Westley couldn’t take his gaze off her long enough to deduce what her target was. Her head snapped in his direction, like someone had called her name, and without hesitation, the fierce warrior beelined straight for them.
Was she Fae? The way she moved was graceful, but it was the speed with which she travelled that was extraordinary. She was across the village and reaching the treeline by the time Westley realized he’d been so distracted by her he hadn’t seen Svend and Skarde take the lurking male Vanir.
The female didn’t hesitate as she came upon them, defending their attack and dealing two killing blows within a matter of seconds. Westley took an involuntary step back as cold, hard fear slithered through his veins, replacing his momentary awe.
She knelt beside the injured Vanir male, trying to get him to stand on his feet to no avail. Westley still couldn’t move.
Viggo and Brenna snuck behind her but she was quick, deflecting their strikes, fighting them off. His companions were better trained than the Giants, evading her aggressive defence.
It was mesmerizing, the way the witch moved as if every step was choreographed, the outcome predetermined. She would be victorious—if only she didn’t have the male Vanir to worry about, Westley knew his companions wouldn’t stand a chance.
They managed to back her up against a tree, but the female would not let up. Her face was set in fierce determination, and he was rooted to the spot, fascinated.
Noren nudged his arm, jarring him out of his trance. The energy in his veins washed over him, flooding his body with renewed purpose.
“She’s the one,” he whispered. Noren nodded, moving as quietly as the wind behind the tree.
The female was gaining on Brenna and Viggo—he couldn’t let this go on any longer.
Westley reached into his pocket and brought out the needle, removing the cap with his teeth. Taking a deep breath, he snuck up behind the formidable female, swiftly stabbing her neck with the thin metal while she was distracted.
Every cell of his being lit up as she stumbled, falling back into his arms. He caught a glimpse of her eyes before they closed.
The warm copper pierced his heart, and he froze as a long-forgottenpower woke in his veins.
“West ...” Noren’s voice sounded faint in his ears.
“Westley . . .”
“Westley!” Noren’s shout pulled him out of his memory, his eyes flashing open.
He gasped as he came back to consciousness, hand flying to the blaring pain under his ribs as the stormy sky overhead swirled in his vision. The ground beneath him was hard and sticky, the scent churning his stomach.
Noren was still shaking him. “What happened? Are you okay?”
Westley brought his hand away, cold sweat trickling down his skin, his breaths coming fast and shallow. When he checked his palm, he thought he might pass out again.
It was clean.
Hisvisionspunasthe pain in his side gripped him, his eyes unable to find purchase on any fixed spot.
Smoke billowed in the distance.
Dark clouds loomed overhead.
Trees faded in and out of focus.
Noren’s hands were covered in blood.
And the scent of it would have driven him to his knees if he hadn’t already collapsed.
Herblood.
Westley lunged towards Solveig, who lay beside him, barely breathing. He covered the wound on her side with unsteady hands, trying to keep pressure on it as blood pooled around them. His chest shuddered at his inability to staunch the bleeding. Her agony sliced through him.
“What did you do?” he roared at Noren. He would’ve taken a swing at his friend if his body wasn’t still reeling and his hands weren’t trying to keep her blood where it belonged.
Noren’s voice came out shaky, doubt shadowing his features. “She was going to kill you.”
