Rage (Her Monsters Book One) - K.A Knight Page 0,57
illusion on a window? It wouldn’t even ping back if I do it properly.
It’s getting to the window that will be a problem. Searching around, I spot the answer among the trees. I can move around until I am to the right, the treeline is closer there and all I will need to do is take a running jump and make it to the roof.
I move through the darkness quickly, making sure to pick my feet up and advance as silently as I can so as not draw attention to myself. When I reach the spot I picked out, I sling my swords from my front so they are swiveled onto the very base of my spine—this way they won’t make a noise when I hit the roof. Backing up, I lean down and take a couple of deep breaths before pushing off and sprinting to the edge of the treeline.
When the light hits the edge I jump, flinging myself through the air, with my hands outstretched to grasp the lip of the roof, which overhangs the grey, wooden slats of the house.
The feeling of being weightless hits me, but I don’t look down. I concentrate on my goal until the lip slaps my hands. Grabbing it, I stop my fall into the wall with my feet, remaining still and breathing, waiting in case anyone heard me.
When no one comes to investigate I pull myself up onto the roof and crouch there. I sneak across the slate tiles and steady myself with my hand. I’m a big guy and we aren’t meant for sneaking. I prefer to just kick down doors and kill everybody, but I have no idea what I am walking into and before I never cared if I lived or died, now I have a mate to think of.
When I reach the flat bit in the roof, I drop down to the balcony below, and freeze when my boots make a bang against the floor. Holding my breath, I wait again, but no one so much as looks out the sliding doors leading onto it.
Shuffling my feet instead of walking, I hover my hands over the magic sealing the door shut. It’s weak, not like the trip wire or even the downstairs windows and doors. It’s obvious they didn’t expect anyone to get up here and didn’t waste much magic on it. Stupid fucking witches.
Cockiness is always their problem, they think just because they wouldn’t come in this way no one else would. It’s always their downfall, their egos. They believe in the eyes of their gods. That they were blessed with their gods’ powers and that they can wield that magic, even now when most lines seem to be dying out. This makes them believe they are the strongest.
They rely on their magic so heavily that most don’t even know how to fight or wield a weapon. Strip them of their magic and they are no better than humans.
Pushing against the magic, I test its bounce back without breaking it. It only bounces slightly, just like I thought—weak.
I close my eyes and concentrate on drawing my power from the witch-charmed torc on my arm. It was given to me by the only witch I never killed on sight, spelled to my arm and mine alone to let me break enchantments. It didn’t work with such magic like the ones that held me, but for small things like this, it will.
It flows down my arm and to the magic I am touching, growing across it until it encompasses the magic there, then it squeezes, popping the magic until it falls in glowing tatters to the floor at my feet.
Sliding open the door, I step into the darkened bedroom the balcony leads to. I scan it quickly noting the king-size bed, armoire, rug, fire, and the open bathroom door leading off. I am positive no one is inside, so I walk forward but freeze when my boots make noise against the wooden floor.
Growling quietly to myself I reach down and unlace them and kick them off, placing them side by side at the open sliding door. Now on silent bare feet, I make my way to the closed door that obviously leads out of the room. I hold my hand over it and search for any magic, but when I find none I snort and crack open the door, peering out.
A hallway, with other closed doors, sits beyond with an open landing not too far away, and there