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This storm was his. It should not have been possible, even for a fae. But somehow, I knew it with every fiber of my being.
Draven grasped my arm, trying to tug me across the grove, but I wrenched away.
The wind was close now. The sounds of battle had been drowned out completely by the ominous roar of the approaching gale.
In another moment, it would be too late. Would we survive, or would we be lashed to pieces?
Rain hit my face, a thousand tiny, stinging arrows.
I ran then. Not out of the grove but into its very center. Lifting my arms overhead, I screamed. It was a primal cry, erupting from the depths of my being, born of desperation and from fierce defiance.
With arms raised high, something extraordinary unfolded.
My scream became an invocation, a plea that was somehow answered.
A shimmering veil materialized overhead. A shield.
The shield spread out with a brilliance like the first light of day, encapsulating Draven, me, and the small grove in its barrier of energy.
The killing wind, denied its prey, howled against the barrier fruitlessly.
Then the gust subsided and the air stilled.
I lowered my arms.
“It will come again,” I said wearily, turning to my mate.
Draven’s eyes were wide. “You can shield.”
“I don’t know what that was. I didn’t know I could do it until... I did.”
He was looking past me, out at the battlefield. “Do you think you could do it again? If we could extend it...”
“No.” It killed me to say it. “I have nothing left. You were right. I don’t know where that came from. But whatever it was, I can’t. I just can’t. I want to.” I curled my fingers into my palms, stabbing my nails into them until the skin broke. “This is my father, Draven. He’s doing this. Killing them. Killing us.” My voice broke.
“Call Nightclaw.”
“What?”
“Call him, Morgan. Call him now. Can you do it?”
“I... I already tried.”
“Try again. Try now. For me.”
I could hear the urgency in his voice. From a distance, I could hear the wind picking up again.
I closed my eyes. Was the battlecat near? Was he awake? Was he alive?
I reached out, pushing harder than I had before, struggling to sense the exmoor and his mate.
There. I touched him.
Nightclaw!
A feeling of acknowledgement. He was with Sunstrike. They were safe.
Guilt passed through me. How could I ask this of him when he had already done so much?
