Page 71 of Claimed By the Fae Lord

The raw memory reinforced my energies and I struck harder. Moved faster. Felt the boil under my skin of my berserker trying to rise.

It wouldn’t discern friend from foe if it took over. It would just kill.

"Stand down!" I roared at the attackers, though I knew they wouldn't listen.

The desperation in their movements spoke of high stakes and higher rewards for Raina's capture. But they didn't truly understand the consequences of what they’d dared on my father’s land.

I’d felled two at once and turned to check on the females, ready to jump in.

Mirrelle was a vision of fury, a blur of motion that carved a protective arc around Raina.

I felt admiration as I watched her fight. There was beauty even in the brutality of her defense. But admiration was quickly replaced by fear, the kind that gnaws at your bones, because I knew what these bastards were capable of.

And just like that, one of them got too close, his dark intent clear as he reached out to grab Raina. If he got his hands on her and had portaling magic, we might not get her back.

"Raina, watch out!" The words tore from my throat, but before he reached her, the world erupted in a fury of noise and motion.

From the cover of the trees, reinforcements thundered onto the training grounds. Brahm and Gunnar led the charge, their weapons gleaming with deadly promise.

My father, a beast of a man with braids flying, swung his axe with a grunt that spoke of years in battle. Gunnar's sword danced in his hand like an extension of his will, each strike precise and lethal.

Their arrival shifted the tide, giving us precious seconds to regroup. Panic ebbed slightly as I witnessed the enemies falter under the onslaught, but it was short-lived. In the chaos, a sickening thud sounded, and Mirrelle stumbled.

"Nooo!" Raina screamed.

She lunged forward, intercepting a killing blow meant for Mirrelle with a deftness that contradicted her delicate appearance. The spear in her grasp sang through the air, turning aside the attack.

Gunnar was there in an instant, his presence a wall between the fallen blood fae and the enemy. His intervention allowed Raina to kneel beside Mirrelle, whose blood seeped into the earth, staining it a deep crimson.

"Stay with me," Raina pleaded, her hands moving with practiced efficiency over Mirrelle's wounds.

"Raina, we need to move!" I shouted, desperate to pull her away from the danger that clawed at our heels.

"No! I won't leave her!" she screamed back, her violet eyes blazing with defiance and something far more fierce.

Loyalty.

I fought back the urge to drag her away, knowing her resolve was unbreakable. Instead, I turned my attention back to the fray, ensuring no harm would come to them as they lay vulnerable on the ground.

Mirrelle's injuries were grave, yet Raina's hands never wavered as she held pressure to stem the bleeding. The wound was too big, Raina’s hands not able to cover the gaping hole in Mirrelle’s abdomen.

"Raina."

"Shut up and fight, Liam!" she snapped without looking up, her focus unwavering.

A bitter laugh escaped me, half-choked with relief and pride. Even now, she had the spirit to command me, and gods help me, I wanted her all the more for it.

Gunnar's frame loomed large as he planted himself like an ancient oak between us and the brute who'd felled Mirrelle. His hazel eyes flickered with a concern that was rare in the heat of battle, the muscles in his jaw working as if to chew through the mayhem itself.

“Three at your ten, Gunnar!” Raina warned, reaching for her spear as a group edged closer to attack from the left.

I tried to work my way to that side, knowing I wouldn’t get there first.

"Stay down," Gunnar barked at Raina, the edge in his voice sharper than the blade in his hand.

The second it took for him to glance at her cost him. I kicked the combatant away from me and sprinted to my brother, dodging and weaving. I wouldn’t make it.

In a blur of speed, Raina surged upward, arm snapping forward. A dagger sailed over Gunnar's broad shoulder, a silver streak against the twilight. It found its mark with a sickening thunk, burying itself into the eye of the assailant about to run him through with a blade.

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