The evening painted the sky in streaks of molten gold and fiery rose as the sun slipped behind the gnarled trees.
Lost in thought, Emeriel trudged along the familiar path back to the fortress, his footsteps soft on the packed earth.
That bloodfeeding… the sheer intensity of it had seared itself into his very being. Now he understood the mistress’s reaction to it.
Her desperate, insatiable thirst. Emeriel doubted he could survive a real feeding; those tiny, little sips from the beast had been so overwhelming, a wildfire of sensation that had consumed him.
Even now, he could scarcely believe he had fed King Daemonikai, although the beast had taken barely a sip.
But that hunger… Emeriel had practically felt its intensity when the beast’s unyielding body began to shake, yet it restrained itself.
As if being careful not to drain him.
A sharp sting snapped him back to the present. His foot had caught on a root, sending his body stumbling forward with a surprised cry.
Damn! His muscles, still tender from the previous night, screamed in protest. Emeriel pressed on, each step sending a fresh jolt of pain through his sore muscles.
He longed to sink back into the comfort of his bed, but such luxury was not an option for a slave like him.
“There he is,” a voice echoed up ahead.
Emeriel stopped in his tracks. Two Urekai soldiers materialized from the shadows, clad in the outfit of assassins.
Hoods masked their faces, arrows nocked and aimed. His heart pounded like a drumroll before battle.
His gaze darted around. Another came into view, then another. His gut twisted as he spun, counting at least ten assassins closing in on him. Maybe more.
“Shoot him!”
Instinct surged through Emeriel. Sore muscles were forgotten. He couldn’t fight, but maybe, just maybe, he could outrun them. He bolted.
The assassins, with their bestial pace, closed the gap with terrifying speed. Arrows whizzed past, their sharp tips a breath away from tearing his flesh.
A surge of adrenaline coursed through Emeriel-thank the gods for those harsh days in Navia, spent training hard in his attempt to gain muscles.
Who knew it would actually come in handy someday?
Every sense flared to life; his ears twitched, straining for the near-silent hiss of arrows in flight as he twisted and juked around trees with the fluidity of a cat.
“The little shit runs as fast as a cheetah!” The assassin’s snarl cut through the air, his voice uncomfortably close now. “He must not escape! More arrows!”
Emeriel pushed himself harder. The woods, so familiar from a life spent hunting and scavenging to feed himself and Aekeira, were now his sanctuary and his weapon.
The snap of branches and the dry rustle of leaves beneath his feet marked his passage. Every step was a frantic blur, leaving behind only the echo of his pounding heartbeat as he vanished into the depths of the woods.
“Bloody hell! Where is he!?” The fading cry marked his progress-for now. But the ceaseless chase was taking its toll.
Unlike the tireless Urekai, Emeriel was only human. He knew, with chilling certainty, that he wouldn’t outrun them all the way back to the fortress.
Emeriel’s ragged breaths echoed in the sudden quiet as his heart pounded a staccato rhythm against his ribs. Desperate eyes scanned the underbrush, seeking refuge.
There-a fallen log covered in thick ferns, a sliver of darkness promising concealment. He scrambled toward it, wedging himself into the tight space.
This was it. He could hide, at least for a moment.
A strong hand clamped onto his shoulder, yanking him out of his hiding place.
“Leave me alone!” Emeriel shrieked, flailing, panic lending his blows surprising strength.
“Quiet. It’s me,” a familiar, deep voice spoke.
Grand Lord Vladya? Emeriel froze, the surprise of seeing the grand lord almost outweighing his fear. Almost. How had the grand lord found him?
“Save your questions for later. We don’t have time. Come on, let’s go.” Vladya scooped Emeriel into his arms and ran.
Emeriel held himself still, barely able to breathe. Lord Vladya’s speed left him thunderstruck. He moved with the blinding flash of lightning, as quick as the wind.
If the grand lord chased him, Emeriel knew he wouldn’t stand a chance.
A storm of arrows erupted, buzzing like angry wasps as they came hurtling toward them. Vladya became a whirlwind, deflecting and dodging with sophisticated grace.
But the relentless onslaught was too much; Emeriel braced himself for the searing pain of an arrowhead.
Then, Lord Vladya’s large form enveloped him. His bigger body folded over Emeriel’s smaller frame like a shield, protecting him completely.
Finally, they sought cover behind a massive tree. Only then did Emeriel see it-two arrows jutted from Lord Vladya’s left shoulder.
“You’ve been hit, Your Highness!” Emeriel choked.
Vladya studied the arrows with detached annoyance, as though they were mere nuisances.
With casual ease, he snapped them free, blood oozing from the wounds, then paused to sniff their broken shafts.
“Dragonblood,” he murmured, calmly.
“What does that mean?” Emeriel asked, his worry for the grand lord unexpectedly outweighing his own terror.
“Poison,” Vladya’s response was curt, almost bored. He tossed the arrows aside, then glanced at Emeriel. “Wait here.”
And in a flash, he was gone.
The forest erupted in a sound of horror. Screams rose into the air, followed by the snap of bones breaking.
The wetness of flesh tearing, desperate cries of agony cut short, and something crunching beneath a devastating force.
When Lord Vladya returned, Emeriel noticed his white robe was splattered with crimson, the blood vivid against the stark white.
More spattered his scarred face, and his eyes… there was a gleam in them that made Emeriel’s stomach twist with fear.
He looked as unbothered as ever, as if killing all those assassins was a mere inconvenience. He lifted Emeriel and began to sprint again.
“We have to be fast before the poison takes effect. It is lethal to our kind,” Lord Vladya spoke in the same casual tone one might use in discussing the weather.
But, by the time they arrived at Ravenshadow, Emeriel could see how true his words were.
Lord Vladya’s inhuman speed had slowed, his once-effortless strides now strained, his breathing harsh.
Emeriel was placed back on his feet, instinctively taking a step back to create some distance between himself and Lord Vladya.
He was fortunate that the grand lord maintained a professional demeanor, keeping his arms firmly around Emeriel’s abdomen without venturing any further.
Emeriel’s gaze stayed on the grand lord who had just saved his life, and within him, a storm of conflicting emotions battled. Blood from his wound flowed in endless streams. A sheen of sweat beaded on Lord Vladya’s brow.
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