Page 56 of The Silver Spider
Chapter 19
He whirledtowards a guard near his back. They engaged, another fae joining the fight. Dawnthorne said nothing, he didn’t have to. The fae attempted to subdue Amnan. His hands shifted into claws, shoulders sweeping and bursting through the seam of his shirt.
“Do not let him shift,” Dawnthorne snarled, walking around his desk.
Serephone sagged, as if in shock, or faint, or some stupid shit like that. Anissa sighed, her hold loosening.
“This isn’t going to help,” her sister muttered. “He is so damn stubborn.”
Serephone had no idea if Anissa was referring to Dawnthorne or Amnan, and didn’t care. She took the opportunity—filing away the knowledge that her sister had simply let her go, to think about later—and ran towards the fight.
“Run, Serephone!” Amnan roared.
She ignored him. It would piss him off, but did he really think she was going to obey that order? He locked a guard in close quarter combat, using claws and strength to wrest the man’s blade, using him as a shield when Dawnthorne’s magic entered the fray. The Lord closed his fingers, and it dissipated before hitting his own guard. They grappled, ramming into a seating area, sending a chair skittering into a wall with a crash. Amnan flung the fae off him, crouching as scales formed, where there had been skin.
“If she runs,” Dawnthorne said icily, “she will die. Unless I allow her to leave, the geas in her blood will take her life rather than let her go.”
Amnan roared his defiance. Serephone’s anger mingled with his and overtook her normally calm demeanor. She wanted blood—any fae blood would do.
Weaponless, she attacked the guard she recognized as Yuruth, pulling him away from Amnan, who now was only outnumbered two to one. He was fast. She had neither experience or greater skill or strength on her side—but she had the advantage that he didn’t want to kill her. All she needed was to give Amnan enough space to fully shift. He could fly out of here, go get help. Damnit. If either of them was more likely to escape, it was the goddamn person with wings.
But if her opponent was fast, she was fast as well. She attacked, a series of blows to his face and body he defended, but did not return. She tripped, crashing into him. Yuruth’s arms lowered to catch their fall and her hand swiped at his side, grabbing his blade before he reacted. She twisted away, a grim smile on her face.
“Anissa,” Dawnthorne said.
“This isn’t going to end well,” her sister said, voice sharper than Serephone had ever heard it.
“Contain her.”
“No.”
Dawnthorne did not give another order. She liked that he didn’t waste his breath. She didn’t like the thought that Anissa may have earned herself a punishment.
“Serephone, halt.”
“Go dig a ditch,” she growled, circling the guard. She needed to end this fight, and quick, but the man was a professional. She wasn’t. Damnit. She needed training. Dawnthorne was right about that—she was ignorant. The skills that worked so well in a backwoods mining town were nothing here.
“Very well.”
He turned towards Amnan. “End this.”
The two fae fighting Amnan pulled slim, silver rods. Each flashed, lengthening into a bladed staff similar to those she’d seen the front gate guards carrying. Amnan could hold his own in a fair fight. But magicless, against two warriors and a sorcerer…those weren’t good odds.
“Shift!” she yelled. “Damn you, go.”
Dawnthorne’s black magic wrapped around him as he rippled into dragon form. He shuddered, and a guard darted in, blade sinking into his side. He roared, but did not spew his flame, confirming her suspicion that the bubble kept not just his magic contained. His body jerked, tail flailing, swiping at the guards. Dawnthorne leaped, avoiding the swishing blow, his desk crashing into a wall. Yuruth lunged, ignoring her blade as it sliced a line along his chest and grabbed her, dragging her out of the way. She struggled, cursing.
Yuruth grunted as her heel connected to his shin. “You fight well for an ignorant kitten,” he said, “but you need training. Accept the oath.”
She was tired of everyone telling her to accept the damn oath. The fact that he didn’t sound either winded, in pain or upset, stung. Had he just been playing with her, keeping her entertained, while Dawnthorne took care of Amnan?
Amnan shifted back to human form, collapsing onto the white marble floor. The black light didn’t let up, his blood pooling beneath him. He threw his head back, eyes full of fire, and snarled.
“Stop, damn you, Dawnthorne,” she yelled, struggling.
“Accept the oath.”
“I’ll accept your death.”
