Page 149 of The Seeker
He sent a sharp whistle up as he fought them off. Push, shove, kick, elbow. No one fought elegantly in the mud.
An arrow sang over his head. He ducked down and it punched through the chest of the Grigori riding his back. Roch kicked out and rolled over, his clothes caked with mud, hoping that none of his brothers or sisters mistook him for the enemy.
It was dark. It was muddy. The fog wasn’t helping. In the thick of battle, the line between scribe and Grigori was harder than ever to discern.
“Ya domem.” His mate’s whisper snaked through the cane fields, hitting its Grigori target without even touching him.
Sabine ran to the edge of the field. “Again?”
Roch struck out and pierced the spine of one Grigori, but two more still struggled. “Again!”
“Domem man!”
The stunning spell left both the Grigori reeling, and even Roch was a little woozy. He managed to kick both the men to their bellies and dispatched them before he ran out of the fields.
He grabbed Sabine by the waist and kissed her hard. “You gorgeous, vicious little thing.”
“I try.”
“You succeed.” He grabbed her by the hand. “Let’s check on the others. These bastards don’t seem to have an end.”
The wild expression in her eyes settled with her mate’s touch. “Were we foolish? Are you weaker?”
“Your song makes me strong,” he said. “A little wild, but strong.”
Their mating had been done with no fanfare or ceremony. Sabine didn’t want any, and neither did Roch. They hadn’t even told Patiala they’d done it, though Roch suspected Rhys and Meera could tell.
No magic bullet had struck its target, but Roch could tell that whatever mating magic they’d shared had steadied her in ways he couldn’t before. He was feeling more edgy, more erratic, giving him a better glimpse into her mind. It was a process and would continue to be a process, but in the middle of battle, he decided a bit of an edge wasn’t a bad thing.
He caught movement beyond a stand of trees. Dark shadows hidden by the fog.
It was a young singer, a girl who worked in the kitchen, set upon by three Grigori. Roch couldn’t tell if she was dead or alive, but she wasn’t moving.
“No!” Sabine screamed.
Before Roch could catch what she was doing, Sabine had flicked a lighter from her pocket and grabbed a flame, hurling it toward the three men who fed from her sister.
“Sabine, no!”
The flames arrowed toward the Grigori and enveloped them. Roch ran over and dragged the singer from beneath the burning, screaming men.
She was dead. Her lips were blue and her gold eyes stared into the grey dawn sky.
Sabine screamed and laughed and screamed again. The Grigori curled and howled on the grass.
Roch glanced at the cane fields, hoping all the scribes and singers had run toward the house, because all hell was about to break loose.
“The cane fields are on fire.”The sentry ran into the library, her eyes wild.
Patiala looked up. “Sabine.”
The sentry nodded.
Patiala grabbed her bow and walked to the back porch overlooking the fields. “Bring me another quiver.”
The sentry ran off as Patiala grabbed the first arrow. With the fields on fire, the rats would be fleeing their cover. “Get the scope,” she barked at her assistant.
“It’s foggy,” her spotter said.
