Queen Meg’s eyes went wide as the moon. “Holy crap. That is so freaking cool.”
Dellacourt shook his head and hurried her along. “No time for cool shit, Meg. Time for hiding and keeping your head on your body.”
As she was hustled away, Lach could still hear her. “But that was awesome.”
“You have a fan,” Shim said with a grin.
He looked at his brother who held Duffy’s axe in his hand. He’d been so weak for so long.
Shim proved his weakness was gone by hefting his axe and neatly decapitating a guard. He grinned at his brother. “I thought the head was the best way to go since you can use arms and legs without the head.”
That was his brother. Always a giver. Lach pulled at his new soldier and sent him into battle.
Lach heard a long scream and was shocked to see the guards who had been foolish enough to get near the tree line were being pulled up into them. The trees themselves seemed to bend, their branches working like arms and claiming the guards. The guard Lach watched screamed and attempted to hack at the branches that held him, but a vine wound around his neck and his scream was cut short. The guard disappeared into the foliage, sucked up in clawing green arms.
A short distance away, Cian Finn held his hands up, controlling the trees. The Green Man had his own army.
Lach gave himself over to the fight. He saw the Seelie Warrior King in the midst of battle. He obviously preferred to fight over using his power, but Lach knew he would use it if he had to. In such close quarters any weather the Storm Lord brought down on the enemy would come down on their own heads, too. Shim was the same. He would start a fire, but it could engulf their own troops. Shim’s power would be used for another purpose.
As long as the hags lived, no one would be safe. Torin could fall, but if the hags somehow got away, there would be no peace for any of them.
His body moving like a well-oiled machine, Lach tore through the guards. He allowed the fierce joy of battle to push him like a wave toward the palace.
Lach sent a corpse to protect his brother and then another. He would feel infinitely better if he knew Shim had someone to watch his back even if his new guard no longer had a head on his body.
Lach saw a familiar face holding a small body in his arms. Max Harper was covered in blood, but he looked down at the phooka.
“I don’t understand,” Max said, looking up at Lach. “He leapt in front of me. Why would this creature do that?”
The phooka’s eyes were half closed, his blood draining quickly. Lach could sense the creature, who should have lived for centuries, was close to death. His tail twitched slightly, an unconscious move. “Imprinted on you early, you bastard. I’ve been with you most of your life. I was your pet and the hawk who followed you and the horse you complained about but always fed so well. I know you, Max Harper. Hard on the outside and such a soul! It was an honor to share a piece of you.”
Max stared down. “I didn’t even know.”
“You didn’t have to.” The phooka looked up at Lach. “And don’t use me, Death Lord. My time is come. Did you know there’s peace in the after? I feel it.”
The phooka let go, his soul flying wherever souls flew. Lach wasn’t sure, but he’d learned that death wasn’t something to fear. It was simply a power that resided in him and once the war was done, he would find a way to use it in a gentler way.
But now he used it to save Harper. He commanded one of his soldiers to leap in front of the horse trainer and take the blow meant for him.
Harper got to his feet, the sword in his hand. “Thanks.”
“Don’t waste his sacrifice.” The phooka had been an odd creature, a thing that could cause great chaos, but love had sent him on a different path.
A million thoughts raced through him. Love. Ambition. Protection. Possession. They could all be used for good or bad. Love had nearly cost him his wife, his need to protect her so great he discounted her own soul.
Love was merely a tool and how a soul chose to use it became the measure of the man. The phooka had chosen wisely, and Lach was determined to learn the lesson.
He called his army of dead as he ran to his brother. It was a gamble, but she would need everything they had.
I am ready. Pull them back. Her voice was a sweet whisper through his soul.
Lach opened himself, giving her everything, heart and soul and life and power. It welled up and surged across the distance between them.
Shim shook and, in an instant, his brother fell, a limp body on the ground.
Lach got to his knees and prayed he could save him once more.
* * * *
The hags were upset.
“How is she so strong? She should be hanging like a carcass by now.” They stood back as though assessing whether or not she was a threat.
She was the least threatening thing in the damn room. As far as she could tell, she was in the dungeon. This seemed to be the hag’s special room. She’d woken up here, bound to the wall. She’d tried to see what was around her. To her left it looked like there were shelves and shelves of herbs and various scary items that they probably used to do bad things. And there was a pot in the center that was already bubbling, already preparing to stew.
“She’s wrong.”
Bron had to cover a smile because the hags were so very confused. All through the long night they had tortured her, leaving her a limp, sad little thing. And then the bondmates had answered her call. Over and over they had sent small bursts of energy to her. But more than any amount of life force, what they had truly sent to her was hope.
Bron held herself up. She could feel her men. They were a soft hum in her soul, buoying her. They were out there now. She’d sensed them the moment they had dropped from the eddy cloud and the battle had begun.
Yet the hags still focused on her.
Could they not hear the battle? They didn’t seem to care even if they knew it had begun. They were deep in the dungeon, but Bron could hear it broadcast from another bondmate or perhaps several. Now that she’d decided to listen, she could hear them. She recognized Kaja’s voice, but there was another. A very strong voice sending out love and hope and prayers for something she called kicking serious ass.
Bron wasn’t sure what that meant, but she was grateful to the bondmate who was sharing her thoughts even if she didn’t know she was doing it. Hers was the strongest of the voices and she was so hopeful. This woman, and Bron could tell she was female, was ready for the fight. She was ready for something she called her happily ever after.
Bron liked the idea. Happy forever. She just had to reach for it.
During the hours when she’d reached out to the bondmates in the palace, her mind seemed to have formed some sort of network, pulling them each in and connecting them all. She’d learned some were close to death, others simply waiting for that time and many were being held for high-ranking vampires. They knew something was wrong with them, something had been done to them, but they didn’t know what. They were all afraid.
And they all wanted to fight.
He’s coming.
Maris’s voice was the oddest of all, but she seemed to be playing her part. Her part was to ship the king to her. Bron needed to know where Torin was. She needed to make sure he was close when she brought her power down.
The hags stared at her, and then the slender one brought her hands up, slamming them toward her, a gray mist rising.
A jolt of hot pain struck through her system. She shielded, keeping it utterly inside her own body. She didn’t want to frighten the others or cause them pain. Her body was caught in the mist the hags sent out. This mist was gray, unlike the pure black that had engulfed Duffy. Her heart clenched. She knew he was gone. Now that she’d felt the mist, she knew Duffy had died in it and Lach had carried him. There was no other explanation.