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"Calm down, both of you, or I'll use what remains of my magic to make you fall in love--with each other." Her runes glowed the most sublime shade of gold. "Now then. William, sweetie, you don't know this world or these clans. I do. You hide. I'll take care of business."
Puck's runes answered in kind, buzzing and sizzling.
"Gilly--" William began, trying again.
"I'm sorry, Liam, but I don't have time to humor you."
"Humor me?" the male sputtered as she rushed off.
Puck watched as she issued commands, her clanswomen obeying without protest. A true testament of her ability to lead.
"You, to the parapet," she called. "You, to the outer wall. You, get our first line in front of the gate."
The girl Puck left behind had lacked confidence. The woman he'd returned to had confidence in spades.
And I want her more for it.
"You did this to her," William snarled.
Ignoring him, Puck considered the defenses he'd seen upon his arrival at camp. A massive stone wall outlined the perimeter--a wall he would have had to scale, if not for Cameron's interference.
"Lower the gate and let him in," his friend had said. "Preferably without killing him."
Soldiers had lined the entire length. On each side--north, east, south and west--he'd noticed a lookout tower. Connecting those towers, a second parapet where archers waited at the ready.
"If she's hurt..." Literal steam wafted from William's nose.
"She's proven she can get hurt and recover." Tonight, Puck would do his part, prove his strength to her.
Done talking, he charged toward the northern tower. He confiscated a bow, a basket of arrows, three daggers and two short swords, either from tables loaded with weapons, or straight from a Shawazon. The vibrations in his horns intensified; the Walsh soldiers marched ever closer.
As Puck drew on centuries of unwavering focus--will do what needs doing, no hesitation--the demon quieted.
Up the stairs. Onto the parapet. On either side of him, archers formed a line, the women stood shoulder to shoulder, their bows nocked and ready.
"Try not to hit me," he said as he scanned the dunes. "My death heralds your queen's. Spread the word." Night shadows were thick, hiding trees, a nearby lake...but not soldiers. There.
He debated his options: stay here and kill the soldiers who scaled the wall, or plow into the army's midst and stop them from climbing altogether, but also put himself in the archers' sight lines?
At times like this, he missed his brother.
William materialized at his side, daggers replaced by curved swords. He scanned the masses. "Oh, goodie, another sausage fest."
Ignore. Option A or option B?
Logic raised a hand and said, B, please. Keep as many soldiers as possible away from the wall. The fewer Walshes able to invade camp, the safer Gillian's clan would remain. If Puck got pegged with arrows, he got pegged. Wounds healed.
Now, how to proceed with option B? The parapet was the width of a human road. On the far side, some sort of pulley-rope system. Bingo. Puck anchored one end of the rope to a pulley, tied the other end of the rope around his waist and barrelled forward, nocking three arrows at once. As he fell, he released the arrows. Metal whistled through the air, blending with the howl of wind. Grunts and groans sounded.
Landing jarred him, bones juddering, perhaps even cracking. Refusing to slow, he nocked three more arrows, released. Nocked, released.
Magic floated from the bodies and flowed over him, absorbing into his runes. Power, such delicious power. Missed this.
A new chorus of whistles pierced the air as the archers atop the wall released their arrows. The soldiers kept running, merely lifting their shields. Arrows pinged off steel, and fell to the ground, useless.
Once again, William appeared beside Puck. "You're not getting all the glory. Try to keep up." He sprang into action, rushing forward to meet the cadre head-on.
Puck remained in place, continuing to slay from a distance, building his supply of magic. With every release of the bow, more bodies fell, more power absorbed into his runes. Filling him. Soon overflowing.
There. With a cold smile, he raised his arms and shoved a violent wave of magic through his fingertips. Mound after mound of sand gathered at his sides, creating a new wall, blocking the parapet.
He dropped the bow and withdrew his swords. Running forward. Engaging. Swinging, hacking. Heads and limbs detached. Blood sprayed. Every drop of magic he gained, he used to keep the wall of sand in place.
Felling one Walsh after another, William made his way back to Puck's side. To his shock, they worked together in harmony, taking out soldiers while dodging arrows, bodies piled up around them.
Runes glowed in William's hands, new symbols appearing. Symbols Puck had never seen before.
