The Crown of Gilded Bones (Blood and..

planned to, but it happened. He’s dead.”
“Fuck,” he growled, moving once more.
“Jansen took Beckett’s form. He left Spessa’s End with
us. Not Beckett. Jansen admitted to it all, and Alastir said he
planned to give me to the Ascended.”
“Obviously,” Kieran replied wryly, breaking another set
of bones and roots. “What a fucking idiot.”
I laughed, and it sounded hoarse and all wrong amidst
the shouts of pain and snarls of anger. It felt just as wrong
yet strangely wonderful that I could laugh again. It faded as
I stared at the slash of Kieran’s brows. What I said came out
as a whisper. “Alastir said I’m descended from Nyktos. That
I’m related to King Malec, and that he was there the night
my parents died. It was—” Movement beyond Kieran’s
shoulder snagged my attention. A masked man raced
toward us—
Before I could shout a warning to Kieran, he was there,
tall and as dark as the night creeping into the ruins, his
blue-black hair windblown. Every part of my being zeroed in
on Casteel as his crimson sword plunged through the
Protector’s stomach, embedding itself in the wall behind the
masked figure. Casteel turned, catching the arm of another.
A dark rumble escaped from his throat as he dragged the
man toward him. Teeth bared, he snapped his head down on
the man’s throat, tearing through skin as he thrust his hand
through the man’s chest. Lifting his head, he spat a
mouthful of the man’s blood into the Protector’s face.
Casteel tossed the body to the ground and looked up at
another man, blood streaming from his mouth. “What?”
The masked man spun and ran.
Casteel was faster, reaching him in the blink of an eye.
He shoved his fist into the man’s back and jerked his arm
back sharply, pulling out something white and smeared with
blood and tissue. His spine. Dear gods, it was the man’s
spine.
Kieran’s eyes met mine. “He’s a little angry.”