Page 20 of A Sword of Ice
The figure stepped towards her, and for a moment, Iona was too frightened to move, intimidated by his sheer size alone. He stepped into her personal space, and her breath hitched. A jolt of magic surged through her as their eyes met, and then those big hands were encircling her wrists.
The touch of his warm skin against hers had her reacting on instinct. Her knee shot up, connecting to the softness between his legs.
The man grunted, knees dropping to the ground. The jerking movement of his fall made the helm slide off his head and clatter to the snow. His hold loosened and Iona let out magic. Ice pressed against the lower half of his body, keeping him shackled to where he’d fallen.
Green eyes flared and Iona glared. She glared to avoid showing just how surprised she felt at seeing the figure beneath the helm.
Beautiful didn’t even begin to cover it. Too beautiful to be human, maybe. In a single glance, she’d memorized all of his features. A rugged, square face and jaw covered in a ginger beard. Long waves of orange were spread like a flame over his cheeks and shoulders.
That single glimpse was all Iona gave herself.
“Fucking dick face!” she spat, and then she was running past him. Footsteps sounded again. Not the giant’s, but the smaller soldier, catching up to her.
Fuck!
She’d wasted too much time mesmerized by the soldier and now the other one was merely ten feet away.
Iona knew she had no other choice.
Sliding against the snow, she whirled, shooting her palms out. Magic responded instantaneously. As easy as breathing, ice burst from her fingertips in the shape of dozens of pointed daggers. They flew towards the soldier, whose own hands shot up just as quickly.
And her daggers? They rammed through a sudden wall of fire.
Iona’s eyes widened against the blaze as its flickering fingers chased towards her. She cursed and let her powers fly.
Ice and fire met in the middle. Like a bestial dance for dominance, each element pushed, one against the other. They clashed, sending sparks of fire and shards of ice rupturing above them.
Her feet skidded back as the heat pushed towards her, and beyond the fray of magic, she could make out the soldier’s delicate hands. Golden bronze, the tips of fingertips danced with green and red flames.
This was no human. But why would a soldier be wielding magic?
Sweat slid down Iona’s temples, her teeth gritted, and she pushed with her hands as she took a step forward and her magic… it shattered like shards, ice splintering into jagged edges like the very scars down her back. The force of it extinguished the fire completely, but the volatile use of it exploded, pushing them both back into the snow in opposite directions.
Iona’s back slammed to the ground, cushioned by the cold layer of white beneath her.
Her head spun, her magic swirled like a storm in her chest, but she tamped it down, using every ounce of strength she had to shove it back. Her fingers found purchase in the snow as she slowly pushed herself up to a standing position. A grunt of pain left her lips, and her head throbbed, but she gritted her teeth against it and took a deep breath.
A cold cloud roiled in front of her and slowly drifted into stillness.
And Iona watched as the soldier across from her stood. Slowly, those delicate golden-brown hands lifted the dark helmet.
Long black hair came tumbling from beneath it like a long, silk curtain. Iona followed the length of the hair up to the face. A very female face. Delicate golden curves and beauty stared back at her. Eyes that glinted like the burning embers of a fire held a fierce determination.
The helm dropped to the snow and long fingers went up to push aside thick locks of hair behind a pointed Fae ear.
Iona stood as frozen as her magic, transfixed with the figure she recognized from the wanted posters.
She was shorter than Iona, but she held her head tall as she took a step forward. The closer she came, the more Iona felt something. A buzzing through her system that lit every nerve on edge. She gasped, holding the shocked sound in, as the bonds of Mana seemed to echo between them like the discreet touch of a soft hand against skin.
Elementals were rare.
Meeting another was even rarer.
And there was no denying what this female Fae was, how their magic imploded against one another, or how Mana seemed to be pulling invisible strings between them together.
“Hello,” the female spoke, her voice a sensual whisper. “My name is Shula Azzarh, and I’ve been looking for you.”
Footsteps sounded behind the woman. Great hulking strides that sent a shiver of both unease and anticipation down Iona’s spine.
