Free Drake of Tanith (Chosen Soul) by Heather Killough-Walden Page A

her wickedly.
    The blade came nowhere near her. Instead, he knocked her hard to the side, a blow that would leave a bruise but sent her safely out of the way. Her hair fanned out across her face, flying into her eyes, and she lost her balance to the sound of someone crying out in pain. It was a deep, low, and guttural cry, somewhat like an injured animal’s.
    Raven went to one knee, shoved her hair out of her eyes, and hurriedly tried to take in the scene. Her brother was beside her, also having been shoved to the ground, and by the time she had seen enough in the relative darkness to realize what was happening, he had too.
    “Stay back!” Loki bellowed as he regained his feet and aimed down his nocked arrow.
    Raven straightened, her wide eyes glued to the nine-foot-tall form that was currently fighting with Drake. It was vaguely humanoid in musculature. It possessed two legs, a chest, and a head, but that was where the similarities ended. Its skin was the color of soot and shimmered as if composed of millions of tiny scales. Its eyes were empty sockets from which flames flickered and smoked, and its hair looked like knotted, burnt twine that also smoked and smoldered.
    From its mouth protruded two insidiously long fangs, both dripping something clear and ominously vile. Most terrifying of all, however, were its arms – all four of them. Each tapered to a single finger-like claw that curled inward like a scythe and dripped the same poison as its mouth. The beast moved these arms back and forth and back and forth in a scissor-like motion so fast, it nearly blurred. Drake ducked and rolled and swiped with his long sword, somehow managing to avoid the monster’s claws despite its size and speed.
    On the other side of the monster stood Grolsch, whose bastard sword made much slower arcs against their foe. The beast spun and swiped and Grolsch backpedalled, bumping into the tree behind him. One of the monster’s claws raked through the bark, leaving a smoking groove of hissing poison in its wake before he was turning again, and this time, one of those claws swiped toward Drake’s throat.
    Drake’s form shifted, and for a heartbeat, Raven saw him as he really was – the devil son of Asmodeus, tall and dark and immensely dangerous. But the heartbeat passed and Drake ducked and lunged forward, attempting another piercing thrust at the monster’s midsection. For the briefest moment, Raven could swear that the blade had struck home. She saw the tip pierce the monster’s scales and caught the strong stench of something burning. But then the beast seemed to disappear for a moment, his image wavering – there and not there – and Drake missed after all, his sword falling several inches short of its mark.
    Raven’s gaze narrowed. The strike should have hit; she’d seen it with her own eyes. Despite the visible proof to the contrary, the monster had somehow moved out of the way and, seemingly, he’d done so out of time .
    From beside her came the sound of a bowstring releasing and Loki’s arrow went flying. Raven watched it hit dead center of the beast’s chest – and then miss completely – and she felt her blue eyes begin to glow. The monster was using magic against might.
    Drake was an Abaddonian prince. He possessed the means to transform and use his powers against the monster, didn’t he? So why did he attack with his sword and not a spell? What in Abaddon was this thing?
    Raven gritted her teeth and stretched out her arms, once more allowing the frigid cold of her power to build in the palms of her hands. The night took on a bluish glow that gave the smoke from the monster’s smoldering eyes and hair the look of early morning fog. Whatever the beast was, Raven wasn’t going to stand there and watch it rip her brother and companions apart.
    Raven was still a relatively novice magic user, and the feel of it as it piled up in her outstretched hands was not only foreign, but a little frightening. The ring her father