Free 4: Witches' Blood by Ginn Hale

soft flesh of Tashtu’s wrists. He wanted to snap the man’s hands off. He wanted to feel the bones crack and the tendons tear. But Tashtu was too high-ranking in the Bousim house. Harming him would only end up endangering Laurie and Bill. John knew that, and yet it was incredibly hard not to keep twisting the man’s arms, grinding into his bones.
    John released him and Tashtu stumbled sideways.
    John glanced back to Laurie. Her jaw was clenched, her lips pressed tightly closed as if she were fighting to remain silent. Her pale eyes looked unnaturally bright. Her entire body trembled, but John didn’t know if it was with fear or rage.
    “Are you all right?” John asked.
    Laurie managed a tight nod.
    John caught a movement from the corner of his eye and turned in time to see Tashtu straighten. His hands were clenched into fists.
    “Fucking priest!” Tashtu swung for John.
    John blocked Tashtu’s punch and then caught the man’s throat in one hand. John’s fingers felt hot as they closed around the supple muscles and delicate column of cartilage that encased Tashtu’s trachea. John flexed his hand and Tashtu choked.
      “I could kill you.” John’s words came out evenly, as if he was not seething with anger, as if it was a simple statement of ability and not a driving desire. He was so enraged that he could hardly think of anything else. His attention locked on the kick of Tashtu’s desperate pulse against his palm.
    Only slowly did he become aware of how quiet the tent had become. Distantly, he registered the circle of startled and fascinated men and women surrounding him.
    Tashtu swayed in John’s grip, his mouth wide open, his face dark purple. John instantly released him. Tashtu collapsed to the ground. This time, he didn’t struggle back up. He lay, sprawled out and gasping.
    John turned back to find Laurie, but she had disappeared into the crowd. John thought he saw her far back with the other members of the Bousim household, her face buried against Bill’s chest.
    “Interesting choice of entertainment, Ushvun.”
    John turned to meet Dayyid’s unamused face. John opened his mouth to offer his explanation but then realized that Dayyid appeared to be in no mood to hear anything he had to say.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

    John hung back between Ravishan and Hann’yu as they trailed Dayyid back across the fairgrounds. In the depths of the night, John expected the stalls to have been locked up and the vendors to have bedded down. Instead, torches had been ignited, and oil lamps lit and hung. Fairgoers still packed the narrow avenues between the stalls, tents, and wagons. There were fewer children but far more men.
    The smell of burning oils and strong wine wafted through every other scent on the air. The music that John picked out through the roar of fast bargaining and loud drunken voices was oddly slow. Smoky, sensual melodies curled out from the closed flaps of the tents they passed.
    Dayyid glanced back over his shoulder at Hann’yu.
    “I would have thought that you’d have remained sober enough to keep Ushvun Jahn from embarrassing himself in a common brawl.”
    Hann’yu grinned. A red, alcoholic flush spilled across his nose and cheeks. The strong smell of wine and mead clung to his breath. There was no denying that he had been drinking. But compared to Tashtu, Hann’yu only seemed slightly tipsy.
    “It was hardly a common brawl.” Hann’yu gave John a slightly lopsided grin. “That was a rasho that our Jahn took down. And the man had been mistreating ladies all evening. Jahn may very well have been acting as Parfir’s wrath for the offenses. It was magnificent.”
    John glanced to his right to see Ravishan’s reaction. So far he had been silent, keeping his eyes focused on Dayyid’s back. Ravishan looked over to him at the same moment and gave him a brief, approving smile.
    John imagined that an entire day spent with Dayyid had to be miserable and exhausting. He wished he could offer