As we continue, Cenric walks in silence, his face an unreadable mask. What I wouldn’t give to know what he’s thinking. To know if he feels even a fraction of what I feel for him.
I’m not foolish enough to ask. Not foolish enough to risk the friendship we’ve built over the summers. So instead, I keep my mouth shut and my eyes forward.
Footsteps echo behind us, and I spin around. My heart leaps to my throat as six men dressed in all black, with masks covering their faces, emerge from the shadows.
Before I can blink, they attack, and Cenric unsheathes his sword, engaging the closest man. He kills him with a quick slash across the throat.
I should be horrified. Or at least, I should be disgusted by the violence, but all I can think of is how powerful and dangerous Cenric looks.
One of the men locks his eyes on me. When he charges,his sword raised high, I scramble backward and scoop up a rock, bringing it up as the man reaches me. The rock connects with his skull with a sickening crunch, and he falls to the ground.
I turn back to the battle, the rock still clutched in my hand. Cenric has taken down three of the men already.
The last two men circle him. Their eyes dart back and forth as they try to find an opening, but Cenric is too fast, too skilled. He spins to the right before attacking the man to his left. The man tries to block him, but he’s too slow. With ruthless efficiency, Cenric cuts his throat.
The last man backs away, his sword trembling in his hand. He looks between Cenric and the bodies of his fallen comrades. Then, he pulls the cowardly move and runs.
Cenric grabs a throwing knife from his weapon belt and sends it flying. It pierces the back of the man’s neck, and he collapses to the cobblestone.
Calmly and slowly, as if he has all the time in the world, Cenric moves to where the man lies and retrieves his blade. He wipes it clean across the man’s surcoat, the blood leaving a dark stain on the fabric.
“Cenric,” I breathe.
The metallic scent of blood hangs heavy in the air as Cenric turns to face me, his features set in their usual stoic mask. I try not to focus on the crimson stains that cover his armor and skin. Instead, I meet his blue eyes.
Most people think Cenric’s eyes are cold and unfeeling, but I know better. I’ve glimpsed the warmth that dwells in them, though only in my most secret fantasies. There, and therealone, have I basked in that warmth as he takes me in his strong arms and carries me to his bed.
Here, in this blood-soaked moment, his gaze holds no trace of tenderness, only grim determination and simmering fury toward the men who dared to attack him.
He points to the man I struck with the rock. “Did you kill him?”
“I don’t think so.”
Cenric strides over to the man. He crouches down and draws his blade across the man’s throat.
I glance up at the moon, its faint light now cold and distant. It’s funny how quickly things can change. One moment, I’m admiring the beauty of the night sky, and the next, I’m surrounded by death and violence.
The moonlight fractures as ten more men appear from the shadows, their faces obscured by masks. Eight of them descend upon Cenric like a pack of hungry hyenas.
Two turn toward me.
My heart slams against my chest as I try to run, but they easily catch me.
The gods have mercy!
Do these men ever bathe?
I struggle against them, kicking and thrashing, but it’s no use. They’re too strong, too determined.
As they pull me further away, I crane my neck, desperate to catch a glimpse of Cenric. He’s still fighting, still wielding death to anyone who opposes him.
I muster every ounce of strength I possess and slam my heel into the shin of the man on my left. He grunts, and his griploosens a fraction. It’s not much, but it’s enough. I wrench my arm free and whirl around, ready to make a run for it. Unfortunately, before I can take a single step, something hard and heavy slams into the back of my head.
Pain explodes behind my eyes, a brilliant burst of agony that sends me staggering. The world spins, and I tilt dangerously toward the ground. I brace for the impact, but it never comes.
Instead, everything goes black. The kind of black that swallows you whole and drags you down into its inky depths. It’s almost peaceful, like sinking into a mattress after a long day.
A part of me clings to consciousness—a tiny, stubborn spark that refuses to be snuffed out.
