"That's enough," Saetan said sharply. "Leash the anger. NOW!" While he waited, he called in his shoes and stuffed his feet into them. Then he froze Chaosti and Lucivar with a look.
When no one moved, he stepped away from the group and pressed his back against the wall for support. He took a few deep breaths to calm his own temper, closed his eyes, and descended to the Black.
While it was true that witches couldn't channel Jeweled strength during their moon time without pain, that wouldn't stop Jaenelle.
Using himself as a center point, he cautiously pushed his Black-Jeweled strength outward in ever-widening circles, looking for some sense of her that would at least give him an idea of where she was. The circles widened farther and farther, beyond the village of Maghre, beyond the isle of Scelt, until . . .
Kaetien!
He felt fear and horror braiding with anger growing into rage.
Black rage. Spiraling rage. Cold rage.
He started to pull back to escape the psychic storm that was about to explode over Sceval. He strengthened his inner barriers, knowing that it wouldn't help much. Her rage would flood in under his barriers, where he had no protection from it. He just hoped he had enough time to warn the others.
KAETIEN!
As she unleashed the strength of her Black Jewels, Jaenelle's anguished scream filled his head and paralyzed him. A rush of dark power smashed against him, tossing him around like a tidal wave tosses driftwood, at the same time a psychic shield snapped up around Sceval. Then, nothing.
He floated just beyond that shield, scared but oddly comforted—like being safely indoors while a violent storm raged outside.
He must have gotten caught between the conflicting uses of Black power when Jaenelle put up the shield to contain the storm. Clever little witch. And all that psychic lightning had a terrifying kind of beauty. He wouldn't mind just floating here for a while, but he had the nagging feeling there was something he should do. *High Lord.*
Damn troublesome voice. How was he supposed to think when . . . *Father.*
Father. Father. Hell's fire, Lucivar! Up. He had to go up, out of the Black. Had to get his head clear enough to tell Lucivar. . . . Which way was up? Someone grabbed him and dragged him out of the abyss. He sputtered and snarled. Did him as much good as a puppy snarling when it was picked up by the scruff.
The next thing he knew, something was pressed against his lips and blood was filling his mouth.
"Swallow it or I'll knock your damn teeth down your throat."
Ah, yes. Lucivar. Both of him.
His eyes finally focused. He pushed Lucivar's wrist away from his mouth. "Enough." He tried to get to his feet, which wasn't easy with Lucivar holding him down on one side and Chaosti holding him down on the other. "Is everyone all right?"
Karla bent over him. "We're fine. You're the one who fainted."
"I didn't faint. I got caught . . ." He started struggling. "Let me up. If the storm's over, we have to get to Sceval."
"Cat's there?" Lucivar asked, hauling him to his feet.
"Yes." Remembering Jaenelle's anguished scream, Saetan shuddered. "You and I have to get there as soon as possible."
Karla poked a sharp-nailed finger into his bare chest. "We have to get there as soon as possible."
Before he could argue, they'd all disappeared into their rooms.
"If we move, we can get there ahead of the rest of them," Lucivar said quietly as they entered Saetan's bedroom. He called in his own clothes and hurriedly dressed. "Are you strong enough for this?"
Saetan pulled on a shirt. "I'm ready. Let's go."
"Are you strong enough for this?"
Saetan brushed past Lucivar without answering. How could a man answer that question when he didn't know what was waiting for him?
"Mother Night," Saetan whispered. "Mother Night."
He and Lucivar stood on a flat-topped hill that was one of Sceva’s official landing places, the gently rolling land spread out below them. Large meadows provided good grazing. Stands of trees provided shade on summer afternoons. Creeks veined the land with clean water.
He had stood on this hill a handful of times in the past five years, looking down on the unicorns while the stallions kept careful watch over the grazing mares and the foals playing tag.
Now he looked down on a slaughter.
Turning to the north, Lucivar shook his head and swore softly. "This wasn't a few bastards who had come for a horn to take home as a hunting trophy, this was a war."
Saetan blinked away tears. Of all the Blood, of all the kindred races, the unicorns had always been his favorite. They had been the stars in the Darkness, the living examples of power and strength blended with gentleness and beauty. "When the others arrive, we'll split up to look for survivors."
The unicorns attacked at the same moment the coven and the male circle appeared on the hill.
"Shield!" Saetan and Lucivar shouted. They threw Black and Ebon-gray shields around the whole group while the other males formed a protective circle around the coven.
The eight unicorn stallions veered off before they hit the shields head-on, but the power they were channeling through their horns and hooves created blinding-bright sparks as they scraped across the invisible barriers.
"Wait!" Saetan shouted, the thunder in his voice barely competing with the stallions' screams and trumpeted challenges. "We're friends! We're here to help you!"
*You are not friends,* said an older stallion with a broken horn. *You are humans!*
"We're friends," Saetan insisted.
*YOU ARE NOT FRIENDS!* the unicorns screamed. *YOU ARE HUMANS!*
Sceron took a step forward. "The Centauran people have never fought with our unicorn Brothers and Sisters. We do not wish to fight now."
*You come to kill. First you call us Brothers and then you come to kill. No more. NO MORE. This time, we kill!*
Karla stuck her head over Saetan's shoulder. "Damn your hooves and horns, we're Healers. Let us take care of the injured!"
The unicorns hesitated for a moment, then shook their heads and charged the shields again.
"I don't recognize any of them," Lucivar said, "and they're too blood-crazed to listen."
Saetan watched the stallions charge the shields over and over again. He sympathized with their rage, fully understood their hatred. But he couldn't walk away until they were calm enough to listen because more would die if they weren't cared for soon.
And because Jaenelle was among those bodies, somewhere.
Then the unicorns stopped attacking. They circled the group, snorting and pawing the ground, their horns lowered for another charge.
"Thank the Darkness," Khary muttered as a young stallion slowly climbed up the hill, favoring his left foreleg.
Relieved, the girls began murmuring about healing teams.
Watching the young stallion approach, Saetan wished he could share their confidence, but out of all of Kaetien's offspring, Mistral had always been the most wary of humans—and the most dangerous. Necessary traits for a young male who everyone anticipated would be the next Warlord Prince of Sceval, but damned uncomfortable for the man on the receiving end of that distrust.
"Mistral." Saetan stepped forward, raising his empty hands. "You've known all of us since you were a foal. Let us help."
*I have known you,* Mistral said reluctantly.