Page 29 of Prince of Night and Storm
“Juliette, GO!” I scream, voice cracking as steel rings against steel. Numair runs forward, tall and lithe and not yet a fullgrown warrior but already deadly. His expression is set and savage as he fights beside me.
I fight to Danon's side.
Danon's blade sings, cutting down the first warrior to reach him. His movements are liquid violence, beautiful and terrible. But there are too many.
“Numair, take her!” Danon roars over the clash of weapons.
A Montague blade whistles past my ear. Another grazes my shoulder, hot pain blooming. The warehouse fills with grunts, curses, the wet sound of steel finding flesh. Baroun is fighting in the circle closing in on my spinning, slashing brother. Embriel observes—me.
“Remember your orders,” he says. “Do not spill her blood.”
Numair grabs my arm. “Rinne, we have to go.”
“No!” I wrench away, diving into the melee. Bodies press around me. Someone's blood spatters my face—warm, salty.
A warrior blocks my path to Danon. I feint left, strike right, using a touch of Skill—Baroun isn't watching me like Embriel is. The warrior drops, clutching his throat; I almost taste the hot liquid in my mouth, my nostrils flaring as I stare at the fallen, tender-fleshed male a split second.
Behind you,Darkan warns.
I spin. Blades meet in a shower of sparks, the force ringing through my arm; he's strong, much stronger than me. I disengage—I'll never win a contest of strength. My opponent's eyes are cold, professional. He's not trying to kill me—just contain me.
They're herding us toward Danon.
“Danon!” I call out, but he's surrounded. Seven warriorspress him back, including Baroun. He's good—better than good—but the odds are bad.
Embriel sighs and gestures. An invisible net drapes over me, a gentle, inescapable blanket of power. Invisible hands seize my arms. A feminine scream of rage echoes mine and I start thrashing.
“Juliette!”
Numair roars, and he's trapped too. We're on our knees, contained, and the warriors who'd been distracting us rush to help deal with Danon.
Danon snarls, going under the swarm.
“Danon!” I scream. “Danon! Don't hurt him.I'll kill you all,I'll burn Montague down!”
I'm struggling against the binding, heat filling my veins, my vision going black. I won't let it hold me. It's not strong enough to hold me?—
No. Not yet. It will burn you to a husk if you access it now.
A cooling mist of gray separates me from the abyss I was a moment from calling on.
Danon is down. They drag me toward him. His teeth are bared, blood trickling from a cut on his forehead. My sword clatters across the concrete. The warehouse spins—rafters, shadows, Embriel's pale face watching as they force me to my knees beside my brother.
Around us, the remaining Montague warriors form a circle, weapons drawn.
Cold steel kisses my throat.
“Your orders, Lord,” Baroun says behind me. It's his blade at my throat.
“I will kill you for this,” Danon says, and suddenly the bestial rage is gone. He's ice.
“Shouldn’tla akra,”?1 Baroun says. “Anfe rala anfe'leshduty.”?2
“Let her go.”
The blade presses deeper. A bead of blood rolls down my neck.
Darkan snarls.Afa keth'malar lifyu damm, imra qatra!?3
