Symphony of Light and Winter by Renea Mason Read Free Book Online Page B

ever witnessed. Like performing a dance in one continuous movement, Cyril raised his sword and impaled the spiky-haired man with effortless grace. He twisted at his waist, and with the force he used to withdraw the sword from the spiky-haired man’s torso, he followed through and severed the second man’s head. The blood from the end of the sword flew in my direction, peppering my face with spray. I froze, fighting back nausea.
    The carnage, only fifteen or so feet away, felt less real than watching a slasher film. Cyril, in his magnificence, made the brutality a riveting art form. Perhaps the darkness played a role in dampening the grotesque scene; if so, I was thankful. Cyril’s majesty held my focus, not allowing me to process anything else. Somehow I managed to remain conscious, but stood mesmerized by the horror.
    Cyril ducked to avoid the third man’s blow while kicking the fourth man in the chest, sending him stumbling backward. He brought the sword forth, turned the point toward his own body, and thrust backward and up between his arm and torso, into the third man’s heart. After pulling the sword free in one long, arching swing, he dispatched the fourth man by severing him in half, a testament to his superhuman strength.
    Cyril turned to the leader, who never moved during the combat. “Are we done playing now? She is mine, no negotiation.”
    “Really? I have more of a right to her than you ever will.” The leader gestured toward me.
    Wait. I knew that voice.
    Cyril laughed. “You wish to claim her? You can’t.”
    “Care to fight me for her?” The leader readied his sword, but only as a distraction. Before I could register his movement, the man appeared behind me, clutching me to him, a blade at my throat. “What’s the matter, Maker? Afraid I’ll hurt her? As much as I want her, it might be worth killing her to see you suffer. You will never be able to make up for what you did, but the look on your face as she lies dying would be truly satisfying.” The man cupped my breast. “Better yet…” He laughed. The aroma of strong spices, familiar and reminiscent of anise, filled my nostrils.
    My heart pounded. Sweat poured off my face, and I implored Cyril with my eyes. Please.
    Cyril stood silent. Stoic.
    The man ran his nose up the side of my neck and inhaled deeply. “You know, in all these years, my friend, I don’t think I’ve seen you look this worried. You wear it well. You know I’ll be back, you can’t get rid of me, and one day when your guard is down, I will either take her as mine or kill her to keep her from you.”
    “Myghal, Myghal, Myghal…why antagonize me? You know I can end you. Why do you keep trying to anger me? I gave you a pass, but my patience is wearing thin.”
    “I have a little insurance now, don’t I? You’re not stupid enough to destroy me. You see where killing Ruarc got you. Do it again and you might kill us all.”
    His tongue, hot and wet, licked my neck. Disgust made me queasy. I shrank from the unwelcome sensation, but could not escape his hold. Remembering Cyril’s fangs, I panicked. What if they were all some kind of vampires? God, the nightmare just kept getting worse. The man pulled away from my skin. Cyril’s eyes met mine for only a second, and a whizzing sound like a large flying insect passed my ear.
    The man behind me groaned and a warm liquid hit my neck. His hold on me released. Thankful for Cyril’s impeccable aim, I slumped, the man’s crushing weight fixing me to the ground.
    Cyril ran to me, pushed the man off, and gathered me in his arms, which in itself was unexpected.
    “Are you OK?” He nestled my head under his chin as he positioned me on the ledge of the fountain, stepped between my legs, and ran his hands over my throat and down my back, inspecting me for injury.
    I began to shiver, my teeth chattering. Tremors broke out in my limbs. Usually I was able to fight back a panic attack, but I was a bit distracted and, well…hell…this