He reacted, releasing his mouth and hold, and she brought the sword down into his neck, but it caught in the fur. The monster pulled back, Marcy’s weapon sheathed inside of him, and howled with pain.
Then, he spoke.
“Bitch,”he cursed, his voice a hollow, deep growl.“We will take from you what we have always taken…before the witch cursed us.”His attention snapped to me. “The child…in her belly…will die knowing what we did to its mother.”
“Have whatever vulgar dream you like,” Marcy spat, though exhaustion settled into her posture. She produced another dagger from a holster at her thigh, holding it up. “It will be your last.”
“There are no dreams anymore,”he said.“Only hunger.”
His hackles raised, and then he froze, ears perking at some unseen threat. Then he turned, moving aside just as a knife flung past him, the metal glinting in the moonlight before it sank into the water beside me.
Four came into the light. I’d never been more grateful to see a Banewight as I registered Taran’s menacing presence, both seekers unfolding from his flank. Three hunters, but who…?
Quinn stepped forward, a borrowed sword trembling in his hands.
“They’re cursed men,” Sahra said. “I can see the glow on them.”
“Keep them away from her,” Quinn commanded, his voice steadier than his blade.
My soul might have floated from my body.
Taran drew a tremendous blade from his back, facing off with the monster who’d spoken. There wasn’t a hint of fear in him as he searched for weaknesses.
“Sahra, you stay back,” Asli replied, two curved swords withdrawn at his sides. He flourished them. “Viscount, you take the one with the small prick.”
Quinn nodded, steadying himself, and the rest happened so quickly I could barely keep up.
The speaking beast lunged with a snarl. Taran stepped aside and brought down his blade with a practiced arc, severing the creature’s arm at the elbow. It howled, stumbling, and Taran followed through without hesitation: pommel to snout, knee to ribs, then his blade through the monster’s heart. No wasted movement; no mercy.
“Come then, ugly!” Asli taunted, twirling his blades until they were rings of glowing moonlight. His target charged and Asli dropped to his knees, sliding beneath that leap and scoring both blades up his belly.
Asli rolled to his feet, laughing…until claws raked his shoulder. “Agh! Bastard!”
He spun and crossed his blades at the creature’s neck, severing the head with one clean motion. His arm bled freely as the wolven head tumbled into the mud, and he kicked it into a puddle.
“Fucker,” he growled.
My focus shifted to Quinn as my body tired from fighting the sludge. I made my way to land, pulling my way up with rapt attention on his fight.
The third beast circled him, sensing easy prey. Quinn’s hands shook so badly that the sword tip wavered like candlelight. When the monster finally pounced, he stumbled backward, swingingwildly and missing. Jaws clamped on his forearm and he screamed, hacking with the sword at every vulnerable point he could, but it wouldn’t sink in more than an inch.
Marcy’s dagger—fuck, where was it? I looked around, finding no hint of it anywhere. I must have dropped it into the water, and that meant I couldn’t help. I watched worthlessly as he drove that sword again and again, struggling to find purchase as the monster tore into him, whipping his head like a hunting hound with a rabbit.
Marcy’s trembling figure stood. She roared madly, more animal than woman, and leapt onto the beast from behind. Her knife sank into his eye and he released the viscount, reaching up and swiping at her.
Then he stopped. Quinn’s sword penetrated his lower jaw and stuck out from his skull. The monster collapsed forward, landing right on top of Quinn.
He shouted, dragging himself out from under the combined weight of Marcy and the beast, and held his arm as his eyes searched frantically for me.
I pushed up from the mud, forsaking the lotus at my feet as I stumbled toward him. The Banewights cleaned off, examining the corpses, and I reached Quinn just before his legs gave out, catching him in my arms.
“Are you hurt?” he asked.
I shook my head, glancing down at his arm as it dripped blood. It looked broken.
“Good.”
He threw up. I struggled to hold him, moving to the side and lowering him to the ground. His face was damp with cold sweat, his breaths shallow and raspy. I took his hand and he squeezed so hard my joints popped. Then I held him abreast, running my fingers through his hair as he shivered in quiet.
