He twisted toward Reyna. She dodged them easily, knocking one aside with her rock as if it were nothing more than a pesky fly. Wingallock grabbed another and dropped it into her waiting palm. With a smile, she bounced it in her hand. And then she caught it mid-air, flipped the end in the direction of the wood fae, and let it fly like a spear.
Itthunkedinto the center of one of the wood fae’s heads, landing right between his eyes. He tumbled from the horse, his eyes vacant, his body still.
Lorcan shook his head and resumed his crouch-walk to the rear of the trio that was now merely two. While he lurked, shadows pulsing along his skin, Reyna and Wingallock managed to take out another, using the same trick they’d used on the first.
But she had played her hand—twice—and the third had clearly caught onto her plan. Instead of lobbing more arrows—and potential weapons—in her direction, he leapt off his horse and charged.
Reyna’s body tensed. She jogged back, eyes wide. With a frustrated grunt, she pulled her arm back and launched the rock at the wood fae’s head. She missed. His heart dropped into his gut. She didn’t have her sword. She’d lost it in the forest when she’d been hit.
“Lorcan!” she shouted.
That was all he needed to hear to run. He pushed up from the grass and shook off his shadows, throwing himself forward at an impossible speed. His eyes zeroed in on Reyna. Determination and fear swirled like snakes in his gut.
The wood fae stopped and twisted his head over his shoulder, hearing Lorcan coming. Reyna darted out of the way and leapt into the sea. The still waters rushed over her head, hiding her from view, but Wingallock darted back and forth over the sea where she’d jumped in.
Lorcan stalked toward the wood fae, sizing him up, just as his opponent did the same. He was muscular like the rest, though several inches shorter than Lorcan. He wore boiled leather stamped with the sigil of the Wood Court—two crossed arrows with vines binding them in the center. His green-grey hair squatted in a bun on the top of his head, highlighting the dagger-like points of his ears.
His weaponry was impressive. In addition to the yew arrows tipped in iron, and a bow carved from an alder tree, he had a bastard sword crafted from Tamaris steel. The steel of the forgotten fire fae. Tamaris steel blades were stronger than any other weapons found within Tir Na Nog. Except for swords spun from iron.
Unfortunately for the wood fae, Lorcan wielded Tamaris, too. And he was a much better swordsman.
Lorcan threw himself toward the wood fae with a roar, his blade outstretched. Eyes wide, the wood fae reached behind his back for a poisonous arrow to slam into Lorcan’s gut. But while he was fast, Lorcan was faster. He slashed his blade at the wood fae’s hand, cutting the fingers clean off. The wood fae screamed in agony, grasping the bloody stump to his chest.
Lorcan thrust his blade into his enemy’s chest, and the wood fae died with terror in his eyes.
Reyna pushed out of the water, her skin soaked with the salt of the sea. He drank in the sight of her, entranced by the tunic clinging to her shapely breasts and by the bloodlust singing in his veins.
“We should go,” she said, snapping him out of his trance. “More are coming.”
He noticed she pressed a hand lightly against her wound. “Have you been hurt? Did that reopen your wound?”
“I’m fine,” she said, wincing slightly. “It just aches a little. Dodging arrows is more difficult than you’d think.”
“I think it’s impossible.You’reimpossible, and yet here you are.” He strode toward her and scooped her up into his arms.
“Wait, what are you doing?” She glared up at him. “I said my wound aches, not that my legs have suddenly stopped working. I can walk to the boat on my own, thank you very much.”
“I let you dodge arrows, and now you’re bloody well going to let me carry you to the boat,” he said, stomping forward. “And if you argue with me about it, I’ll bend you over my knee and spank your bloody stubbornness right out of you.”
Pink dotted her cheeks. A moment later, she cleared her throat. “Promise?”
Every single part of him went rock hard. “Don’t tempt me, Reyna.”
“Maybe I want to tempt you.”
He jumped into the boat and deposited her onto one of the wooden benches, grabbing an oar just as several more wood fae thundered onto the beach. He shoved the oar into the sand, pushing them into the waters.
The wood fae tried to launch a few arrows their way, but it was too late. The boat had already made it out of their striking distance, and they would never dare step a toe into the sea. Lorcan continued to row, watching the shoreline disappear from view, and with it, the ones they’d left behind to fight the enemy alone.
It felt wrong to leave them like this, and yet, Duff had seemed as though he had everything under control. One day, Lorcan hoped he could journey once again to his old home in the grasslands and pay Comharra a visit. Perhaps the fae of Oxgrove would have settled in, living happily off the grain in the fields, bringing the old bustling market back to life.
It felt like a dream of a different life, one for a different Lorcan. A Lorcan who had not stumbled into the path of the Fomorians that night so long ago. One who had not ended up a prince of shadows.
“They’ll be okay, you know,” Reyna said from behind him. “There were only a handful of archers, and we drew a lot of them away from the village. Duff’s a good fighter. So are the others. They’ll win quickly and escape to the border. I’m certain of it.”
“Then, why do I feel as though we’ve lost something?”
Reyna wrapped her arms around his waist and took one hand in hers. “Because for a few days Oxgrove felt safe, like somewhere we could stay forever. It felt like home, like your village back in the grasslands. The kind of home one could settle into and spend many long and happy years. And I don’t think you’ve been somewhere that feels like home for a very long time.”
