Page 239 of The Call of Crimson
Ryder and Zion both draw their blades, ready to leave at my command.
We stare out at the walls and the gate looming before us. The wind picks up, howling and rustling the trees around us. I know it’s thanks to Ryder’s Kaminari Gift, and that it should help deter any arrows from hitting their target. Hopefully.
“On my count,” Darian says, his own sword drawn as he hunches down, body poised to sprint through the city streets.
We mirror his stance as he begins counting, “Three… two…” He pauses, looking around to verify the coast is clear.
“One!” I whisper-shout, trying not to draw any unwanted attention our way.
We sprint for the gates, and they open a fraction of a second before we arrive, just wide enough for us to slip through in single-file order.
The wind continues to whip around us unnaturally and I throw up a shield of shadows to obscure their vision and deflect any arrows that come within a foot of us.
Three arrows zing past, embedding themselves in the buildings behind us as we run east for the refugees. The clash of steel grows louder as we find our way through the city streets.
It feels like we pass the body of a fallen one every hundred yards. Lord Renfer wasn’t exaggerating when he said the casualties had been massive.
We round a corner and skid to a halt.
Three Fae warriors block our path, swords dripping with the blood of innocents as they smile wickedly, their crimson eyes sparkling with sadistic glee.
They don’t speak. They don’t make any noise as they launch their attack.
It’s three of them against four of us, but I’d be a fool to consider those odds in our favor.
Darian meets the first warrior, blocking his attack and returning one of his own. I lose sight of him as a second male charges me.
With a flick of my left hand, three shadow-daggers manifest in the air and launch toward his chest.
He dodges the first two with ease, but the third sinks deep into his shoulder.
He snarls and reaches for the dagger, but his hand passes right through the shadow because they respond to me and me alone.
I use the moment of distraction to swing my sword at him. At the last second, he raises his own to block.
In my peripherals, I see Darian’s opponent hit the ground, and I release a shaky breath of relief.
My sword arches in another drive towards my foe, but my arm stops, suspended in mid-air. Roots have shot up from the ground below, wrapping my arms so tightly I can’t move them.
Searing pain shoots through my hand as my thumb dislocates with a sickening pop. I grunt, trying to summon my shadows, but nothing happens.
The male just stares at me, a pleased look gleaming in his eyes.
What is he doing? He could have killed me by now. Heshouldhave killed me.
His mouth opens like he means to speak, but all that comes out is a strangled gasp as he looks down to find the tip of a blade protruding from his chest.
The Fae’s body drops, and the roots fall away.
Darian steps up to me after pushing the body aside and takes my injured hand in his.
“This is going to hurt,” he warns.
“Just do it.”
I cry out as he pops the digit back into place, the pain nearly as sharp as when it dislocated.
Ryder and Zion appear beside me, their chests heaving as they stare down at the third dead Fae at their feet. I must have missed the kill, but I’m grateful just the same.
