Page 40 of Ember and Eclipse
Either the warrior didn’t understand him or didn’t care because he was already looking Friend over and attempting to open the saddle compartments.
The other Monsos rushed them.
“Give me a knife, gods damn it!” Rel shouted.
He flipped the one in his hand over and tossed it to her hilt first. She snagged it out of the air, the weight of it in her hand giving her a feeling of power. Devdan tossed her a second knife, the kind best for throwing, but she couldn’t seize it as the first brute swung for her. She jumped back, her heels catching the fire’s edge and burning.
By the sounds of clashing behind her, Devdan was already fighting the others.
“Cooperate and no pain,” the man barked out.
Cooperation was the last thing she had on her mind. She let him lunge for her again, but this time, she threw herself out of the way. His momentum carried him forward, and she brought the knife out and down into his back. Not waiting to see what damage she’d done, she looked for the second one but found only the night around her.
Whirling, she sought out the hunter. Devdan had already downed two, one being the warrior near Friend, and was wrestling with the third. She spotted another one limping toward him, wielding a crude-looking weapon made of bone. Without thought, she snagged the throwing knife from the ground and sent it flying. It landed in the man’s neck, and he toppled over with a surprised shout.
Rel stepped forward, but searing pain lanced across her back. The claws tore deep into her flesh, ripping and carving. The pain was so instant and so much like the years of torture she’d suffered that she had the briefest of moments where she wasn’t even in the field—she was back on her knees, alone in a room full of spectators.
Letting out a cry full of heated rage and icy heartache, she stumbled away from the Monsos who had torn into her back. But he was fast. As he snatched her and pulled her against him, the tips of the nails dug into her arm.
Allowing the sharp points to sink deeper, she twisted in his grasp and brought her knife down. The blade slipped through bone and tore tissue, and she buried it to the hilt in his chest.
He blinked, surprised, and looked down as his grip loosened on her. She dove toward him and stabbed him a second time, and a third, until his knees buckled. Just as she was set to plunge the dagger into him again, she was pulled off him with an arm around her waist.
Hauled into a solid chest, she was about to bring the bloody knife into her captor’s thigh when her hand was caught.
“It’s me. It’s only me, Venefica.”
And the words coming from him shouldn’t have brought her relief. Shouldn’t have brought her comfort. He lowered her to her feet and took the blade from her shaking hand.
The night’s cool air was on her back, where her tunic had been torn open and her flesh sliced.
“Let me…” Devdan said, reaching for her.
“Don’t,” she gasped. “Don’t touch me.”
His arm dropped to his side, but then he said, “We need to tend the wounds. I know witches are capable of healing faster than mortals, but these will get infected long before your witch blood can heal you. They dip the bones in sacrificial blood, oils, and one only knows what else during prayers.”
“At least I’d die before I got to Romul,” she said hollowly.
“Maybe,” he murmured, “but if you didn’t, then you would be too weak to fight. And out of everything I’ve learned about you, I don’t think you give up so easily.”
She didn’t say anything, suddenly needing to sit down, her hands covering her face. The wounds hurt. And they hurt too much like the cuts the prince often left on her back.
Devdan was wrong because shedidwant to give up. She was exhausted, and they hadn’t even reached Romul. It was soul-deep tiredness.
She was tired of fighting.
“Veritas,” she said, hating the weakness in her voice.
He moved toward Friend, pulling out the bladder and a small medical pouch. “It probably isn’t going to do much for the pain,” he said as he handed her the spirit.
She took a long drink from it, then another. The heat rushed through her in tingling waves. Then she handed it back to him. “Pour it in the wound.”
He eyed her. “That’ll keep out infection, but it’s going to hurt—”
“I’m not a stranger to pain.” She closed her eyes. But it would at least be a different pain than this. “Do it.”
He moved around her to her back and pulled up what was left of her tunic.
