36
Rhen
Phyre could have told the Hunt herself what had happened, but she thought Phylix would want to hear it directly from us. I’d been more than a little surprised when Kol said he was going to stay at the house since he’d been so hell bent ongoing with us before, but Elm only nodded as if they had a secret, unspoken language. I started once to ask him, but decided better of it.
The shadowy glimmer disappeared like black smoke, revealing a swarm of daemons. Panic caught hold of my organs. We’d forgotten to tell them about the rune. It was too late now, as the daemons descended upon us, too.
Oddly enough, once they closed in toward me, it was as if a barrier had been placed between us—a transparent wall that kept them at bay. Elm realized it too, and ordered Phyre to stay close to me.
With all three of us huddled together, we moved in closer to the battle. Not only were there daemons looming above, but fey fighting fey. I caught a glimpse of Phylix on the west side, locked in hand to hand combat with a tall, pale-skinned male.
Phyre sucked in a breath, her sword in her hands. “Oh, gods.”
I recognized the male. He’d been the guy that had interrupted one of my dances with Luka at the ball — What was his name?
Koataa.
“Ashrai,” Elm breathed beside me, confirming what I already knew. He turned to me. “You can’t fight them, Rhen. Their compulsion magick is too strong.”
I remembered the way I’d felt when I was dancing with him. How I would have let him devour me without putting up a fight. Fear strummed through me at the thought of losing control like that again. It would be like being underneath old man Hanes, hating every second of it, but unable to do anything to stop it.
Phyre clenched her sword tighter. “Traitorous bastards.”
But they’d been preparing themselves for this for years, so Phyre and Elm dove straight into the heat of battle. Elm brought the sword over his head and slashed through two ashrai males before they had a chance to stop him. Phyre became a literal flame, set her sights on another couple of targets, and engulfed them in her fire. And I, who had the least experience fighting, managed to keep up with them, my sword singing in the air as I came face to face with a female ashrai.
“Don’t look them in the eyes!” Elm shouted over the mass chaos.
That was harder said than done, but I did my best to focus my attention on the weapon in her hands, a massive mace that oozed a green poison. I might not have known much about feyrie war, but it was probably in my best interest not to let that slime touch my skin.
Bethalar.
I didn’t have to say its name aloud anymore for my sword to come alive. It vibrated with an electric magick that hummed a beautiful tune. I used it to block the mace from slamming into my face, then countered with a strike of my own. It bit into the female’s flesh, and she screamed, following up her own attack with bitter rage.
Bethalar was an extension of my arm. I’d remembered Kol telling me to view it as that countless times, but I’d never quite understood what it meant. Even the bokken I’d used as practice had been too heavy for me to lift overhead that I couldn’t imagine becoming one with a weapon.
But when you were fighting for not only your life, but those around you, the sword almost felt weightless. Then a revelation hit me so hard and so fast it made my head spin. The Blazing Sword, the one that Athan had spoken about, could only be wielded by an earth walker. That I was the key. He’d meant I’d have to be the one to slay her, and with the Sword. But doing so would mean—No, Elm would never let me willingly waltz into her grasp like that.
The female launched another attack, swinging her mace lower, aiming at my knees. She was so fast, I barely had time to dodge out of the way before she knocked me to my feet. Not taking another chance, I jabbed the blade into the ashrai’s arm. She yelped, dropped the poisoned mace, and collapsed. She reached out for the weapon, dirt collecting under her fingernails as she dug into the earth.
Still unable to do a killing blow, I kicked it further from her reach and stabbed her in her thigh. She screamed obscenities at me, but I knew I’d injured her enough that she wouldn’t pounce on me again immediately.
I whirled, staring at both Elm and Phyre, still deeply engrossed in their own battle and the countless other enemies charging in. So many of our own were already lying in pools of blood on the ground.
I saw another pale faced ashrai and heaved myself at them, but I made a fatal mistake. My eyes met his, and my body was no longer mine. His sly smile turned my stomach, and he whispered words through the distance between us.
My fingers, one by one, released their grip on Bethalar. It clanged to the ground with a loud, angry cry as if I’d betrayed it.
“Such an obedient human,” the male said, closing the gap between our bodies. He grabbed my ass with one hand, making sure to caress the curve of it before slipping a finger into my waistband.
All I could do was stare at him in horror as he prepared to do—gods know what he was planning to do. But his foul grin gave me chills that I’d not felt in a long time. I shut my mind off and nestled down in the safe space I’d created so long ago to shield myself from the ache of this sort of trauma.
But the ashrai was yanked back. When I felt my body regain its own autonomy, I turned to see what happened, only to find Elm standing over the male’s body, his sword deep in his chest. He met my eyes, ripped the blade from the ashrai, leaving a coat of blood on it.
“I’ve got to get you out of here.”
Everything inside me wanted to scream no. I wanted to stay, but I knew he wasn’t trying to deflate my ego; wasn’t telling me I wasn’t a good enough fighter. I was too much of a liability. He couldn’t keep fighting if he had to keep his eyes trained on me, too.
And let’s be honest. I couldn’t kill these people. It was one thing to rip a beast like a kaanhound or a daemon to pieces. But I’d grown to care for the fey, even those on the opposing side. Of course, they had flaws. Some really did have dangerous powers, but that didn’t mean they were bad people.
I glanced back at Phyre, who shrouded herself in flame as she battled two ashrai at the same time. She was a phoenix spinning through the air, a lightweight sword in each hand. Fire ripped through the air, tearing through the wind.
Her magick was clearly dangerous, yet I considered her a friend. I looked back at Elm, who had his hand outstretched toward me. His eyes were a desperate shade of blue. Like he was afraid of something.
Somehow, he always knew me better than I knew myself. He could tell when I was in over my head but had no problem stepping back when I needed to do something myself.
I caught sight of the faded rune on my wrist, the one Baz had given me months ago. The one signifying his promise to me, the one he’d broken. And an idea sparked to life. It was risky. So risky, but I wasn’t sure if we had another option anymore.
My chest tightened as I slipped my hand into Elm’s as if I’d just realized what my body already knew.
I was in love with him.
It changed nothing, though. I knew what I needed to do and telling him would only complicate things.