Page 121 of Shackled By Shadows

I raise my blood-slickened blade, “Ah—”

Something is wrong. Pain and terror rip through my body, sudden and overwhelming.

Was I stabbed? The thought barely forms before I force myself to focus, stealing a heartbeat to assess the damage. They’re still advancing. I haven’t been hit.

I shove the panic down and straighten, forcing my composure back into place as I raise my blade and call my shadows once more.

They answer immediately, but so does something else.

My entire body locks. It feels like lightning tearing through my veins, violent and blinding. My carefully crafted mask fractures under the weight of the dread flooding my chest just for a second, but it’s enough.

I wasn’t fast enough.

The stout male’s blade slices into my arm, heat and pain exploding as fresh blood pours down my skin. Another wave hits me at the same time, deeper, sharper, threatening to bring me to my knees.

And then it clicks.

Lyra. The trinket I gave her. The tether I created. She’s in trouble. I’m not feeling my pain, I’m feeling hers. Her fear. Her agony.

I scan the field again. The two males who drew my blood look pleased with themselves, but more are already closing in behind them, rushing to join the fight.

I don’t have time for this. I have to end it. I have to get to her.

Fear burns away, replaced by something far more dangerous. Rage floods my veins, hot and absolute, devouring the calm control I’ve spent years perfecting. Strategy dissolves into instinct.

I raise my blade with the fury of the gods.

One male dies before he realizes what’s happened. His head separates cleanly from his body, so fast it takes a heartbeat for him to fall, his corpse collapsing a moment after his head hits the ground.

I can’t think. I can only move.

The second male charges, more behind him, but my shadows surge forward without command, wild and ravenous, moving with a will of their own.

I don’t enjoy killing, not like this, not the innocent, especially not for a cause I don’t believe in.

But right now, with the monster clawing its way to the surface—I relish it.

And gods help me, I am good at it.

I twist, fluid and ruthless, and there’s a sharp crack as the male’s neck snaps beneath my grip. For a split second, I wonder where he’ll end up in the afterlife.

If you find yourself in the depths of the underworld, I think grimly, I’ll be joining you soon enough.

The moment passes. The next wave is already here.

I don’t have time for this.

I can still feel Lyra’s pain, still feel her fear, and I know one thing with brutal certainty: This ends now.

My shadows whip outward in every direction, becoming tangible weight as they find their targets. They wrap around throats and lift bodies into the air simultaneously. Eyes bulge. Hands claw uselessly. All of them are staring at me.

I can only imagine what they see reflected back in my eyes as my shadows tighten their grip.

They fight, swinging their makeshift weapons wildly at the tendrils constricting them, but you cannot slice through smog. Their efforts are useless. In their final moments, I watch the color drain from their faces.

I release them. Bodies hit the ground one after another, dull thuds echoing in the sudden quiet.

“Lyra,” I say aloud.