Fangs Of Love
I scream again —Xeros’s name this time— a ragged, desperate thing that ricochets off the empty houses and dies in the smoke.
My father scoffed at the sound of that. "He's not coming, sweetheart. He's out there, fighting my army of rogues, still waiting for me to show my face and fight him head-on. Funny.." He trailed off, cackling to himself.
Demetria walks beside us, brows furrowed as she signals him to stop. "The worst thing we can do is to underestimate the enemy, Father." She exhales before flipping the knife once, catches it, and then, without breaking stride, slices a clean line across my left palm. The pain is white-hot, instant. Blood wells thick and dark.
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