Sabina, with her bloodied fingers, ripped my wrist as if she had rusted claws. Her grip was so intense that I could feel her heartbeat flowing into my veins and pulsating against my skin. Her eyes were not only crazed—they looked beastly, two unfathomable coals glowing in a face distorted with something more than rage.

Possibly anger. Or probably fright. The kind that only happens after experiencing too much death and still not being afraid of it, but not being indifferent either.

"What the HELL are you doing here OUTSIDE?!" Her voice resembled a blade that has been dragged across stone, raw and jagged. Several spots of spit struck my cheek, her breath hot and sour with a metallic tang of fresh blood.

"You will be gutted like this pig!" She pointed the unfortunates at the ground with her head.

I definitely wasn't scared. However, I allowed my grin to grow bigger, slow and purposeful, "You don't need to lose your mind," I responded with a drawled tone, rolling my shoulders back. "I got this."

Sabina's visage twisted as if she had sunk her teeth into spoiled flesh. "Is it so?" She showed her teeth, her free hand quivering as she reached for the dagger at her hip.

"Do you consider this to be a game? Are those scars on your knuckles that you seem to flaunt the only thing that will help you against men who have killed entire villages for mere fun?" Her voice turned into a hiss of malice. "You are no warrior."

I really should have been paying attention. I should have been playing the mental game, tracking possible threats in the uproar, anticipating the battle that I was sure would happen.

However, she moved her body.

And my traitorous gaze dropped.

The firelight caught the sheen of sweat on her skin, tracing the dip of her spine down at the shadowed cleft between her asscheeks. A bead of blood—hers or the enemy's- trickled down her inner thigh, dark and glistening.

Fuck.

My throat went dry. My fingers twitched, not for a weapon, but for her. To grab that ass—to feel the heat of her skin under my palms, to hear her gasp when I—

"Dexter!"

Sabina's snarl yanked me outta my daze like getting doused with ice water. She jerked me forward so hard my shoulder felt like it might pop, her claws—well, nails, but close enough—digging into my wrist hard enough to leave marks.

"Eyes up, you useless brat!" she snapped. And yeah, she sounded pissed, but I swear under all that rage, I caught a flicker of-what worry? No, couldn't be. Or maybe.

At the village square, a nightmare had taken over. Ravina? She just stood there, in the middle of it all, looking like she came out of some legend. Her spear hissed through the air, slow and smooth, like she was showing off and also like she would stab you before your eye could twitch.

The firelight made her skin look like shining bronze-yes, actually radiant-and every muscle was all tightened up, ready to release.

"STOP ALL THIS—NOW!" Ravina roared. Not just yelling either; it was the kinda voice that made grown men wish they'd worn brown pants.

The brute facing her looked like he'd been assembled outta bar fights and bad decisions. Seriously, the guy was a walking scar map—burns, knife wounds, even his ears had chunks missing, like someone just took a bite out for fun.

He wore this necklace, too—bones, finger bones, clacking together as he tossed his head back and laughed. And god, the sound? Imagine a barn door in a windstorm, but angrier.

"Shut up, you bitch!" he said, literally, right into the ground. Those teeth, Jesus, more yellow than ancient parchment.

His gaze took in the disaster—women yelling, children frightened, hiding behind barrels, old men holding pitchforks as if they were going to be able to resist.

Then he spun on his pack of thugs, barking orders like a mad ringmaster. "WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING AT?! GO! GET ALL THOSE HORSES! FIND ALL THE FOOD!" He jabbed a finger at some poor girl—couldn't have been more than twelve, shaking so hard she looked like she'd vanish. "AND KILL THOSE WHO STOP YOU!"

And me? Something ugly and sharp twisted inside my gut. Some part of me wanted to run. Some parts wanted to bite back.

I could end this in seconds. One thought, one flick of my will, and my Magical Tool would materialize—a gun, sleek and black, humming with power. A single pull of the trigger, and this butcher's skull would paint the wall red. Another, and his men would drop like puppets with cut strings.

Easy.

Too easy.

But that wasn't the point, was it?

If I wanted them to worship me, to whisper my name in the dark like a prayer, to fear the sound of my footsteps— I couldn't just shoot them.

I had to break them.

I had to look into their eyes as the light died. I had to let them beg.

The problem was— I'd never taken a life before.

Not like this. Not with my hands.

I'd never felt a soul slip away beneath my fingers. Never watched the life drain from a man's eyes while his blood soaked into my sleeves.

I exhaled through my nose, slow and controlled.

If I didn't have Healing Factor… If one of those blades found my throat, if a spear punched through my gut— I'd be just as dead as the bastard Sabina had gutted.

But I did have it.

And that changed everything.

I shoved Sabina aside; my shoulder hit hers so hard that she staggered. "Dexter—NO!" Ravina's voice was sharp and painful at my back, but I didn't listen to it.

The smile of the scarred man darkened as I came into the firelight, and my long, monstrous shadow stretched over the ground. "Aunt Ravina," I said, looking past Ravina to her, "I got this."

The scarred raider was staring at me; his body told the story of his old battles and fresh blood, while his smile was like a jagged thing split with broken teeth. His men were already running away, stealing, killing—but he stood there, grinning as if it was his world.

"See here," he said mockingly, throwing the spear over his shoulder. "Little lost lamb who thinks he can walk with the wolves."

I didn't bother answering. My answer wouldn't have made any difference.

I acted.

I was already in motion, the earth was cold against my feet, muscles in my legs and arms tensed, ready for the fight. I sensed that I was being watched—not only by Ravina and Sabina but also by the raiders—all waiting for me to make my move.

"Dexter, NO—! Don't..., come back." Ravina's voice was a sharp crack of terror, but I didn't stop.

The raider's smile grew even wider. He was enjoying this very much. He was hyping up the prospect of killing me on the spot.

"The lad is asking for it," he said with a laugh, and so the spear left his hand with a flick of his wrist.

The world slowed down.

As the weapon spun, I saw how the firelight played on the bloodstained end, how the air whistled where it cut between us. My reflex was to do a spin, but I was a bit too slow.

THWUNK.

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