I adjusted my grip on my sword and flared my shoulders, drawing heat and flame from the licking embers of a burning stall. It took longer than I liked for my magic to respond, but my blade glowed brighter, fire spiraling up the length. I rushed toward a pair of borgons lurching from an alley and launched a wave of molten flame at them. It surged like a tidal wave, crashing over them with a hiss. They shrieked as their bodies incinerated under the torrent.
Behind me, Reyla dispatched another. We moved like threads pulled taut, crossing paths but always staying close enough to the other for added protection. Her strikes were swift and calculated to use as little energy as possible. Despite the furor around me, I caught myself staring at her. This woman battled like a legend, and I still couldn't believe that she was here, that she might one day be mine.
“How many more?” Her voice jerked me back into the moment.
“Too many,” I growled, catching her wrist to pull her into my side so I could kiss her forehead.
We spun as one when another rush of borgons tore up the alley, sending the barricade flying. They rampaged through the marketplace’s charred remains, their snarls filling the air. People fighting near us faltered. This wave wasn’t like the last, and we were all so exhausted it was hard to keep moving.
The pack churned forward, their enormous leader stepping through the smoke like a storm. Twice as large as the ones we’d faced, its fur gleamed char black under the firelight and its jagged, open maw gnashed teeth in anticipation.
Reyla squared next to me, her blades poised. “That’s new.”
“We’ve handled worse.”
“Have we?” she spat without turning her head.
A smaller borgon broke free, darting toward a villager. With a grunt, I surged after it, but it spun mid-stride, its claws catching my ribs and throwing me hard onto the cobblestones.
My vision blurred. Blood seeped from my wounds, warm and much too fresh.
The creature loomed over me, drool oozing down its jagged teeth as it struck.
Steel flashed, arms darting through the smoke with daggers flashing. Reyla buried her blades in the beast’s throat. The borgon toppled to the ground beside me, its gargled snarl the last sound it made as she lobbed its head from its shoulders.
Reyla stooped down, her face unreadable beyond the sweat and ash coating her cheeks. “Up.” She latched onto my arm and tugged, and I did my best to rise, but I only made it to my knees before I sagged back onto the cobblestones.
I bit back a howl.
“Merrick?” she cried with a catch in her voice.
She slammed onto her knees beside me and ripped away my tunic, exposing my belly. My chest.
Her breath hissed out. “Merrick, no. No!”
I drew in power to heal myself and roared it toward the wound I suspected could be lethal. Agony clutched my spine and shook me.
When my power fizzled out too fast, my mind swam.
Fuck, fuck.
I didn't like this. Not one bit.
The villagers continued to battle around us while their king lay dying.
I used some of my strength to reach up to stroke Reyla's lovely face. Tears streaked through the blood and soot on her cheeks, and I struggled to nudge them away.
“Don't,” I groaned. “Get up. Fight. I'll…drag myself off to the side. Wait there for you.”
I pulled in more power and sent it toward my wound that continued to pulse, my lifeblood oozing from the long slash. The fire inside me licked against the chill spreading through my chest, but I couldn’t. Quite. Heal myself.
I met her gaze, fighting the weight of what this must mean.
Who would've thought I'd end this way? I thought we had four weeks left, that I'd at least be with her until I turned thirty.
Blood drained faster from my side.
“Fuck, Merrick, no,” she growled.
