Page 5 of The Lost Fae
Lincoln's throat bobs. He looks from me to the Fae that scurry onto the deck ripping at the humans that stand prepared for the attack.
"It's not a good thing," he finally amends. Carefully, he slips his hand over mine and pulls the sword from my grip. "I'm trained to use this. You are not."
"And we are going to do something about that aren't we?" I growl and pluck the axe from its hiding spot.
"Of course," he smiles. "But for now, you stay behind me."
"Beside you," I step up next to him, lifting my brows.
"Beside me."
"Now just to confirm, we are fighting off the Fae right? Not the humans?" I spin the axe like I'd watched Johanna do. It's blade whistles through the air and accompanies the sound of the weapons that clash only yards in front of us.
"We'll help the humans. But I'm not sure if that's the right choice just yet."
"Well, we are about to find out."
Three Fae, nicked with long jagged scars, break through the line of humans entangled in battle. They fly over the combat that rages above my head. Blood dots the deck and I can't be sure which race it belongs to. The tang of their mortal blood and Fae magic fills my nostrils. It's almost hard to breathe.
A new sort of claiming races through me. The humans, they're mine. They're my past, they're the old Briar, brittle and feisty. No one is going to hurt them, unless it's me claiming Lincoln as mine.
The Fae's steps stumble as they lower to the floor. Their heads tilt in unison as they flick their gazes up and down us. We're just like them. Mostly. My own wings flicker behind me, moving with the breeze, lifting up off my back.
"Shadow Fae," the one in the middle sings. "You are far from home. How did you filthy mixed-bloods get on this ship?" Only he doesn’t say ‘filthy mixed-bloods’ as Cordelia would. It isn’t an insult when it comes from his lips.
"Move out of the way!" Another demands.
Lincoln's answering replay is a swift arch of his sword that sends one of their own blades clattering to the ground. The Fae breathes through his teeth and chases after the weapon. But the other two, they lunge.
A line has been drawn. And we are not on the same side as these Fae.
One Fae does not have any weapons in his hands, just a swirling magic that glitters against his fingertips. Lincoln advances on the one that still holds his sword. Neither have iron blades, but their feet still dance while their swords collide with sparks. Other fighters clear a path as the chorus of their duel rings out. A few humans getting knocked out of the way while they're distracted by Lincoln and I's alignment.
The last hovering Fae charges for me. I dart to the side but his blue fingers grab my free wrist. Ice-like glaciers of arctic frost spread from his tight grip, making the blue of my veins more prominent. My skin stings like a burn. I scream and bring the axe down on the Fae's hand. The metal cuts into his wrist but he moves quick enough I'm not able to break through the bone.
Finally, with his weapon back in his hand the Fae Lincoln had sent off makes a break toward the stairs. The very place the humans are trying to protect. I chance a glance at him while the Fae before me shrinks back for a breath to cradle his hand which is already stitching itself back together.
My vision pigeonholes on this one Fae. All I can think about is what would Lincoln do? What would a trained soldier do? With all his walls down, I can walk Lincoln's mind just as I walk my own. My brain grasps at all his training, my muscles flexing with a movement only Lincoln's body has practiced. My arms lift over my head and behind me before I step forward and throw my only weapon.
The axe spins in the air, getting a couple power filled rotations before it buries itself in the back of the Fae's skull. His body crumples forward mid-step. Blood splatters.
Fuck, yeah!
But then my stomach fills with nausea. My eyes widening at the dead body I had just created. There isn't time for me to dwell on it. Not as the cold fingered Fae raises a hand for me.
I cut my hand through the air to grip the Fae's forearm. I catch him, one handed, and send my other arm hurtling forward to plunge my fist into his gut. Air hisses from his lungs, his movements so quick that only my Fae magic keeps my attention focused.
He rips his hand away from me, his knuckles slamming into my cheek bone. I stumble back, pain blooming in a dull ache. That hit would have killed me if I'd been human. But I'm not human anymore. I'm Shadow Fae.
Righting my posture, I only catch a glimpse of Lincoln's opponent falling. He snatches up the Fae that hurtles toward Captain Beatrice and tosses them to the side like a rag.
I take a deep breath. The Fae across from me watches every subtle move I make. We move in sync, colliding in a swirl of swinging limbs and swiping jabs. I focus my mind on all of Lincoln's experiences, using them as if they were my own. It moves my body with the lethal ferocity of his decades of training. My wings tuck against me. Though I quickly notice that even this Fae trying to kill me doesn't make any attempt to slice through them. Even for him that's too low of a blow.
His ice travels with a numbing cold into me with every hit that gets through my defense, making my movements sluggish. Behind him, Fae are getting pushed back, leaving him as the only one behind enemy lines. His wings flicker and he lifts up off the deck. I try my best to follow, gaining a few inches to grab and pull him back down where I'm more comfortable to fight.
My dress is a tattered tangle around my legs, my heels the only form of weapon at my disposal. I step forward, my elbow aimed for the man’s temple, and my heel digging into his toes as his feet settle on the ground. His teeth grit together as he pushes away from my face. He makes a move to strike me once again but freezes at the bristled command.
"Fall back," an angry voice calls out. "Fall back!" It repeats even angrier.
