Page 120 of Commanding Flame and Shield
We had briefly discussed this possibility months ago, and yet the words still crashed across my mind as he said them. I’d never seen the Reapers or felt the lethal pull of their magic on my own until we encountered them with the Westerlunds. And even then, as August and I acted in the face of it, I didn’t believe that’s whose mind I’d infiltrated. It would have been helpful for the visions to include that particular nugget of information…
My teeth began to chatter, and I fought down the instinct to summon a flame to warm us. If I was being honest with myself, I wasn’t sure my energy had replenished enough to summon so much as an ember, anyway. Exhaustion had filled my legs with sand, my shoulders curling in. Even breathing took more effort than I wanted to expend. August seemed to sense it on me and hovered by my side like a sentinel. He ran his gloved hand up and down my back, a silent reassurance that he was with me. For a moment, I wished his warmth could reach through the layers of down, fabric, and fur. But the touch was enough.
Twelve o’clock.Aren growled down the line.
I steadied myself with a long breath. Still, no visions came. Sure enough, straight ahead, too far to scent, three figures were gathered in an intersection of alleys. We each straightened, hands poised on weapons, eyes straining. Ansel and Lana naturally turned to guard our backs, in case we were being herded here. In case we were walking into a trap without visions to guide us. They knew I was spent. August’s hand solidified on my back. A steady presence across my spine. Was he still sending me his energy? Still trying to strengthen a battery that was drained to the dregs?
The figures turned, hoods concealing their faces, to watch our approach. The two on the sides summoned shields, and the man in the center drew one of the two gold swords strapped to his back. Like Aren. The buzz of power around us told me Aren, Alec, and August had done the same before my senses did. The scrape of metal on leather told me that Ansel and Lana were not waiting to draw their blades. I made to peer to their minds, but remembered to conserve energy, instead glancing behind me to ensure no enemies lurked there. None did. Returning my attention to the three ahead, my focus returned to breathing. We were steps from being close enough for me to cast my power ahead and touch their minds, when they each turned and sprinted down opposite sides of the alley. As if they knew that. The one with swords straight ahead, the two with shields to either side.
“Do we divide to follow them?” Fae whispered.
“That’s their intention,” August and Alec countered simultaneously.
“We risk them herding us if we stick together.” Lana kept her sword by her side, and I fingered my own dagger, still sheathed.
Aren glanced to me out of habit, huffed a breath, and directed, "Westerlunds hang back, be ready to shift, and wait for trouble to sound. Respond to who needs you. August and Ally will take the one wielding swords, Alec and Fae take the right flank, Lana and Ansel the left. I’ll follow my intuition once you’re moving.”
We all nodded and sprinted after our marks on nearly silent feet. August and I only made it two blocks before the hair on the back of my neck began to rise. I glanced over my shoulder to see Aren slowly beginning to follow us, one sword drawn. My breath hitched a bit. Not a good sign.
The Westerlund brothers were a vague shadowy outline through the onslaught of white, only a block behind him, still in their human forms. We slowed to a walk, gathering breath and strength as something in my core screamed that this was wrong.Not right, not right, not right, it seemed to chant. August set his gloved fingers against my own, and I curled around him. We both kept our heads on swivels, side to side. He bristled, and my attention turned towards him.
“Something is…wrong.” The words were a whisper on his lips. I nodded my agreement, squeezing his fingers before dropping his touch to draw my dagger, flipping and weighing its familiar balance in my hand. Aren was still following us, his energy palpable. He kept watching our six, as we scanned from nine to three.
I scented him before I saw him.
Scented the spice, ice, fire, and night. The darkness around us somehow thickened. I whirled, blade drawn, fingers itching to free the last of my strength towards whatever The Reaper had for us. So busy looking to the side and front, I’d never thought to lookup.
Aren’s bellow of warning came one heartbeat too late, as a colossal bird soared down towards us. Swords raised, we hissed together until the blinding light burst forward from the great winged beast. When the flash faded, the silhouette of a man stood before us. August beat me to him, sword swinging. The shadow parried through the snow, streetlamps all that lit the night. Again and again, they danced through the onslaught. I dove forward, but the man pulled his second sword and spun it in a circle, intending to engage us both. A snarl tore from August, and he slashed and swung with a vigor he’d yet to show. Again and again, they spun and parried, August trying to keep the man’s focus. But beneath the shadowed hood, I sensed his stare circle back to my face.
Slowly, I raised my free hand to pull down the fur lined hood, allowing the light to strike my features. The man hissed and staggered under August’s brutal blow, and his scent flared as blood was drawn. Familiar. That smell of burning forest on a moonless night. Just as I meant to engage, I hesitated at the tang of his blood in the air.
Not right, not right, not right.
The vision flashed so violently into my weary mind that I gasped a bit—so brief it barely made sense, but I knew in my gut it was the only warning I would get.
As the air was ripped from my lungs, I dove forward, rallying every last scrap of strength in my core. As the man’s attention turned to me, I realized I was screaming. With a flick of my wrist, my dagger spiraled forward, as I slammed my other hand into August’s back. Every single ounce of energy left in my body was thrown forward, and August had time only to turn, panic in his wide eyes, before he vanished from the alley with a crack. Whether it was the forced jump, or the last ember of power leaving my body, I wasn’t sure.
The man whirled forward, having caught my blade. The earth tilted below me, nothing left to throw against him as he hurled his force against me. A flash of shield appeared and vanished between my hands and the man laughed as he sketched a taunting bow.
Aren was close enough to sense, close enough to hear his warning bellow.
Again, the scent of rotting woods hit my senses, my final warning before a blast of dark power collided with me from the sky, pulling me into the blackness.
FORTY-NINE
BONES
AUGUST
The bellow of outrage didn’t have the time to leave me before she’d done it. One heartbeat, I heard her gasp, scented her fear. The next, she was colliding into me. And then the ground fell out from under my feet. It was sloppy, the jump. Fast, forced, and frantic. I didn’t even know we could do that to someone.
When I landed in Marcus’ home, it was on my hands and knees. They barked with the impact.
God dammit, Ally!I hollered, my anger shaking tremors down my legs as I rose. She had benched me mid-fight. Sent me here. Why?! I asked as much down the mental connection. My heart faltered as those angry words met silence. Nothing. Blackness down the bond between me and my girl.Ally?Again, nothing returned. No apologetic nudge or cocky justification. No humor or reassurance. No view of the ongoing conflict. My heart became a roaring staccato in my ears.Guys??Only a stunned silence responded.
Fuck.
I jumped back to the alley. Only heartbeats had passed, but I found Aren on his knees in the snow, rage so violently emanating that my heart hammered against my ribs. I whirled. Looked in every corner. The Westerlunds were sprinting through the snow, their shouts inaudible as the shimmering white blanket absorbed the sounds.
