Page 166 of Commanding Flame and Shield
THE WRAITH
ALVARA
The sadistic laugh ripped through my body almost as violently as the blow to August’s face had. The world moved like molasses through an hourglass, and every muscle in my body seized, knees buckling as he fell to his. Aren’s steel arms locked around my chest, trapping me against his immense body as the scream tore the tender flesh from the inside of my throat.
Again, and again, I screamed August’s name, the anger swelling in my chest like a wildfire ready to devour the mountainside. In a desperate attempt to free myself, I threw my legs up in the air, and swung my weight forward. But Aren’s strength was so far beyond me, he barely shifted his weight under my desperate leverage, his unwavering grip crushing the air from my lungs.
“Ally,” he hissed through gritted teeth, the heat of his breath against my ear. “Please!” Never, in three hundred years had I heard Aren beg. Not for anything. But he begged me now. “Please, Ally. You know this is how ithasto be. This moment. This moment isfixed.Remember.”
Fae's desperate eyes caught mine, and for the briefest flash of a second, I surveyed her. Her delicate fingers were pressed against the wound in her side, her beautiful face marred with crimson and a livid bruise. Still gasping for breath, she shook her head slowly. There was no escaping this fate. We had tried countless times to unravel the knot of this battle, and there was no escaping it. Every thread spun into, and away from it. She pursed her lips and pulled her shoulders up in a pitiful surrender.
Sensing my resignation, Aren loosened his hold, just enough for the air to return to my lungs. I looked around at what was left of our family.
Lana, gold scales mostly torn from her bloody body, hair matted with blood, was cradling Ansel’s limp hand against her chest, her sobs nearly silent as the healer beside her frantically packed the wounds in his abdomen, hands miraculously still steady.
“Stay with me, stay withme,” Lana’s voice cracked before she sucked down air. Her teeth dug against her lip as she stroked his face in frantic patterns. “Mo grá. Stay.”
“Milseáin,” Ansel's rasp was barely audible, and I jammed my eyes closed.
Numbness had long settled into my bones, and I felt a swell of power well in my chest, white hot and rapidly expanding. The world around me grew numb as I opened them to Alec’s trembling hands applying pressure to the deep wound in Ansel’s chest. Trying to staunch the flow until the healer could get to it. From navel to the top of his sternum, the ancient General bled. My throat went thick and hot as I tried to swallow down that suffocating dread.
August and Adrastos were halfway across the field now, the latter gripping August’s elbow like he escorted a troublesome child. Agamemnon unceremoniously plopped Layla in the mud, and the soldiers shoved her roughly behind the line again. He turned back to acquire his prize.
My legs began to tremble—with fear or the rage pulsing through my body, I wasn’t sure. Someone was wailing, others were crying names of the fallen, many were wincing as wounds were attended to by the healers that remained on the field.
Slow and steady, August marched towards his end—either his enslavement, or execution if we couldn’t free him here. His honor was the death of him. As though fear miraculously couldn’t touch his body, he took his mark in the center of the field, as Agamemnon lumbered towards him.
His towering figure moved forward with an arrogant sway. His battle had been won, his target finally acquired. A booming, mocking, merciless noise came from deep within his chest. A laugh, I realized. Lifeless and bloody, the sound brought ice to the air.
Hurling myself against Aren’s arms, I screamed, “Don’t touch him! Don’t fucking touch him!”
Another sickening empty laugh, as the monster’s obsidian eyes turned to me. He cocked his head to the side, a vile smile playing on his bloodied lips.
“You know,” he growled. “I’m not sure what would be more fun. Watching her as you bleed out, or making you watch as we take turns bedding your bitch.” Our legion of souls recoiled amongst hisses and cries of outrage. Lana’s head snapped up from her mate, her lip curling back. Even Adrastos looked affronted at the words. His prize, I reminded myself. August was to be Adrastos’ prize. He wouldn’t let them kill him.
August let out a low growl as he drew his fangs, “Fucking so much aslookher direction, and I’ll tear your throat out with my teeth!”
The same menacing growl rumbled through the coven, and I felt Aren’s grip loosen, felt the icy chill of his own fangs baring down. He tried to pull me behind him, but I held my ground, and bared my teeth. A snarl came from my chest as our surviving warriors simultaneously rose to their feet, an eerie, formidable silence settling over them. Ansel, still in the capable hands of the healers, hissed.
Adrastos flashed a feral smile. “Slow down, Commander.” Another icy laugh. He was reveling in the challenge before him, at the silenced hierarchy held bound by the word of a Commander who was ascending out of order. He growled something to the skeletal cloaked demons holding the line behind him. There was a chorus of jeers and taunts, and they flung the hostages to the muddy earth with dangerous force, all bloodied and bruised. They’d broken our bargain. Which meant if we could reach them in time, August could be free.
“Leave them alone!” August roared, his voice fierce. I could feel his heart splintering as he took in James, Layla, Sam, and Freya, all bound and battered. Layla huddled into James, and Sam rose to his knees to kneel, bearing a ferocious black eye, blood dried across his mouth, and his nose was purple and crooked, obviously broken.
“Go!” August barked at his family. “Now. Get to Alvara.”
None of them moved. Their eyes locked on August with savage love for him. Sam and James both shook their heads, and Freya rose to her feet, chin raised in defiance. She wrinkled her nose in disgust as she glared back at her captors.
Alec stepped into my peripheral vision, and for the first time in our long life together, his energy was anything but calm. A volatile pool of fury and loathing, he reached down to hold on to me. The blood dripping from his fingers onto my trembling hand was still warm, and he stared at me with insinuation.
“Ansel?” I demanded.
“Will heal. As soon as the shield is gone, Fae and Lana will get him to Grayshell,” he whispered as quietly as he could.
I nodded, returning my attention to the field. But Ansel’s blood smelled…like lighting and soil, and…magic. It smelled like raw power. The kind of power that only came with the strongest of emotions. It tingled against my skin. Was it possible to read his thoughts through the Reaper’s spell?
Ansel, who had mastered that battlefield calm of an unshakable General many lives ago. Who knew my story as well as I did. Who studied our capabilities and weaknesses…
Eyes narrowed, I risked another glance to Alec, who side-eyed me before turning his gaze back to August. He gave one nearly imperceptible nod, and I felt my heart lean into its gallop. A flash of a story, from long ago...
