Page 39 of Fae Divided
Grayson converted, his huge silver wolf the mirror image of his littermate’s. He prowled on shaky legs, halting alongside his brother and replicating his aggressive stance. They growled in unison, and with the wind tearing at their fur, slowly advanced on the Fae.
His Alpha and the vampire prince exploded onto the scene. In spite of the steel handcuffs still hanging from his wrists, James called forth the claws on his free hand and joined the others to converge on their mutual enemy. The sooner they neutralized Daimhín’s threat to their species, the sooner he could take Sarah home, see his son, and reunite with his pack.
Samuel was the most powerful Ferwyn in the region, but the príoh struggled to come within five feet of the Athair leader.
“Prince Myles,” Daimhín politely inclined his head as though greeting the ESC heir at a casual dinner party.
“Lord Asshole,” he replied, voice far from civil. The prince didn’t shout the insult. He didn’t need to.
“I would be careful how you speak to your superior, Dádhe.” The hawk-like nails of one hand stopped their intricate ballet and spread wide, palm going flat and vertical. The gesture sent a centralized wave of chill air toward the prince, repelling him a foot before he spread his legs wide and leaned into the force of the whistling winds, halting the backslide. “It’d be a shame if, because of your short-sighted arrogance, the Standish House were not a part of the new world order,” he said, taunting.
“No one threatens my queen,” Myles bit out, words dripping menace. He lifted the hilt of his katana to shoulder height, right hand gripping the handle near the sword’s guard, knuckles facing his temple. The left crossed to clasp the pommel, forming a soft X with his forearms. His shirt and slacks billowed in the concentrated gusts, but in an incredible show of mastery and preternatural strength, the blade angled above his head remained motionless.
Samuel and Tucker snarled, muscles knotting as they surged near enough to the magical barrier to snap at its edges. Grayson glued to his twin’s flank.
James’ canines stretched beyond his chin, gums burning like he was sipping acid. The iron manacles encircling his wrists escalating the natural pain of conversion. He stalked forward, tulwar swinging like a machete clearing a path through a jungle instead of a manufactured windstorm. The hostility radiating from him matching his clanmates and the vampire heir.
The message was straightforward: the Standish House would fall when they were all dead and buried.
“Incoming,” Jenkins shouted a scant second before a torrent of sapphire flames crashed into the whirling shield safeguarding the Fae.
James had seen witchfire only once in his life; the blast of heat had destroyed an entire building—and crippled the invoking Anwyll for hours afterward.
He closed his eyes against its fiery brilliance and dove out of the way.
The fire penetrated the outer layers of the pureblood’s defenses, spreading until it bathed the elf in a ghostly cerulean glow. Daimhín’s lips moved, hands moving feverishly as he tried to sustain the spell while keeping the deadly inferno from burning him to ash.
The witchfire’s brightness flickered out along with the wind. The dust settled, and the summer night’s humidity descended like a wet blanket onto James’ skin. Glittering eyes and the sliver of a moon were the only remaining light in the dark.
The yard erupted as James and the others jumped to their feet and attacked the Fae.
Prince Myles rushed at the Elven Lord, single-edge blade held low, primed for an upstroke to remove his head. The wolves surrounded the pureblood, working as a pack to block his escape.
Gunshots rang out. A circle of red bloomed on the shoulder of Daimhín’s already tattered shirt before he could utter the shielding spell the Fae people taught their Anwyll apprentices centuries prior.
“You can’t keep this up forever,” James said, curved sword hammering at the invisible bubble alongside the prince and his katana.
“You have no idea what I can or cannot do, wolf,” Daimhín replied, lips pulled taut. The otherworldly gleam in his gaze sparked and sputtered.
“Choose, elf,” James said, mocking Daimhín’s earlier taunt. “Dignity or denial?”
“I choose to fight another day,” he said and spoke an ancient word of power that burst his transparent shield outward, tossing them across the lawn. James landed on the driveway, the gravel scraping his unprotected skin as he rotated end over end.
Samuel and the prince reclaimed command of their bodies first. The vampire scrambled to recover his lost sword while the Alpha converted to human form. Tucker shook from head to tail, his growl promising retribution. James rolled to a stand with a muffled groan. He’d broken several ribs. Adam was awake, and the outcast looked angry.
“Bal mio rach!”Daimhín yelled, arms reaching toward the starless sky. A wall of flame appeared behind him, stretching fifty yards in either direction. Strain showed on his flawless features, but the fire soared to ten feet high before he lowered his hands. “I’ve changed my mind.”
“About what?” Prince Myles asked, pupils red, fangs spiked and protruding from lips curved in scorn. His bloody elbows, mussed hair, and the smudge of dirt on his cheek tarnishing his normally well-groomed appearance.
“I believe I’ll kill you first.” A long finger pointed at the Dádhe. “Loisg anis,”he said in a bone-chilling hush.
Recognizing half of the invocation and suspecting the ancillary word meant the vampire wouldn’t survive if the spell reached its goal, James ignored his injuries and launched at the prince. He plowed into the smaller male with the force of a freight train, his heavy Ferwyn frame smashing him into the dirt.
James felt heat and darkness as the cast streamed over their heads, missing its mark by a matter of inches. The brand on his nape pulsed for a heart-stopping moment, as though recognizing the touch of its creator.
Prince Myles grunted beneath him, and James lifted his weight away, both males quickly regaining their feet.
Another round of gunfire bombarded the Fae, the bullets rendered harmless with a slash of his hand, falling harmlessly near his scuffed leather wingtips.
