Lyerin shook his head, his expression hardening.
The panic that had momentarily gripped his spine was unceremoniously pushed aside by his thoughts. "It's too early for that," he muttered to himself.
In a second, he clenched his jaw, forcing his thoughts into order. The Leading Families might be playing their twisted games, but Lyerin had his own plan. A plan that required cold calculation, not frantic reactions, and it depends on what kind of creature they threw.
His eyes narrowed as they flicked toward the eldritch horses, still leaking dark ichor onto the cracked pavement.
A glint of malevolence sparked in his gaze.
Without hesitation, he crouched, tensing his powerful legs. Then, with a grunt of effort, he hurled the beasts toward the distant border of his tribe's territory. The creatures soared through the air, their mangled bodies disappearing into the foggy night like missiles aimed at an unseen target.
Lyerin grinned.