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I nod once, cold determination replacing the blood in my veins. A darkness creeps from behind my heart, one I always associated with Eris. It’s me, though. Even if I’d never wanted to claim it. Even if I recognized it long ago as something inherited from my family.
If I must embrace the savage side of my wild magic to save Ashe, I will.
Aeternaphiel will rue the day he took my mate from me.
1866
Ashe
Drumbeats fill the spaces between pounding heartbeats. Smoke, blood, and the rotten stench of fear and death have replaced the comforting smells of horse, hay, and clean leather.
Malachi snarls a curse, slamming his shoulder against the door keeping us locked in stables. It splinters under his assault but does not fall.
“Leave it,” intones our king, our sire. The male who turned me centuries ago as I lay dying on a battlefield. He stands tall, as resolute as a cliff against the waves, in the central aisle I’d swept earlier that morning.
Like the rest of us, he’s covered in blood—some of it his own. These humans, these self-proclaimed deliverers of Heaven’s justice, have weapons we’ve never encountered before. Blades that make the wounds inflicted burn as if coated in acid. The hunters from out-of-town wear a talisman that shields them from our attacks and have donned white tabards emblazoned with an iron cross in the center of a collar with spikes pointed inwards.
Rhys had snarled at the image, flying into a frenzy as he tried to attack one of the hunters. His family had died wearing those collars, used for torture. When his vicious attacks did nothing, each swipe repulsed by an unseen barrier, the townspeople who’d joined in the mob attacked.
I sink down the paddock door, scrubbing my face in anger and shame.
Men, and some women, who we considered friends once, had swarmed us. They had armed themselves with kitchen knives, hunting daggers, and family heirloom swords. Even fucking pitchforks and torches, as gods-damned cliche as it was.
Vampires may be faster and stronger than humans, but we were outnumbered four to one. It’s like every damn person had joined the mob.
And we’d killed them, defending ourselves.
I killed them.
Benedict, the grizzled old man who I’d swapped stories with of horse escapades. Danny, the baker, who always had a soft spot for Josephine. Thomas, practically still a boy at seventeen who pestered Rhys with questions about the world.
Johnathan. Tears of anger and hurt roll silently down my cheeks as I look up at the top of the barn. Jonathan, the man who’d begged Cassandra to save his wife and babe. Who had allowed himself to be convinced that Charity had given birth to a devil and given her soul away. Who’d allowed her and their child to be killed for the sake of purifying the world.
Kasar had called in a retreat and we’d been harried towards the stable. Whatever magic these humans were using created a ward stronger than any I’ve experienced. We were trapped in here, all us males. I can only be glad Cassandra and Josephine had remained in the main house.
Cassandra’s fear has remained near choking levels and even now, I dredge up the energy to send my love towards her, promises that it will all be okay.
Josephine will get her out and keep her safe. The mob has no idea that the two females aren’t in here with us.
“It looks as if we’re to be roasted alive,” Lan says blandly, as if discussing the next week’s weather or the upcoming harvest.
Rhys and Ezra lean together against a support post and look up at the hayloft. Kasar leaps from his position next to Ambrose to join the blond vampire at the hay door, Ambrose following his second’s every move. Malachi comes and stands over me, his fists clenched, knuckles bloody and bruised. He looks around the stables and holds his hand out to help me up.
“We should let the horses have a chance,” he says quietly. “The far door might open since there’s an overhang. Maybe they’ll be able to pass through the ward even if we can’t.”
I grab his hand and let him haul me up, ignoring the dull ache deep in my side. Someone had gotten a lucky blow, penetrating deep in my side. The bleeding is sluggish now, my tattered shirt and pants growing stiff with dried blood. I don’t say anything and Malachi doesn’t seem to expect me to. He lets me go the moment I’m on my feet and turns to the nervous horses across from me.
I turn to face the stall I’d sought refuge in. A sob chokes me as I realize I’d sought Lily Dancer out, the spirited mare I’d been riding the day I met Cassandra. Unlike the other horses, she was calm watching me with trusting eyes. I slide open the bolt, pulling the door open and stepping in with her. She butts her head against my chest, seeming to not care about the blood covering me.
“Hey, beautiful,” I murmur, unable to speak any louder. I pray to anyone who might be listening that she not be condemned to burn alongside me. I steal a moment to scratch under her chin, swallowing back the grief wrapping around me. “I’m going to need you to do a favor for me. I know you love to run, and that’s what I need you to do. I need you to run, and take the rest of them with you. Don’t stop until you find someone who will treat you the way you deserve. Can you do that for me, girl?”
Lily Dancer’s warm brown eyes are bright, as if she understands everything I’m saying. She tosses her head and stamps a hoof before pushing me hard enough with her nose that I’m forced to take a step back. I shake my head, doing my damnedest to not let any of my heartbreak travel to Cassandra. I don’t want her to feel my pain at this loss or my fear for her own safety.
I shake my head. “I’m not joining you this time.”
“The horses can make it!” Malachi shouts from the other end of the barn. Whatever ward they have surrounding the stables must not be pressed directly against the back door.
“Hear that?” My voice is more jovial than I feel and Lily Dancer stamps her foot again. I bolt behind her, slapping her rump hard enough to startle her. She rears, only a handful of inches off the ground before jolting out of the stall.
