Another wave, this one just as numerous as the last, was headed straight for them. She scanned the Fae fighting. Even with Rion, Arianna, and Móirín’s High Lord, they wouldn’t survive a second assault. Most were already exhausted, their magic weakening. And once that line broke, the Dark Fae would overwhelm the civilians in a matter of minutes. It wouldn’t matter how many warriors Alec marched out. There’d be nothing left.
Saoirse grabbed another Dark Fae by the throat, this one strangely humanoid, its skin nearly translucent and veinsbulging. It snapped its sharp fangs at her, but before those equally jagged claws could rake across her arm, Saoirse speared it through the heart. She let the vine expand, then whip out to strike several more of a similar variety across their torsos, knocking them all to the ground. Zylah rushed forward and shoved her blade through another that had gotten too close.
Saoirse stepped back. She’d pushed too far away from their comrades. Saoirse scanned the line again, her heart aching, but she had a responsibility to keep Zylah safe. Saoirse slammed the hilt of her blade against another body. She spun, opened her mouth—Saoirse’s head whipped southward, snagging on a lone figure. A group of Fae fought in a tight circle around her walking form, beating back monsters to allow her passage.
She was walking straight toward the next line of monsters.
Eimear’s indigo cloak billowed around her, tattered and blood-soaked as if she’d been fighting as well. The High Lady unclasped it, and the wind tore it away from her back, where it sailed high above the chaos.
Saoirse shoved through the crowd, fighting with renewed vigor. She pushed aside warriors and let her magic tear monsters limb from limb. She focused on that lone figure and the red hair that had just begun to regrow. Saoirse knew it would be long and elegant again in just a few decades. Her mother deserved those decades. Tears sprang to her eyes. She just had to reach her. She’d give her the time. She swore it. She’d protect her.
Saoirse pushed even harder, the magic burning through her veins as she forced it beyond its limits. But it was as though a current shoved her back. She wouldn’t make it. She wasn’t strong enough. Again.
No.
Saoirse summoned the vines and let them whip out around her, shoving the enemy in every direction at once. Theyclosed back on her in seconds, swallowing her progress. Eimear was alive. Her mother was right in front of her. She just needed to get a little closer.
“Mother!” Saoirse’s cry of panic had Zylah tugging on their bond. Saoirse ignored it, praying her voice would carry above the clashing steel and snapping teeth.
She wasn’t sure if Eimear heard her or simply sensed that Saoirse was near, but the High Lady glanced back, stared straight into her daughter’s eyes, then gave her a resigned smile.
No …
Saoirse’s throat went dry as she watched the warriors surrounding her mother fall one at a time, their final roars lost to the symphony of battle. The Dark Fae closed in, sharp claws ready to tear through flesh, but despite the horrors surrounding Eimear, there wasn’t a trace of fear seeping from her.
Then she let that iron bracelet fall from her wrist.
Saoirse watched it hit the ground in slow motion, the world zeroing in on that slender piece of metal. It spun and reflected the sun’s light, then bounced and landed in a bloody patch of grass. Eimear faced the horde head-on, spread her arms wide.
Then the High Lady of Brónach erupted.
Saoirse made it all of one step, her throat straining against the force of her scream before a violent blast sent her sprawling backward. Saoirse’s world spun once, twice, three times before she was able to right herself again. She shoved forward, desperate to close the growing gap between her and her mother, but she was knocked back again. She skidded against the ground from the invisible force of her mother’s magic, hardly noticing rocks and debris cutting into her palms and knees.
A strangled sob burned its way up her throat. She fought to rise and staggered all of two steps before a set of handsgrabbed one wrist and wrenched her back. Saoirse pivoted, ready to toss the Fae aside but froze upon meeting ochre eyes.
“Move,” Zylah desperately demanded, tugging Saoirse back again. Saoirse took in the female’s panic, whipped her head around, then dove over Zylah’s body, surrounding them both in thick branches right before a mass of greenery swallowed them whole.
Chapter Eighteen
Talon
The world had become a blur of ice and flames as he and Raevina fought side by side. Neither slowed as they felled one beast after another until there was a mound of bodies in their wake.
It was slow progress as the pair fought their way toward Avalon and his warriors. The High Lord of Storms was living up to his name. Thunder cracked overhead, a sheet of rain surrounding the male and his relentless warriors. A light drizzle had already coated the ground surrounding them.
Raevina’s magic didn’t waver in the slightest. Instead of bright burning flames, she’d switched to all-consuming shadows. They snaked up their enemy’s limbs, melting flesh on impact. One of the Dark Fae lunged for him, its claws wide mid-flight. Shadows caught the beast midair, charring previously tan fur. The Fae howled in pain, its nearly flat snout lifted toward the sky until Talon sent spears of ice straight through its heart.
Neither stopped moving.
Neither let a single creature touch the other.
The rain grew heavier and the horde of Dark Fae thicker. It was as if the sinister creatures were drawn to Avalon, like moths to a flame. The High Lord’s power crackled through the air, and even from a distance, Talon could see the whips of ice that shot out, taking out rows of the creatures with a single blow.
Talon kept moving, sending out his magic in large arcs. Once they reached Avalon’s line, they’d have allies alongside them again. Raevina whirled, her flames catching one of the winged creatures overhead. The membranes in its wings shriveled and sent the beast spiraling toward the ground.
He smiled at her despite the situation. His mate was a warrior and far more merciful than she’d led him to believe.
When he and Raevina had soared overhead, they’d seen the innocents running, and both had acted without a second thought. He’d done his best to give those fleeing a fighting chance. He’d half expected Raevina to leave them behind. She hadn’t. In fact, she’d fought with such fury that it had fueled his own.
