Page 96 of A Sanctuary from Shadow
That wouldn’t do.
Pete’s tethers horsewhipped the air, lassoing the clubs. He yanked them from the surprised Fomorians’ grips, then sent the weapons that might’ve dented his skull soaring into the night.
He considered binding his foes in shadow, a spider with flies. But they were strong enough to use his tethers against him—to start a tug of war. So, he’d wield his shadows like striking serpents instead, never allowing the fiends a firm grip on them.
“A harbinger,” the shorter one rasped, eyes narrowed to slits. “Sold his soul to the void, he did, Tacker!”
Pete’s mouth twisted. “On the contrary, it was stolen from me. But fret not, I got it back.”
Tacker’s gargantuan fists were nearly as intimidating as clubs. “Allow Scully and I to rid you of it once more. You’ll be supper.” He pointed at Shorty, who struggled upright. “She’ll be dessert.”
The attack was vicious and sudden, and Pete couldn’t escape. Fancy footwork wasn’t his forte. Like the Fomorians, he was partial to brute force.
Pete’s sword was little consequence to Tacker, who drove him back with a resounding battle cry. Shorty mewled, barely evading the charge. The Fomorian Pete had subdued couldn’t evade anything, however, and Pete lost his footing when he and Tacker barreled over him. A blessing, it turned out, for then Tacker also tripped, giving Pete the chance to use his weapon.
He aimed for the stomach. Tacker shifted. Pete’s blade glanced off a rib.
Bollocks!
Pete’s staggering strength customarily rendered ribs immaterial. But as he’d well learned, Fomorians’ ribs were iron. Which was why they were sofeckinghard to kill!
Pete pummeled Tacker to free his sword, now jammed between their bodies. The enormous Fomorian barely noticed—too busy giving as good as he got.
Tacker landed an oblique punch, and Pete snarled like the beast he could be. He forgot the pain, however, when he spied Scully unsheathing another hooked dagger from his hip. He went straight for Shorty, who’d only just regained her footing. She wailed something unladylike when the dastard snared her straggled hair.
Spurred by her pain, Pete barreled into his power reserves and wrangled the strength to kick Tacker off him. A kick that sent the Fomorian sprawling across the cave. Into the wall. Cracking it. Stunning him.
Pete sprang to his feet, his primal magic coursing.
Scully, damn near astonished by Pete’s might, fixed to cleave open Shorty’s slender throat. She wailed as Pete speared the air with a shadow and seized the knife from Scully’s meaty grip. Pete retracted his tether until he fisted the hooked knife. Then he rushed Scully, blades hot. Shorty yelped and balled up to avoid a trampling.
This time, Pete’s aim was true. Forcing Scully to the wall, Pete bared his teeth and drove his sword through Scully’s stomach. He never hesitated when he had the upper hand.
Scully roared, sinking to the ground. The feathery lines of his scar writhed around a vengeful eye as he grabbed Pete’s blade and refused its withdrawal.
Pete was about to open Scully’s throat with his own knife when—
“Watch out!” Shorty shrieked.
Pete narrowly sidestepped having his kidney punctured. Tacker, the rotter, had snatched Pete’s ownscianoff his hip. Pete appreciated Shorty’s warning. Although, he hated that he’d relinquished his sword.
Nostrils flaring at the fishy stink of Scully’s blood, Pete flung out a tether for retrieval, but Tacker was quicker. The behemoth deflected the tether with a swipe of thescian. Pain like a bee sting juddered down the shadow and into Pete’s hand, numbing his fingers.
Bloody fecking hell!
Tacker wrenched Pete’s sword from Scully’s gored belly. Scully groaned, frothing at the mouth, his entrails tumbling into his lap.
Oh, Pete had dealt him a fatal blow, all right.
Despite his impact with the cave wall, Tacker’s grin promised bloodshed. Savage bloodshed.
Shorty whimpered at that grin, her eyes darting for an escape she was too shrewd to attempt right then.
Scully muttered through a rattling breath, raising a shaking hand. A gesture Pete would’ve heeded had he not made an imprudent mistake. Prudence helped nothing without his bloody sword, after all.
The moment feeling returned to Pete’s fingers, he dispatched his every shadow straight for Tacker’s throat, wrists, ankles, knees, elbows—toward any place he might cripple the monster.
Danu didn’t reward his risk. And Pete wanted to throttle himself when the cosmos rippled around him, a binding spell knotting his tethers.
