Page 98 of A Sanctuary from Shadow
Scully still clung to life.Damnit. The only reason he didn’t see me when I burst back onto the scene was because he was leaving a trail of ichor along the cave floor, crawling to where Fletch lay. Doubtless to jar him back to consciousness, so he’d help Tacker end Pete’s life.
That’d suck, I thought as Sionna skittered away.
She’d been brave enough to stick her nervous snout through the ivy, but that was as far as she’d venture. Which was best. She couldn’t handle the can of whoop-ass I was going to open.
“Hey!” My voice bounded like a jackrabbit through the caverns. Both Scully and Tacker started, goggling my way.
Pete looked downright exasperated by my reappearance, huffing from the exertion at staying that dagger.
“Stay low,” I advised him, then threw out my hands with a spectacular flourish.
Nothing happened.
Everyone blinked.
Biting my lip, I tried again. Still nothing.
Pete rolled his eyes as Tacker redoubled his efforts to stab him.
Scully guffawed what would assuredly be his last laugh, blood bubbling from his lips as he reached Fletch’s foot. “Halfwit bitch.”
That was the exact wrong thing to say to me.
Anger jetted to my fingertips, sweat beading my skin like a boiling tea kettle. “Nah uh,” I gritted out. From the flash in Pete’s eyes, I bet my own were spitting sparks. “I think you mean halfwitfire sylph.”
The blast blew me back into the wall, but I managed to stay on my feet, though my hands shook with such ferocious power I feared losing control of it. Fire of every color sprayed from me in untamed bursts. Flames engulfed everything in view, scorching even the walls of the cave and its glowing lichen. An animal yowl flew from one of the Fomorians, and I bit down on my lip, perspiring oceans.
That’ll teach you to call me a bitch.
I should’ve been prepared for retaliation, but I wasn’t.
A bellow cut through my churning blazes before a monster vaulted himself at me, crushing me to my book bag and cloak.
My fire sputtered as Tacker pinned me. Flames danced along his back, his contorted face something straight from a horror movie. I flailed beneath him, knowing he’d eviscerate me if I didn’t escape.
“Firewhore!” Not even billows of smoke masked the hatred born in his gaze. Nor did they stay the grip claiming me like an item at auction. An item he was free to scrap if he felt the whim, which is exactly what he did to my vest and bodice as we fought. “You’ll die like the cunt you are!”
I cried when his bruising grip found my throat. Then again when his other found the split in my bodice. Yanked it wide. Clamped my boob until it hurt.
“No!” I shrieked. Bucked. Grappled. Scratched. All to no avail. Tacker only further swamped me, assaulting my welting cheek with his fishy breath.
“We’ll crush your every brittle bone like a boiled bunkle-crab before we eat your beating heart,” he promised, licking my quivering lips—making my skin crawl. “And once you’re dead, we’ll take turns fucking your broken corpse until you’re too stiff to spread your legs. Then we’ll leave your remains for the night wolves—”
The force of a boot cut off the rest of Tacker’s revolting threat. Right before he sailed into the brume like a tossed sandbag.
I was still sobbing when gruff, callused hands swept me back to my feet. Through the smoke, I found a pair of wide molasses eyes.
Pete coughed. “Let’s go, Shorty!”
He’d just grabbed my wrist when he was shoved back into the corner. I stumbled as he pulled me against his musky warmth, shielding me.
Before us stood Tacker, fangs out as he clutched his sore ribs, his back still smoldering. I cringed as his flesh crackled like Rice Krispies in milk, then gulped down my own tongue as Fletch staggered beside him, wiping soot from his baffled face.
“What happened?” Fletch gasped.
Tacker spat a wad of ashen phlegm at my feet. “They killed Scully.”
I trembled against Pete, Fletch’s madness possessing him—turning him into a devil that would no doubt haunt my dreams. If I lived to go to sleep, that was.
