Page 194 of The Call of Crimson
My eyes flare open when I feel a hand cover my mouth. Cillian stares down at me, fully clothed, weapons strapped to everyavailable space. I’m reminded of just how deadly this male is. He lifts a finger to his lips, signaling for me to remain silent.
Elijah is dressing at the end of the bed, lacing his boots into place. I’m immediately grateful I decided to stay fully clothed last night.
Was it even last night? The moonlight streaming in through the single window suggests it’s not yet dawn. I nod my understanding that I know I need to remain quiet, and Cillian removes his hand, handing me a dagger instead.
I wrap my fingers around the hilt, trying to listen for a potential threat, for an answer as to why we’re awake already. I’m unsure how to use the dagger, but I get the general idea. Stab with the sharp end.
Sliding my feet over the edge of the bed, I lace up my boots and reach for the cloak. Elijah fastens it in place, pecking my lips before turning to Cillian.
They nod at each other, speaking a language I’m unfamiliar with. Swords drawn, they exit the room, keeping me behind them. I follow, my steps light and dagger gripped tightly in my fist.
A floorboard creaks overhead, the sound echoing in the otherwise silent inn. Cillian points to the upper floor and holds up three fingers. I take that to mean there are three people on the floor above. He holds a hand in front of us, signaling for us to stop.
In the blink of an eye, Cillian disappears into thin air. I have no questions about what is happening when I hear the unmistakable thud of a body hitting the floor, followed by grunts and the sharp clash of steel on steel.
Elijah whips his head toward the foyer just as a figure steps into view. The male is dressed head to toe in black, crimson eyes the only splash of color.
Elijah doesn’t stop to ask questions. He charges the attacker, weapon drawn.
Swords clash, the metal ringing and bodies moving faster than I can track. Elijah eventually outmaneuvers his opponent, driving his sword deep through the center of the male’s chest.
Cillian rounds the corner, blood dripping from his blade. “Nice work. Sorry, the three upstairs took me longer than normal. These Fae bastards are tough.”
“Are you okay?” I ask, wiping away the blood streaking down his face.
“I’m fine,” he replies, grinning. “But your concern is adorable. One of the arseholes threw a dagger, but it only skimmed me.”
Regardless, I press my palm to the cut and push healing energy into him, watching the skin mend itself instantly. Relief floods my system as the wound disappears, knowing that whatever dagger cut Cillian wasn’t poisoned. We walk toward the foyer, trepidation filling every step.
All I hear is the sharp whistle of wind just before arrows shoot through the broken windows and door. We drop to the floor, rolling towards anything that can act as a shield.
I land behind an overturned table, but Elijah and Cillian have found refuge behind the bar. At least six feet separate us as arrows continue to rain down on the room, thudding into walls and furniture like a relentless storm.
My chest heaves as I work to steady my rapid breathing. Across the room, Cillian and Elijah peek out from behind the bar.
“The sun is starting to rise.” Cillian waves his hand, gesturing me over. “If you can get over here, I should be able to dispatch the rest of the attackers.”
Another volley of arrows streams in, splintering the wall above my head. I let out a shriek, covering my head with my hands. “I don’t think I can make it.”
“You can do this, sweetheart,” Cillian urges.
“You’ve got this, baby.” Elijah stretches out his hand. “On my count.”
I worry my lower lip, nodding. “Okay.”
“One… two…” Elijah starts, breaking eye contact only long enough to look out toward our attackers. “Three!”
I push off the floor, sprinting across the space between us and diving for safety. Arrows fly past, slamming into the wall behind me.
I startle, turning right as another flies straight for my face, and freeze.
Elijah’s hand shoots out, catching the arrow before it can touch me. Cillian pulls me into his chest, tucking me firmly behind the bar.
Wiping his hands on his pants, Elijah throws the arrow down. “Shit, they’re tipped with poison.”
“Are you okay?” I grab his hand, turning it over and over, searching for any open wounds for the poison to infect.
“I’m fine, doll,” Elijah reassures me, tugging his hand from my grasp.
