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“Put up your mental shield now,” Ruslan reminded me.
Tapping into the white fire-wrapped crystal in my chest, I blocked out everyone around me, not wanting a repeat of the emotional pain I’d experienced when we popped into the middle of chaos the last time.
Across the battlefield, unit after unit crested the hills, Félvér archers taking aim and firing in rapid succession, covering the infantry as they charged forward. My best friend disappeared from view, and I tore my attention back to Ruslan, who watched on, ensuring everything unfolded according to plan. Zuriel hopped onto the Fehérmedve’s back, settling between his shoulders and fisting his fur. He leaned down as Ruslan yelled, “Charge!” and we raced forward as a unit.
My two swords were heavy as adrenaline blew through me, and every nerve was alight with anticipation.
On the other side of this hill, my destiny, or my death, awaited.
The revolting smell of burnt flesh hit me first, a line of charred Fae collapsed on the ground from where the Dragonshad burned a path forward. But already, another line of soldiers waited to oppose us, undeterred by their brethren’s deaths.
The scream that tore from my chest promised violence as I engaged the first male to dare approach me. A haughty gleam brightened his eyes, and he barely flicked his sword at me, thinking he could so easily disarm me.
A manic smile spread across my lips, and I hoped it appeared as crazed as I felt. “That was your first mistake,” I laughed, and only then did something else flicker in his eyes.
With black flaring in my chest, I launched forward.
Our blades met in a clash of steel that reverberated up my arms and rang in my ears. Using both blades together, I flung his sword to the side, attempting to knock him off balance. He stumbled over a half-melted pommel, and I did not hesitate to bring my swords back around and slice him in the side with one while I stabbed the other into his belly. With a hefty kick, I ripped my blades free and flattened him on the ground. Using his chest like a stone, I leaped over him, on my way to my next opponent.
The first of many my blades would drink from.
Ruslan fought mercilessly mere feet away, blood spraying in all directions as he pushed forward, putting a dent into the fiercely held line. On my other side, Zuriel rode the Fehérmedve, whose growls were nearly as terrifying as those of the Dragons roaring overhead.
I sank into the rhythm of the battle, all fears and worries melting away as my only thoughts became slice, dodge, attack, parry, blast. No space for other thought remained, not when a horde of Night Fae waited for us, continuing to rise as their comrades were slain. We were outnumbered, and for every one of us they killed, we needed to kill three of them.
Gritting my teeth, I braced my blade against a large male’s, his mouth set in a firm line as he put his weight behind it. Sweatpoured from my temples, and my arms trembled beneath his weight.
“You will not win,” I spat out, slipping to the side and allowing his weight to fall forward. My blade lingered in the open space and bit into his side.
The deep gash gushed blood, and he spun, holding his weeping wound with one hand, still brandishing his blade with the other. “You bitch. How dare you choosehimover your own people. We loved you.” Faster than I anticipated, he lunged. A sharp pain blossomed on my upper arm, and I cried out, dropping a sword. Hot blood seeped from the slice, but I had no time to examine it as the male came forward again.
I flung my remaining blade up, causing his next strike to glance off it. The awkward impact sent me stumbling, and I tripped over a fallen soldier, my ass smacking the ground with a painful thud. Slightly disoriented, everything slowed to a crawl as he arced his blade toward my chest.
A rainshower of ruby scattered across my face, the male’s torso flayed open. He crumpled to the side, revealing Zuriel and the Fehérmedve, his claws dripping blood and gore. My cousin leaped from the beast’s back and rushed to my side. “Are you hurt?”
“My shoulder,” I managed to say through clenched teeth as I sat upright.
The Félvér in our unit raced around us, providing us with much needed cover.
Zuriel crouched on the grassy hillside, examining the wound. White light flared beneath his palms, and the throbbing in my shoulder abated. Ruslan’s raspy voice rang out over the din of battle, giving orders to hold the line while he raced to my side.
“I’m okay,” I reassured him before he’d even reached us.
“Thank fuck,” he swore, checking me over anyway. “Stay closer.” His tone left no room for argument as he hauled me to my feet.
“Thank you, Zuriel,” I said, and the Angel nodded, racing to his steed to return to the fray.
We ate up ground on our next push, claiming another hillside and closing in on the encampment. Ruslan and I stood at the top of it, trying to catch our breath and survey the area. His eyesight was better than mine, so it was no surprise when he found our target first.
“He’s there,” Ruslan confirmed, pointing toward the back of the army.
I followed his line of sight, finally spotting an ornate tent erected among a series of interconnected ones. A flash of dark hair caught my attention first, the tent flaps flying as Kazimir entered the dusky air. The light was quickly fading, and fires – not started by the Iron Realm – popped up throughout the camp.
“It’s like they don’t even care that we can see where everyone is, even in the dark,” I murmured, chewing my lip as a wrongness slithered through my belly.
A horn sounded in the distance, drawing my attention toward Kazimir once again. He blew the carved instrument repeatedly, and thousands of wings burst into existence as the rear guard prepared to launch their assault. The sound as they erupted into the air was akin to an explosion, and a shockwave from their wings swept across the battlefield. Bows gripped in hands, they notched dripping arrows and drew the string, preparing to fire.
“Archers!” I screamed, trying to warn my people of the incoming danger.
