So young. This Fomorian can’t have been long out of his teens. His final expression is one of utter hatred, and I can’t stop staring.
“Rose, come on.” Jaro tugs at my arm, pulling me out of the way of Blizzard’s hooves and over to the roadside. “Stay here.”
With that single instruction, he abandons me in my golden bubble of protection, lifting his wicked looking axe from his belt before swinging it so hard he literally decapitates the next Fomorian coming at us.
My stomach turns, and I look away, only to find Bree casually stepping out of the way of three separate attackers. A weight presses down on my chest, but my fear is needless. He summons a blade from the tattoo on his thigh and stabs it through the throat of the first Fomorian. A second blade lands between the eyes of the next, turning back to an inky cloud the second its job is done. He’s a whirl of blades and smoke, delivering deaths just as quickly as the rest of them.
Drystan is the only one who’s chosen to remain on his mount. He has his spine whip out again, and a flash of heat at my back tells me he’s incinerated another Fomorian who was trying to sneak up on me.
“Hey! I wanted that one!” Lore cries. “No stealing my kills!”
“Too slow,” Drystan replies, smirking.
Hell, they’re not… they’re not havingfunwith this, surely?
But the more I watch, the more it becomes evident that theyare. I expected Lore to be cutting through them with whoops of glee, but I can’t say I ever thought I’d see Drystan smiling as he slashes our ambushers into charred little pieces.
Lore catches me watching, and his hat puffs up, becoming a strange feathery nightmare covered in frills. He grins as he performs a perfect somersault, twisting in the air to take out two Fomorians with the blades in his boots, then winks at me, offering a tiny bow, as they drop lifelessly to the floor.
The more I watch, the clearer it becomes that the unseelie are competing with one another. Every time one of them lines up a kill, the other does their best to take it first. It’s a gruesome game.
Jaro and Bree are efficient and practised, but it’s obvious neither of them takes the same joy from it. Their mouths are set in grim lines, their eyes hard and constantly searching for the next threat. Bree’s ears are swivelling on top of his head, twitching in response to every sound.
Is this another difference between the seelie and unseelie? Perhaps, but they all have one thing in common; they check on me constantly.
Despite being in the midst of a battle, I’ve never felt safer.
Or so useless.
They’re machines. Warriors. Even Wraith and Naris are doing their part, their huge predatory jaws ripping and gnashing until nothing but blood and dismembered limbs remain.
And I’m… a damsel in distress. Or at the very least, a useless bystander.
I never thought that would bother me as much as it does. I’m protected by the shield. I wouldn’t mind being on the sidelines if I had something useful to do, some way to help from afar. But I don’t. They’re out there risking their lives, and I’m sitting here looking pretty.
I suppose if I’m stuck here for a while—and there are a good number of Fomorians, so I probably will be—I can work on my wing exercises. I sigh and start the regimen of lifting, extending, collapsing, and lowering that Florian said I should do daily. Tense and release. Up, then down.
It’s tiring, but not as much as it was only a week or so ago, which means I’m making progress.
My skin is crawling, my stomach is growling, and my head is starting to pound again, but I ignore the symptoms. Now isn’t the time to drag one of them to one side and demand an orgasm. Drystan may have offered earlier, but he made no move to follow through. Maybe he’s thought better of it.
I’ll try to corner Jaro later tonight. Surely, I can go one day without coming? Right?
It won’t kill me… I hope.
Eight
Rhoswyn
By the time they’re done, they’re all covered in blood and other… fluids I don’t want to examine too closely. I’m pretty sure that the grey jelly-like substance on Drystan’s jerkin is a piece of brain.
Jaro finally drops the shield, and I step from the safety of my tiny circle of clean grass, absently scratching the back of my hand as I go.
“There’s a river across the ridge,” he mutters, noting my reaction. “They probably came from there. I’d planned to cross it using the bridge a mile or so away, but we may as well clear out any who remain and get cleaned up.”
“Goddessless Fomorian bastards,” Drystan growls, kicking over a still-twitching warrior and plunging his sword into her heart to finish her off.
I do my best not to flinch. It won’t help my case when I tell them my decision later if I’m reacting to every death.
