Fury | Nyx Archeron

Chapter Ten

the world moves on but one thing's for sure, maybe i got mine but you'll all get yours

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Tessa woke up screaming.

It had been happening more and more ever since her argument with Nyx in the river house dining room. The nightmares weren't about him, but it might have been her unsettled state in general that triggered them. This one was, as usual, about Tynan—his hands pushing her down as he tried to slice into her tendons.

As she panted, blankets pooled around her hips and a hand pressed against her chest, Tessa noticed her shadows pulling at her insistently. Huffing out a breath, she let her head fall forward and finally deigned to listen to their whispers. What she heard made her furious.

A male in Windhaven had just clipped his partner's wings, not even an hour ago. Tessa's chest was heaving as she tried to contain her rage. Barely a thought passed through her mind as she yanked her clothes on, pulling her hair roughly into a tight braid.

Her shadows filled the room, an inky blackness almost blocking out the glow of the moon through her window. After all this, after everything she had done, they still dared? She tightened her bootlaces furiously, snapping a hand out to the side and summoning Narben to her palm.

She was barely thinking—her previous planning, the promises Rhysand made, all of that was forgotten in the face of her fury. Her siphons snapped into place as Tessa let her shadows surround her and pull her into a winnow, placing her down in the male's bedroom.

Her eyes glowed in the dark mass of her shadows when she noticed the female—bleeding through haphazard bandages—in the bed, lying on her stomach. Before either of them could notice her, Tessa kicked the male over, using her whole body weight and the power of her siphons to force him down into the mattress.

Her sword hand moved without her even registering it and only his screaming brought her back to reality as she cleaved his wing from his body. He was thrashing, the force of his agony tempering his strength as he attempted to buck her off. She made quick work of the other wing, tossing it to the floor.

Tessa stepped back, looking to the side where the male's partner was whimpering, curled up in a ball. She was pressed against the walls in the corner, having thrown herself off the bed the minute the male began screaming. There was blood everywhere—sprayed across the room, over her—and Tessa froze, staring absently as her hand began to shake.

Almost on autopilot she wandered down the stairs and to the main level of the cabin where a fire was burning low, barely more than embers. Methodically she heated up her sword, striding back upstairs in a daze where she pressed it against the male's back. He passed out after the first wound was cauterised and after the second, Tessa dropped her shaking hand to her side. Her face felt cold and she realised it was because she was crying, her face wet with tears.

By the bed there was a set of shining silver daggers, one of which, her shadows told her, he'd used to mutilate his partner. She scooped them up, dragging his wings with her and made her way down the stairs. The anger was back, bubbling in her gut as she stepped out into the snow, nailing both wings viciously to the outside of the cabin with the Illyrian's own knives—the force with which she did so jarring her shoulder.

Tessa stumbled back, staring at her handiwork and for a second she felt vicious, twisting satisfaction in her gut, but as quickly as it appeared it dissipated and she was just left feeling empty. She took a few heaving breaths before escaping in a winnow, landing with a crash on her bathroom floor as she hunched over and vomited onto the tiles.