Page 78 of Summer of Sacrifice

It wasn’t so much that he feared Chresedia, which he did in a way, after all she’d put him through. But he knew what she was capable of. There was so much to lose now. There always had been. Hades, she’d cost him his Wendy before. But now? Seleste was right. There would be no leaving unscathed, no matter how trained the Druids were. No matter how powerful the Sisters and the reaper were.

“What are you thinking about?” Winnie looked up at him, and he forced his smile to be carefree—the light she craved, deserved.

“Crépes.”

She laughed, his favourite sound in all the realms, and smacked his chest. Unfortunately, her next move was to leave his side and begin dressing. Laurent crossed his arms behind his head and watched with no small amount of pleasure as she slowly slipped into her pale riding pants, her small, perky breasts bouncing as she wiggled the pants up and over her hips.

She was putting on a show for him, considering she usually used her magic to dress herself, and he used his to undress her. But this…this was nice.

Next came her supple leather boots, pulled on one at a time, then the holster strapped to her thigh, and her dagger slid into its place. Leaving her tunic and jerkin for last—for his benefit, he was sure—she finally covered herself fully and he missed her already.

A light, contented smile sat on her lips as she set to weaving her white-blonde locks into a braid over one shoulder. He wondered how long that smile would last. How long their little slice of perfection could possibly remain. Any day now, their world could change forever.

The peal of a conch careened through the camp, and Winnie locked eyes with Laurent. Immediately, he was up, clothes snapping into place. Without a word, they both set their faces like stone and took up their weapons. A breath later, they were tearing through camp, all the other Druids darting out of their tents. In a swarm, they ran toward the call of the conch.

Dread thickened the air, seeping through Laurent’s pores, and settling down in his gut. Breaking through the throng, the first thing he saw was Tomás battered and bloodied, but holding his own.

Holding his own against six robed figures and?—

“Oh, gods,” someone near him breathed, a hand going to her mouth as she halted.

This was unexpected.

Each robed man held a chain as thick as Laurent’s forearm. At the end of them were six undead creatures, pulling at the iron binding their necks. They were nothing he’d ever seen before and everything the reaper had described with their death-pallor skin, sickly ashen and grey. Their soulless black eye sockets, and beast-like movements.

Convulsing, they snarled, their masters yanking them back from Tomás, just a hair before they would have clawed his face with too-mortal nails.

In that split moment of calculation, Laurent made too many choices to count. Not the least of which was drawing these bastards away from his troupe.

“Oy!” he bellowed, bounding forward to pick up the conch shell at Tomás’ feet, effectively gaining all their attention. The beasts hissed at him, spittle flying from their rotted corpse mouths. He drew his axe, crouching on the balls of his feet, ready. The rest of his troupe awaited his command. Their hands twitched towards their weapons but they held steady. “I take it you’re looking for a certain quill then, ye?”

One of the robed figures glided forward as if his feet were floating above the ground. “Give it to ussss,” he hissed, “or we’ll kill every one of your little Elven half-breeds.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Laurent saw Winnie slip past Tomás and into the tent, mouthing stall.

“You Order fuckers really don’t understand that ‘no’ is a complete sentence.” He dropped one hand behind him, signalling with his fingers for his troupe to hold. “This ought to be fun, then.”

He flashed the Acolytes a wicked grin before he zipped into the woods at inhuman speed, three of them and their beasts following swiftly behind.

Fuck. That meant half of them remained at the camp, and his troupe would have to take care of them.

Dodging and weaving, they began to stumble after him through the thick brush, unable to keep up with his blurred movements. He could hear the snarls of the creatures as they ran at him with savage strength. Whatever Chresedia had done to these undead beasts, it was sick.

One of the monsters ripped free of his master, nipping at Laurent’s heels and clawing at his back. A searing pain shot through his shoulder as the creature’s nails made contact, slowing Laurent down. Snarling with as much venom as the beast, he whirled on it, axe swinging.

Missing by only a hair, the momentum of its trajectory caught him off balance, and the creature swiped again. Dodging, Laurent recovered, grabbing at the iron chain trailing behind it. Wrapping it around his forearm and tightening his grip via magic, Laurent began to back slowly away. The creature stalked him, the Acolytes and two other beasts closing in on him and their escaped monster.

Good.

With a flick of his wrist, a ripple went through the chain, knocking into the creature’s chin and pulling its iron collar taut. It snarled, digging its mortal, rotting knuckles into the dry bramble of the forest floor. As it readied on its haunches, so did Laurent.

“Come on, fucker. Make my day.”

The creature charged and Laurent bared his teeth, shooting forward with strength not meant for this realm. A warcry thundered out of him as he leapt up and over the creature’s head, swinging his axe as he twisted. Black blood splattered his tunic, his hands, his face, but the blade hadn’t sliced clean through. Slowed but not beaten, the beast twisted around to face him, the axe embedded in its neck, the smell of its blood putrid.

Veins of Laurent’s power, that same shade of power gifted to his Elven ancestors through Lord Night’s lineage, shot out, one wrapping around the hilt of the axe, the others pushing back against the beast ready to charge him again.

The axe pulled free with a sickening, wet gush of black blood. Laurent’s magic snapped it to his hand with impeccable speed as he faced off with the creature.

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