eldest wolf sibling.

The wolves were as clever and cunning as Areanel. People often forgot that.

With her belly low to the ground, Winter crept up on the rebel who had attacked her younger brother. One of her attackers reached out a hand, as though physically pulled forward; a cry of warning passed their lips, but it was too late. As the rebel turned to the growing shadow that blocked the sun, blood dripped from the stained teeth of her snarling wolf—Ash had already tilted his head and snapped his maw closed on either side of the rebel’s head. Areanel heard the way his teeth sank into the attacker’s skull with a sickening crack. They all did.

One blood-curdling screech after another followed as Winter bit into the same rebel, trapping his lower half in her jaw. Together, the wolves pulled, splitting the body. The head was ripped off in Ash’s mouth, and the lower half in Winter’s. The body swung from between her teeth before she set it down, devouring the corpse.

Every rebel, every soldier, retreated a step at the burning blue glow of the wolves’ eyes as they landed on each and every person around them. All but Areanel. She knew they wouldn’t hurt her.