A man stood in the kitchen, his pale bluish face twisted with anger. Harsh words she didn’t understand were propelled from his cruel lips, stabbing her ears.
“Toren,” was the only word she caught as he stalked toward her.
His black hair fanned out around his head like a wild mane. He wore only a scrap of leather to hide his groin, and in his fist was a wicked, black blade, gleaming with evil intent.
She’d seen that blade before, in Toren’s memories, only then it had been dripping with purple blood.
Adria backed up, accidentally shutting the door behind her, trapping herself in with the man. He grabbed her by the hair and slammed her head into the solid wood. A mewl of surprise and pain squeaked from her raw throat, too low and quiet for anyone to hear.
She felt a heavy sucking sensation flow through her mind as he pulled something from her. She tried to lash out with her hands and feet, but it was like kicking a monolith. He didn’t even flinch.
His red eyes brightened, boring into her. A sick smile of malicious intent curled his mouth. “I have found him,” he said in halting English. “You have served your purpose.”
A heartbeat later, Adria’s body was hurtling across the room. She saw the stone of the fireplace careening toward her, felt a jolting impact, and then… nothing.
* * *
Toren felt Adreeahbenwah’s fear and pain as keenly as if it were his own. She’d been unhappy and worried—that had eaten at him and made him fight the urge to go and ease her—but this was different. Something terrible had happened.
Panic tore at him, shocking to life the dark and dangerous part of himself that he kept contained outside of battle. He charged through the trees, the wet branches biting at his skin. His power tingled in his fingertips, begging to be put to use.
There was some reason he wasn’t supposed to summon his power, but as he crashed through the forest, he could not think of a single reason why he should not incinerate whatever—whoever—had caused his sweet Adreeahbenwah’s pain.
As he neared the cabin, he began to feel a familiar presence. It was darker than he remembered, with streaks of malevolence tainting its surface. One of his kind. Masculine. Deadly.
Grynar, the beast who had killed Elina. And now he was alone with Adria.
A roar of defiance erupted from Toren’s chest, dragging with it an edge of power. It blasted against the cabin’s door, shattering it to splinters.
Through the golden opening, he saw Grynar standing over Adria’s body. She was crumpled on the floor, bright red blood leaking from her head. A sinister black thalac blade was gripped in Grynar’s fist, poised to strike through his Adreeahbenwah’s delicate skin.
Rage, so dark and bleak it felt like the shell of a burned-out home, took over Toren’s body, launching him at the man who’d killed his sister. He had no weapon, but his power rose to his call, seething with eager anticipation.
A bolt of black desolation shot toward Grynar, singeing away the flesh along his shoulder.
Grynar screamed in pain. He left Adria where she lay, and stalked toward Toren.
There was little magic left within him. He had no weapons. Grynar was a skilled warrior. But there was one thing he did not possess—one power he would never have at his call: Love.
Toren summoned his love for his sister, his family and his Adreeahbenwah. He let that power buoy him up and fill him with strength. It was for them that he would defeat this monster—for them he would rid the universe of the soulless creature standing before him.
With the utter confidence of a man who knew the future, Toren stood there and waited for Grynar to charge.
“Why do you wait?” demanded Grynar. “Come and fight me.”
Toren said nothing. He simply watched as the anger and hatred chewed on the other man, eating him alive from the inside out.
“Shall I gut the whore the same way I gutted Elina?”
Toren let the taunt slide over him, letting not a single flicker of emotion alter his calm expression. He backed up, moving outside so that there was no chance of Adria getting hurt again.
“Coward! I saw your failed attempt to come home. I thought you would want to fight me as a man, but now you run from me like a child.”
Toren said nothing. He merely waited for Grynar’s anger to defeat him.
“You thought you could come home and avenge Elina, did you not? You thought I deserved to die for what I did. But it was her fault. She provoked me. I warned her to stop, but she was always too unruly, too disobedient.”
Words burned Toren’s throat. He wanted to shout that Elina had done nothing to deserve her fate, but there was no point in wasting his breath. Grynar was twisted and rotted to the bone. There was no reasoning with a man like that.
Finally, in the face of Toren’s silence, Grynar’s rage took control. He tucked his chin low, lifted the thalac blade and charged through the doorway into the rain.
Toren had the advantage of shadows. He swept his shirt off, and as Grynar closed to melee, Toren twisted the wet fabric around the blade to divert it from his heart. The soggy shirt clung to itself, caging the sword that had killed his sister.
From there, the course of the battle changed fast. Toren now had control of Grynar’s arm, because his hatred would not allow him to let go of the weapon. Toren twisted the other man’s arm until the bone snapped and he screamed in pain.
That sound washed over Toren, leaving him unaffected. He found no joy in it, no satisfaction. It was merely an indicator of success—one Toren was going to hear again.
Grynar wrapped his massive hand around Toren’s throat, squeezing hard enough to cut off his air. A flutter of fear rose up for a split second. And then he caught sight of Adreeahbenwah lying motionless on the floor, and the wisp of fear evaporated.
Grynar was going to die, because it was the only way Toren could reach his sweet Adreeahbenwah’s side.