Page 7 of Throne of Ice and Blood
Dread sluices through my veins. I’m still too weak after the contact with so much iron, combined with several days without food, that I can’t stand up yet. It’s going to take another few minutes for my body to recover enough strength to stand. Let alone walk back up all those stairs that the guards hauled me down.
But I’m too frustrated and embarrassed and stubborn to tell Draven that, so I just remain there on my knees while he takes a step towards the door.
“You…” he begins, but then he trails off when he notices that I’m not following him.
His dark brows furrow as he turns and looks back at me. Then realization pulses across his face.
Averting my gaze, I clear my throat a tad awkwardly while another flicker of embarrassment sears my cheeks. Mabona’s fucking tits, one day, I swear I’m going to be the strong and powerful one standing before him while he kneels on the floor.
I suck in a sharp breath in shock as a pair of muscular arms suddenly lift me up from the floor. Blinking, I snap my gaze up to Draven’s face as he adjusts me in his arms until he’s holding me against his chest. He doesn’t look back at me. Doesn’t say anything. He just strides out of the cell with me in his arms. My heart is suddenly pounding in my chest.
But the storm of strange emotions that whirl through me are quickly drowned out by confusion when Draven doesn’t take a right towards the stairs. Instead, he turns left and walks down the corridor. Towards the room where the guards are still talking faintly.
I lick my lips nervously. But even if I knew what to do, I couldn’t move enough to do it right now. And I refuse to show Draven that I’m worried. So I just lie there in his arms as he stalks down the hall.
A crash echoes between the rough stone walls as he kicks the door open. It slams against the wall inside the room, making the torches vibrate in their metal holders.
Three dragon shifters in silver armor jump up from the chairs they were sitting on. One of them moves so fast that he almost knocks over the table they were seated around. Paperplaying cards flutter to the ground and mugs wobble on the tabletop.
“Commander,” the brown-haired one blurts out as the three of them straighten to attention.
Confusion and surprise flit across their faces as they glance between him and me. Draven ignores them all. Twisting to the left, he sets me down on top of the table right next to the door. Since I’m as confused as the guards appear to be, I just stare at him as well. He keeps his hands right next to my shoulders for a few seconds, as if he’s getting ready to catch me if I topple off the table. But his face is an unreadable mask, and I can’t use my magic, so I have no idea what he’s feeling right now.
Once Draven is satisfied that I’m not going to fall off the table, he at last turns back to the three guards from the Silver Dragon Clan.
All three of them immediately lower their chins in deference. They might be a part of Empress Jessina and Emperor Bane’s clan, but Draven is the Commander of the Dread Legion, so they are his subordinates too.
“Commander,” they murmur in unison.
“Who handcuffed her?” Draven demands.
They exchange a worried glance.
“I did, sir,” the brown-haired one replies.
A blast of wind shoots across the room. It hits all three guards straight in the chest, making them fly backwards. The two blond ones slam into the wall behind them and collapse to the floor while the brown-haired guy hits the side of a table, flips over it, and then crashes down on the other side.
Draven stalks towards him while the two blond guards cough and struggle to their knees.
“Commander,” the dark-haired one croaks as he tries to untangle himself from the chair he hit when he slid off the table. “I’m?—”
His words are cut off as Draven yanks him up by the collar and slams his fist into the guy’s face.
From where I’m still sitting on the table, I suck in a gasp as I stare at them with wide eyes.
The guard grunts as his head snaps back. Draven drives his fist into his face again.
“Commander,” one of the blond men calls from the other side of the room. “Please?—”
Lightning cracks through the room.
Shouts of alarm echo between the walls as the blond guards jump back and throw their arms up to protect themselves. Draven doesn’t even look at them. His furious eyes are focused solely on the man before him as he punches him in the face again. Another lightning bolt cracks into the stone floor, and dark clouds churn inside the room.
Draven slams his fist into the guard’s stomach. Then he at last releases the guy’s collar. A gasp of pain rips from the man’s throat as he collapses down on the floor. But it’s cut off by another huff as Draven stomps his boot down on his back, forcing him flat against the stone floor.
Firelight from the torches casts dancing shadows over the man’s face as he blinks and tries to suck air back into his lungs.
Relief flickers in his eyes when Draven takes his boot off his back. But it’s short-lived when Draven instead places it on the back of his elbow. With his foot in place, Draven crouches down and grabs the guy’s wrist.
