More bright swords joined the melee, blazing in the moonlight. Oh, thank God. The Guardians had arrived. She ducked another killing blow, striking out with her blade.
“Aethan, get the women outta here!” Týr bellowed.
“No, she dies!” Narfi shrieked. A whizzing blue bolt headed straight for her.
Shit!Before she even moved, Týr was there, sword swinging in a deadly strike. Narfi reeled back, his blast going off-target, hitting a tree instead. Debris exploded everywhere, the huge tree crashing down. Týr rushed him. Narfi hurled a red, crackling ball and grinned. “I’ve been saving the best for last.”
The orb slammed Týr in the chest, sending him staggering back several feet. He stumbled to a halt and then just stood there, looking a little shell-shocked. Then he fell to his knees, his head lowered, a red stain seeping into the snow around him.
“Týr!” A scream ripped free from Kira’s throat. She leaped up and sprinted to him, domino-ing through the corpses in her way. She slid to her knees beside Týr, grasped his biceps, and pulled him over. His jacket parted.Nooo!Her body went lax. She couldn’t breathe, her gaze latched onto the huge hole in his torso. Blood gushed out. She could see everything, his shattered ribs, his…
“Oh, God—oh, God—”She put her hands over his wound, trying to stop the flow.“Týr, please, please don’t die…”
“You both will,” Narfi sneered, another sizzling ball of power in his hands.
A black rage took over, so fierce that nothing else mattered but protecting the man she loved. In pain and anger, she flung out one blood-drenched hand, and with everything in her, she let her abilities loose. “No, you fuckin’ don’t, you demented godscum!”
Gossamer threads of red tangled around Narfi, trapping him. He staggered back and looked down at himself in surprise. Then, he laughed, pulling at the threads that glimmered in the moonlight. “Pretty.”
Kira clenched her fingers hard. The web tightened, slicing through his face, neck, torso, and limbs. His merriment turned into snarls of pain. Sparks of power shot out of him as he tried to evade the trap, but the threads didn’t snap. Blood flowed from his cheeks, his body, his limbs, pooling on the snow in a gory, crimson splash.
It wasn’t enough. She wanted to hear him cry out his agony—beg for mercy—she wanted him to hurt so fucking badly before he died. Her power amped up like a nuclear-powered rocket. The glimmering red threads lassoed around his neck tightened, severing flesh and bone.
Screeches echoed. Swords clanged. Sudden warmth surrounded her, the glow so bright, she shut her eyes. Her only thoughts were on severing Narfi’s head completely.
“Kira, watch out!” Echo yelled.
She blinked and refocused. Leaping tongues of flames soared into the night air then rolled, snaking like a serpent around Aethan, Blaéz, Nik, Dagan, and Michael, melting snow and incinerating every scourge it touched.
Her gaze rushed back to Týr, and she gaped. His veins bulged, each turned a fiery orangey-red. Sparks shot out from his skin. Though his eyes were closed, fiery power rolled out from his hands with unerring accuracy. So gravely wounded, and yet he protected those he cared about.
Where Narfi had fallen, still fighting her deadly web, the flames swept over him, exploding like gasoline thrown on a bonfire. His shrieks cut off, and he crumbled into smoldering ash. As the blaze raged on, Kira put her other hand back on Týr’s wound, trying to keep the gushing blood inside his chest…
Hold on, my love, you have to hold on… There is no way I can exist for eternity without you.Tears crowded her eyes.
“Kira!” someone shouted from a distance. “You have to let us in. He needs help.”
Air sawed in and out of her lungs in choppy breaths. She lifted her head to stare blankly at the archangel, who seemed to be trapped in a colorful haze. His hair hung in damp strands around his harsh features. Michael swung his weapon again. Steel met colors, and sparks flew. An unseen power blast sent the archangel careening back.
Kira glanced around in confusion at the shimmering hues entombing her and Týr. Then she looked up. Not a haze. A gigantic orb. Andtheywere inside it.
Had she created it? She let go of her mind’s hold on the power, and like a gossamer web, the globe parted, floated to the ground, before dissipating.
The warriors rushed to Týr, forcing her to scramble back.
Týr’s eyelids flickered open a little. His normally vibrant light toffee eyes resembled black holes. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. “Ki...”
“Týr—” She darted back to him, but Echo grabbed her arm. “No! Let me go, dammit!” Kira fought her friend, but Echo didn’t let go, she wrapped her arms tighter around her instead. “Let them, Kira. They know what to do.”
Tears fell. “I can’t lose him, Echo. I just can’t.”
“Then we do whatyoualways told me. We believe.”
Kira didn’t respond. Her wet gaze fixed on Michael and the Guardians. They formed a wall around Týr, blocking her view of him. Someone pulled off Týr’s jacket and tossed it aside.
Kira grabbed it, crushing the leather to her chest. The scent of citrus and green pine merged with a coppery odor crowded her nose, seizing her in a stranglehold of anguish.
“Use this,” Dagan rasped, pulling off his shirt and handing it over. Michael pressed the fabric against the gaping wound in Týr’s chest. A shimmery white miasma seeped out of the archangel and shrouded Týr. Minutes passed. “He’s not healing,” Michael snapped. “Some damn spell’s blocking me. Get Lila to the castle, now! Dammit, stop fighting me, Norse. You’re losing more fucking blood. Yeah-yeah, she’s fine!” In a flash of silvery sparks, Michael vanished with Týr, leaving a river of crimson marking the gray, sludgy snow where he’d been.
“Kira?” Aethan crouched beside her. “Let’s get you back to the castle.”
She pulled her gaze from the gory site. “He can’t die, Aethan—” She could barely get the words out, anguish splintering through her. “He…Narfi said Týr would die this time.”
“We won’t let him.” Aethan’s jaw hardened. “We’ll find a way to get that spell off him, trust me. Týr’s one stubborn male, he won’t go down easy.”
“I’ll clear out this…scene.” Nik approached, picking up her jambiya from the sludgy, red-streaked snow. He held it out. As she reached for the blade, her gaze fell to the glossy red gore coating her hands.
Týr’s blood. And tears welled again.
