Free Web NovelChapter 230: Chapter 230
They writhed inside him, hissing and clawing, furious at their confinement. They tasted blood in the air. They sensed Circe’s fear. They wanted out.
Ragnar did not deny them.
The shadows spilled free the moment his boots hit the ground, slithering and curling around him like living smoke, forming a shifting shield that breathed and pulsed with his rage. He shut the carriage door behind him and lifted his gaze.
The footman lay slumped across the driver’s perch. An arrow jutted from the side of his neck, blood pouring freely down his chest, soaking into the seat beneath him. The horses reared and snorted in terror, eyes wild, held in place only by a fallen tree blocking the road ahead.
Just as Ragnar had suspected, they were surrounded.
Ten riders circled the carriage, weapons drawn. One held a bow already raised, arrow cocked and aimed.
The shadows moved fast before the arrow was fired.
A tendril lashed out, coiling around the archer’s throat and yanking him from his horse with brutal force. There was a sickening crack as his neck snapped mid-fall, his body hitting the ground lifelessly.
Nine left.
They came at Ragnar all at once.
Steel glinted in the moonlight as swords slashed toward him from every direction. Ragnar met them head-on, blade ringing as he parried and struck back with merciless precision. Shadows surged and snapped, hurling two men from their horses with bone-crushing force. Another tendril sharpened into a deadly spear and drove clean through an attacker’s chest, lifting him off his feet before discarding him carelessly.
Chaos erupted around him.
A blade sliced along his side, pain flaring hot and sharp. Blood spilled freely, but Ragnar barely noticed. He struck back viciously, sword cleaving through flesh as his shadows tore and impaled with savage delight.
But he was focused on the men in front of him. Too focused that he didn’t see the movement in the treeline.
He didn’t see the figures slipping out of the darkness, using the chaos as cover as they headed straight for the carriage—the carriage he had just left essentially unguarded.
Glass shattered again.
Then Circe screamed. The noise reached him too late.
The sound tore through Ragnar like a knife to the heart.
His head snapped toward the carriage just as the noise of a struggle followed, muffled cries, and frantic movement coming from within. Cold dread flooded his veins, eclipsing even the fury of the fight. ƒree𝑤ebnσvel.com
She had no weapon of her own. No shadows to protect her.
Fear turned Ragnar’s blood to ice.
His heart slammed violently against his ribs as shadows writhed and surged at his command, tearing through the remaining attackers that barred his path. He did not even register their screams. He cut them down without mercy, shadows snapping and crushing bone, before breaking into a run toward his wife.
His entire world had narrowed to a single, terrifying thought—Circe was in danger. Circe needed him.
What he found there nearly brought him to his knees.
***
The attackers had managed to drag Circe from the carriage. There had been two men. One lay motionless on the ground, his blood pooling beneath him, while the other advanced on her relentlessly, his raised sword swinging in merciless arcs. Each brutal strike forced her back another step.
Circe fought with everything she had left.
She clutched a sword she had torn from the dead man a few paces away, barely managing to parry the blows raining down on her. Her arms trembled with strain. Fighting in her ruined gown made every movement harder, the heavy fabric tangling around her legs as she struggled to keep her footing.
Pain burned through her arm from the deep gash she had suffered earlier, an injury inflicted by the now dead attacker who had first swung at her.
Desperation had driven her then. She seized a jagged shard of glass that fell from the smashed carriage window, and slashed it across the man’s face when he got too close. Blood had sprayed and he screamed.
She had not hesitated. When his attention faltered, she kicked his sword from his grasp. The moment it hit the ground, she lunged, snatching it up before he could recover. With one swift, brutal motion, she sliced open his throat. His life had spilled out onto the dirt at her feet.
Now she wielded that same sword, but this attacker was different.
He was stronger. Faster. His movements were more calculated and practiced. Every clash of steel rattled her bones, and slowly, he began to overpower her. Her arms burned. Her breath came in ragged gasps. She knew, with dreadful certainty, that she could not hold him off much longer.
Still, she fought.
Ragnar was still battling at the other side of the carriage, shadows snapping at his attackers, and surrender would mean death. So Circe planted her feet and forced herself to endure.
The air around them now reeked of blood. She failed to block one strike in time and the blade sliced across her shoulder, tearing through fabric and flesh alike. A cry burst from her lips as white-hot agony ripped through her body. Her grip slackened for a fraction of a second but she caught herself and tightened her hold once more.
But that was all her attacker needed.
With a vicious snarl, the man charged, driving his sword forward before she could recover, before she could even scream.
The blade pierced her abdomen. ƒгeeweɓn૦vel.com
That was how Ragnar found her.
Her dress was shredded and soaked in crimson. Blood stained her skin, her hands, the ground beneath her. The attacker’s sword was buried deep in her stomach, her eyes wide with shock and terror as her body trembled violently. With a cruel yank, the man wrenched his weapon free.
Circe collapsed to her knees.
Blood poured from the wound.
Something inside Ragnar shattered.
Rage unlike anything he had ever known tore through him, seizing his mind and body alike. It burned so fiercely it felt as though he might tear apart from the inside. His shadows exploded outward, wild and furious, surging across the clearing like living darkness.
They showed no mercy.
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