"All right. I've had enough of this." The Ever Randy kicked one opponent, punched another, then dropped a sword to slap his hand against Puck's.
Boom!
Absolute power detonated between them, crashing over the entire army, no one able to outrun it. Every man dropped, including Puck and William. Not even the sand wall was immune; it toppled.
Gillian, Winter, Cameron and a handful of others rushed over, their weapons at the ready.
"What happened?" Cameron asked.
Puck was panting, his limbs shaking. "Not sure."
William said, "I used you as a battery, unleashed my power. I guess that makes me the night's MVP."
Seeing the sea of crimson and motionless bodies, Gillian scowled. "You took our kills, and our magic. Magic we needed." Hostility blasted from her, charging the air. "You acted against my orders and stole from my people."
"Calm down, Gillian," Winter beseeched. "The boys didn't mean to take our kills, I'm sure of it. Or kind of sure. They'll probably apologize. Right, Puck?"
Confusion kept him quiet. Gillian's dark eyes gleamed like polished onyx, her pupils blown. Animal-like snarls were rumbling from her throat as she fisted her hands and braced her legs apart.
She'd just assumed a battle stance.
"No Hulking-out." Cameron gripped a pair of axes and shooed the rest of their audience away. "I don't want to hack off your hands again."
The Shawazons ran as if their lives depend on it.
A Hulk-out. Rage threatened to overwhelm her, then. But this was no little tantrum as he'd supposed. In the letters, she claimed she lost control of her actions and did things she later regretted.
Then the rest of Cameron's words registered. "You hacked off her hands?" he asked, his tone quiet but lethal.
"Gilly?" William said with a frown. "What--"
With a screech, she picked up two dead bodies as if they weighed nothing and tossed them at the male.
Puck jumped to his feet, intending to rush to his woman, but Winter moved in front of him, stopping him. "Don't. You'll lose an arm. Or more. You can't stop her. No one can. All we can do is let the rage burn out."
William failed to heed the warning and raced over, reaching for Gillian.
Annnd, yes, she ripped off his arm.
He bellowed in pain as blood spurted from the gaping wound.
All right. From this point forward, Puck wouldn't have to do any pretending about admiring her battle skill. The woman could hold her own, against anyone.
In only a few seconds, William regrew another arm. The fastest regeneration Puck had ever beheld. But the male didn't approach Gillian again. Eyes wide, he backed away from her.
What had reduced the little darling to such a state? The rage--as out of control as it was--could not originate inside her.
The day Puck and Gillian had bonded, he thought he'd felt emotion flow between them. Had he somehow given her the rage he'd buried throughout the centuries?
Guilt slashed his insides to confetti, and Indifference feasted on the remains. No way Puck could stay away. He had to help.
As he approached, a body soared over his head, then another and another. "I'm not g
oing to hurt you, wife."
As much as Puck enjoyed seeing the other man ripped to shreds, he would rather see his woman smile tomorrow. Violence wasn't her default setting, and she would most assuredly chastise herself for harming the bastard.
More bodies. One slammed into his chest, knocking him back a few steps. Okay, then. Slow and easy had failed. He'd have to go in hard and go in fast.
He picked up speed and dived, tossing her to the ground. Rather than twisting to take the bulk of impact himself, he forced her to hit first, and allowed his weight to crash down on her. Cruel but necessary. Air gushed from her lungs and her skull bounced off the sand, weakening her. Rendering her unconscious?
No such luck. Like a wildcat, she clawed at his back, and tore his shirt. She even sank her teeth into his throat in a clear attempt to remove his trachea. Pain seared him. Whatever. With magic, he caused thorny vines to grow from the sand, wrap around her neck, wrists and ankles, and hold her in place.
He lifted his head, grunted. Her teeth held on to his flesh as long as possible.
"Enough," he commanded.
She continued to struggle, one of the thorns cutting through her wrist and coming out the other side. As crimson rivers snaked down her forearm, his stomach twisted.
She would fight until she bled out, wouldn't she?
My brave, beautiful girl. "Gillian," he croaked. Warm blood poured from the wound in his neck and dripped onto her face.
The sight broke something in him. A heart he'd thought Sin had long since destroyed?
How could he help her? He didn't want to use ice, the way he'd often done with Cameron and Winter the times their demons had gotten the better of them. What if Gillian never melted?
