Page 14 of Great Falls Rogue
Another whine sounds from Shade’s wolf, but I trust him to stay away from the thrashing vines. With the trees moving, I will have time for one or two shots at the most before I have to find a new firing point, and the minutes are already racing by me.
The bowstring pulled back to my ear cuts into my fingers, my eyes narrowing on my shifting target as my breath stills. The third Yocklol’s eye comes into view and disappears behind a waving tentacle. Again. Again.Now.I release the arrow.
For a second, I think the sharp pain along my forearm is from my own snapped bowstring, the arrow’s wild flight an accident of a poor shot.Then Shade’s snarl twists me around to discover a pair of dark-cloaked figures sliding silently from the trees. The one on the left pulls off his hood, his pointed ears and elongated canines sending first hope, then fear thudding through me.
Glancing down at my arm, I discover blood seeping through a slice in my leathers, the dagger that left it now on the ground. The insignia on the hilt scratches at my memory. I know it. I’ve seen it before——in Lunos.
“Move, and you are dead,” the male says, his hard eyes nearly as black as his hair. “How many of you are there here?”
“Of us?” I lick my lips. “You mean fae? It seems you’d know more than I.”
The male snorts. “Don’t toy with the Guard, girl. You crossed Mystwood with a key. Where is it? How many others came with you?”
Guard.The word triggers the missing link to the insignia, though it brings me no closer to explaining the faes’ presence. The Night Guard, a renegade group of fae who pledge their loyalty to the dark realm of Mors, has no more business being in the human world than…than I do.
Yet, here we both are.
“What are Mors’s wanna-be lapdogs doing in the mortal realms?” I ask, my mind racing to decide whether the arrows or the sword sheathed down my back would be of more use.
The male snarls.
At my side, Shade’s wolf bunches his powerful muscles and launches himselfat the male. So much for conversation.
Dropping my bow, I pull my sword in time to parry the blade of the second fae, whose curves reveal her gender just as her swing shows off centuries of training.
My muscles strain beneath the force of her blow, the stark difference between fighting a fae warrior over a human cadet a rude reminder of reality. The female’s sword presses down on my blade, forcing my own edge closer and closer to my throat. Her pale blue eyes find mine, their chilled indifference more frightening than any roaring fury.
My arms tremble, the muscles screaming from the strain. I know I should be moving away, staying free of the game of strength, but the fear of what that blade will do to me if I miscalculate sends my heart into a gallop. Makes me hesitate.
Her blade moves another inch closer. With a grunt, I shift to my right, redirecting the force of our battle.
The locked blades snap free of the impasse, my balance wavering. I step to regain my footing, taking another slice along my shoulder for it. The pain is distant, the leather armor taking some of the force. Seeing the female’s blade rise into the air, I kick her exposed ribs a moment before I realize the opening was a trap. Catching my leg, the female slams me into the ground, her sword slicing my thigh.
Stones dig into my back. Shade’s primal growls cut through the haze of my beating heart, spurring me on. My hand tightens on the hilt of my sword—only to discover the female’s boot pinning my wrist to the ground.
“Happy Ostera.” The Night Guardsman bares her canines, her cold pale eyes carrying all the emotion of a stone as she raises her bloodied sword—this time aiming it at my heart.
A lupine snarl rips the night, a great mass of gray wolf slamming into the fae atop me. The female falls to the side, rolling over her shoulder to regain her footing with a whip of her silver braid.
The wolf circles, his muzzle bloody, his hackles raised.
Gasping, I try to sit up. Blood leaks from my thigh, filling the air with a thick copper scent and making the world sway.
The wolf twists toward me, a flash of bright light leaving Shade’s fae form standing where the animal had been, chest heaving, yellow eyes wide with fear.
In one stupid heartbeat, I register the male’s Ostera finery, a golden tunic over billowing black pants. In the next, with a bolt of panic, I remember that I’m not wearing my veil amulet.
Then all thoughts disappear as the female, recovered from Shade’s blinding shift, closes in with a growl.
“Behind you!” I yell, pointing through the haze to the female warrior, her bloodied sword held high. Gripping the hilt of my blade, I toss it to Shade.
The female’s eyes narrow, her gaze quickly sweeping from her downed companion, his throat ripped open, to me, to Shade. With a face that holds too little fear, she steps back, the air around her rippling before swallowing her whole.
“That’s not possible,” I mutter stupidly, staring at the spot. “You can’t step into the Gloom from the mortal world.” Orwasimpossible. With Ostera’s surge of magic, the rip in the mortal world’s protective fabric may have widened for good.
Then my eyes shift to Shade, and all thoughts of the Gloom disappear.
The male’s breaths are ragged, his yellow eyes taking in the forest as he prowls toward me. The scent of battle hangs on him, mixing with blood. Stopping a pace away from me, Shade lowers my sword, holding out his free palm toward me.
