“Get out of my way,” Montiori demanded, his face mottled with rage. “Get out of my way or you will be the first to die!”
Shanara lifted her head, exposing her throat. “Then strike me down. I will not live in a world without him.”
Grasping Shanara by the shoulder, Reyes thrust her behind him. “This is between you and me, Montiori. She has nothing to do with it.”
“Indeed.” Montiori lowered his sword. “Long have I waited to add your pelt to that of your father. Assume the guise of the wolf now, and I will spare the girl’s life.”
“Reyes, no!”
“Be still, daughter!” Montiori said.
“First let Shanara return to the keep,” Reyes said, an unwanted note of pleading in his voice. “It belongs to her now, by right of marriage.”
With a shake of his head, Montiori laid his sword against Reyes’ throat once more. “The girl is mine.” He grabbed Shanara by the arm and pushed her toward one of his men. “You have nothing to bargain with, Reyes, only the choice to die as a wolf or as a man.”
“Or not at all.” The words, softly spoken, were uttered by Melena. With a wave of her hand, the witch conjured a sword from mid-air and tossed it to Reyes.
Taking a step backward, Reyes caught the sword by the hilt, his gaze never leaving Montiori’s face.
Montiori stared at Melena. “Traitor!” he hissed, then, without warning, he lunged toward Reyes.
Shanara ceased struggling against the man who held her, all her attention now centered on the two men crossing swords. It was a strange battle. Considering the fact that her father was attired like a king and Reyes was startlingly nude, it might have appeared comical had it not been so deadly serious.
The clang of metal striking metal filled the air, obscene in the stillness that had settled around them. Her father fought like a fury, the love of battle shining in his eyes as he drew first blood. Confident of victory, he pressed his attack again and again.
Reyes parried every thrust, his movements smooth and unhurried, his rage fueled by the blood oozing from the gash in his arm. For this moment, there was nothing else in all the world but his opponent. It didn’t matter that Montiori was Shanara’s father, or that Shanara was watching him, her hand pressed to her heart. Nothing mattered but avenging his father’s death. It was fitting, somehow, that Montiori had come to battle wearing the cloak lined with the thick black pelt that had belonged to Reyes’ father.
With a cry, Reyes carried the attack to Montiori. His blade slashed through the air, piercing Montiori’s left shoulder. He struck again and yet again, his sword opening wounds in Montiori’s right thigh and side.
Panting heavily, both men fell back.
Montiori staggered toward his daughter and then, to the surprise of all who watched, he grabbed her by the hair and laid the edge of his blade against her throat.
Montiori sneered at Reyes. “You will surrender,” he said. “You will lay down your sword now, or she dies.”
Without hesitation, Reyes tossed his weapon aside.
A low murmur of disapproval ran through Montiori’s army.
A muffled oath emerged from Melena’s lips.
Reyes ignored them all. He had eyes only for his bride.
Smiling triumphantly, Montiori flung Shanara aside. He strutted toward Reyes, then raised his sword in both hands, prepared to strike.
Reyes kept his eyes fixed on Shanara, determined that her face would be the last thing he saw in life.
But the blade did not fall.
Puzzled, Reyes darted a quick glance at his executioner. Montiori stumbled backward, the sword falling from his hands. Blood bubbled from his nose and mouth and then, with a strangled cry, he pitched forward and lay still.
Shanara threw her arms around Reyes’ neck, her words incoherent as she showered him with kisses.
“What happened?” Reyes asked, surprised to find himself alive and his enemy dead.
She shook her head, then kissed him again.
Reyes put his arm around her and drew her to his side as Melena made her way toward them.
