Page 92 of Sharpen Your Claws

The portal tore through reality, creating a vortex that nearly threw him from the roots. The once white light became a gruesome green. Sparks flickered along the edges, catching fire to the grass, then the roots themselves. Fearworn’s need to escape grew more frantic. He didn’t dodge Charmaine’s flames that hit his back over and over. He was frantic in his escape because whatever would bring him back for good was beyond that portal, and he needed Nicholas.

Fearworn would take him away, like he had taken a piece of William already. That time, the monster threatened to take a piece of his heart that no fae magic or earthly medicine could mend. The pain he felt over the years believing Nicholas used him would be nothing compared to his loss. They had so much to do, a life to live together, as turbulent as it may be. He would take that over nothing at all.

“You can’t have him,” William said through clenched teeth. “You can’t have him!”

He leapt over the writhing vines, so focused on Fearworn that the rest of the world blurred. He didn’t care about anything but reaching Nicholas before Fearworn took him forever. Gun raised, he fired and fired until he had to reload. Bullets proved useless. He needed to be closer.

Suddenly, a wire of light wrapped around his torso. The heat of it singed his shirt and forced a hiss from his tense jaw, then he was flung forward. Evera’s whip sent him hurtling toward Fearworn. Evera’s whip disappeared, and he rolled across the roots, then fell upon the shoreline. Fearworn stood in front of the portal, a violet miasma seeping from Nicholas’ form. The miasma curled around Fearworn, slithering into his eyes and making the portal pulse.

Fearworn leapt into the portal. With a desperate lurch, William caught Nicholas’ hand, cold and limp. The portal hissed and cracked. It was closing. Fearworn’s desperation showed in the whites of his eyes. Fearworn gripped Nicholas’ waist. His fangs released, gushing blood.

“It’s fruitless,” Fearworn growled, his words grave and old like worn paper. “Kill me here and I will revive. Let me leave and I may never return to these lands again.”

William knew better than to believe him. Fearworn had to end here without his powers. There had to be a way, something, anything, to save Nicholas by ensuring Fearworn would never return. He couldn’t threaten them and their realms ever again.

The portal bristled with violent light. Behind Fearworn, colors bled together. William’s hand barely passed the threshold, feeling that peculiar sensation he had when crossing into Faerie, and that gave him an answer.

Keeping hold of Nicholas’ hand, he grabbed his revolver with the other. Fearworn cackled as if to frighten him, but William was confident the shade couldn’t use his powers. Not without draining Nicholas entirely, which he wouldn’t let happen.

Fearworn reached for William’s gun. Flames scorched his fingertips. The shade shrieked in pain. Charmaine stood at the sidelines, her hands blazing. She hurtled balls of fire against Fearworn’s side, carefully avoiding hitting her companions. Then there was Arden, his hand on a rotten tree. The branches elongated to swipe at Fearworn. Snarling, he smacked them aside, all the while maintaining a hold on Nicholas’ waist.

William put the revolver to Fearworn’s temple and fired until his gun clicked on empty. Fearworn’s mouth sagged, eyes rolled, and grip loosened. The bullets that lodged in his skull made the skin burn black. William pulled Nicholas with all his might, bringing the fae into his chest. Nicholas sagged against him, groaning, one hand hardly capable of twisting into the torn fabric of his shirt.

He held Nicholas and dropped his gun to retrieve the iron blade, the final blow that he plunged into Fearworn’s chest. The shade screamed, an animalistic, dying sound. Black blood, thick as molasses, spilled from his orifices. William kept one arm around Nicholas and shot his other hand around Fearworn’s throat. The silver squeezed so tightly Fearworn choked, and he pushed.

“What are you doing? Don’t send him through the portal!” Evera shouted.

“Trust me,” he said.

With a shove, Fearworn passed the threshold. The bullet holes in his skull sizzled, trying to close and failing. The iron blade in his chest became molten red as if plunged into a forge. Fearworn growled when he tried removing the dagger to no avail, then clawed at William’s arm. He didn’t relent even as silver streams fell and the pain tore through his nerves.

“Release me,” Fearworn snarled, his fear palpable, and William knew he had made the right decision.

The portal shrank. Fearworn tried to look behind him. William held tighter, forcing a choked breath from Fearworn.

“Release me,” he tried again, his hands incapable of getting a grip. The iron seeped through his skull, visibly moving beneath his skin. The portal shrank to show only his head, the edges crackling with energy.

“Your arm,” Fearworn wheezed. “You will lose it.”

“I’m okay with that.” William watched the portal shrink. Fearworn’s claws pierced his arm. The pain had his teeth grinding. He wouldn’t relent, watching Fearworn disappear. His eyes showed in the dark, brilliant violet, wonderfully terrified. Then they were gone.

The portal shut. Nicholas fell from his grasp. The pain sent him to his knees, shrieking as the little remnants of silver bled from his arm, leaving a scarred stub. He wept so hard he couldn’t breathe, but he didn’t regret his decision for a moment.

What he hated was that he never felt he could mourn the loss of a piece of himself because he believed he should be grateful. He saw himself as lucky, no matter what anyone said. But now he wept at the knowledge that he chose the loss that time and that he could choose what to do next.

31

Nicholas

Exhausteddidn’tcoverhowNicholas felt laying dirtied by the black lake, his breaths unsteady and limbs cold. The sky showed such a brilliant blue that stung his eyes. Then a shadow blocked out the rays. William leaned over him, face bloodied and silver arm gone. His sleeve hung in shredded tatters.

“Nicholas.” William’s hand held painfully to his neck. “Nicholas, talk to me.”

His mouth tasted of dirt, stale and chalky. He smacked his lips together, seeing as that was all he could move. Fearworn drained the energy from him. If he could sleep for a year, that wouldn’t be enough to regain his function. That force forever within him, once stronger than a blaze, flickered like dying embers. He had never ached so terribly, never felt so empty and cold.

“Help me sit him up,” William said.

Two hands fell on his shoulders. With a shove, he sat, and the jolt had him wiggling his toes and fingers. That earned relieved breaths from the group. Charmaine knelt on his other side, one hand on his back to steady him. Evera and Arden observed from a distance. Henry sat behind William. They monitored him with a sense of care so foreign he questioned if his mind was deceiving him.

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