Free Blade Of The Vampire King (Book 4) by Lucas Thorn Page B

venomously in one fist, Underling's Bane in the other. 
    Melganaderna moved as fast as she could, motioning for the warlock to take her place at Hemlock's side.
    “Careful,” Hemlock rasped, accepting the warlock's help.
    “I'm always careful,” Melganaderna said. Smiled as she hefted the massive battleaxe and darted into the cave after the elf. “You know that, Hem.”
    The cave itself was tightly wound like a stone spring, sometimes wide enough for the young axewoman to think of swinging the over-sized weapon. Other times, she had to keep it tucked tight against herself to slide between two walls of rock.
    She quickly caught up with Nysta, whose violet eyes were more easily able to see through the dark passage ahead of Chukshene's orb. The two spellslingers hurried to keep up, and the warlock's constant complaints hadn't yet left the elf's hearing.
    Melganaderna, almost on the elf's heel, grunted as they worked themselves sideways through a tighter opening. “Do you always rush in like this, Nysta? Not even knowing what you're fighting?”
    Another scream knifed through the dark and the elf frowned.
    She didn't. While she'd never been known for having a tight grip on her patience, she'd always wanted to know what she was fighting. Without good reason, she'd never have burst blindly into anything.
    It wasn't her way.
    But the pressure steaming through her blood was too much. Aimless frustration was quickly turning to anger and it couldn't be bottled. Not this time.
    The sounds of violence which clanged up from the cave were pulling her like a magnet.
    “Move faster,” the elf hissed. “Or there'll be nothing left to kill.”
    “It's not me slowing us down. You're the one not moving fast enough.”
    “Oh, fuck,” Chukshene moaned as the spellslingers finally managed to catch up. “Another psychopath. Now I've got two of them.”
    The screams grew louder.
    More shrill.
    Terror and pain combined to form a grotesque orchestra whose music clashed against the solid rock walls.
    “Are you sure this is the smartest decision you've ever made, Nysta?” Chukshene shuddered. Sighed as a sharp finger of rock tore another hole in his robe. “Whatever the fuck it is down there, it's tearing them apart.”
    Hemlock clutched the warlock's sleeve. “You think it's the Accepted?”
    “Nysta?” Chukshene's voice was tight with exertion. The stone pressed against his cheek and he couldn't see past Melganaderna. “What do you think?”
    The elf erupted from the tight passage onto a wide flat ledge. Was forced to a sudden stop as the ground fell away and had to cartwheel her arms to stop from falling. Though the drop wasn't far, she paused anyway to drink in the scene playing out.
    Melganaderna, quickly behind, gasped and lifted her axe high. Its heavy blades gleamed with brutality. A kind of brutality which was easily justified. Because, given the size of the cavern they'd entered, the young axewoman was going to have the room to swing the battleaxe after all.
    And the thought filled the young woman with a mix of dread and excitement.
    Violence whispered its promises in clashes of steel and bone.
    Hemlock staggered out of the cave next, eyes widening. Only Chukshene's managed to be any wider.
    The elf wiped her mouth with the back of her fist. Felt the worms squirreling down her shoulders and arms. Under the bracers around her forearms.
    She felt strong.
    Satisfied.
    Almost peaceful. As though she'd found her place in the world.
    One of the Grey Jackets, close enough to see them enter the cavern, paled as he caught sight of her. His shriek rang out above the sounds of combat. “It's her!”
    Then he turned and fled, aiming for a side tunnel. He managed to slip past the distracted Dhampir and disappeared into the dark.
    Another Grey Jacket spun round, watching helplessly as the other man disappeared. “Where are you going? Ahod!”
    “What do I think, 'lock?” The elf raised an arm, pointing at the shouting man with A Flaw