Page 75 of Dark Rival

She howled from the pain. But even briefly blinded by it, there was panic. Could his grasp on her hair be enough to take her through time with him?

And from the corner of her eye, she saw the blade.

A swirl of silver light.

Royce.

It sliced through her hair and she was free. Allie leapt away.

Royce stood facing Moffat, smiling coldly.

Simultaneously, Moffat and Royce blasted one another with energy, but it was a stand-off. Moffat seized his sword with his bleeding hand, drawing it free of its scabbard. He thrust—as did Royce. The two blades locked.

So afraid the future would be repeated in the past, Allie looked at Royce, his blood-drenched leine sticking to his entire body like a second skin, delineating every muscle he had. His face was a mask of savage pleasure. He wasn’t afraid—he relished the violent encounter.

“A Ailios,” he said softly.

And he stepped back and thrust, forcing Moffat back to the wall. The blades shrieked and screamed, metal hissed and burned, filled with their power. Suddenly Royce drew his shortsword, so swiftly Allie was certain he’d mortally wound the other man.

Somehow Moffat drew his own small blade and parried.

Allie looked at her dagger, which lay on the ground not far from where the two men were furiously engaged. They seemed to be evenly matched, the one exception being the wound she had inflicted on Moffat’s right hand. In spite of all the fighting he had done that day, Royce was not wounded, and Allie prayed that gave him the advantage.

The men withdrew and attacked again, each using two swords now. As they did so, Allie darted past them and seized the dagger. She was going to stick it right into Moffat’s heart the next chance she got.

Royce and Moffat were braced swords against swords once more, pitting holy strength against demonic power. Allie estimated she was but two steps away from her target. She needed an opening….

“No,” Royce said sharply.

And although Royce didn’t look at her as he spoke, Moffat used his shortsword, dropping his hand then raising it savagely, clearly going for Royce’s jugular.

For one horrific instant, Allie thought Moffat would slit Royce’s throat. But Royce brought his shortsword up in the nick of time, and as the blades rang, Allie leapt at Moffat.

He turned, trying to strike his longsword at her to deflect her dagger, but he was caught on Royce’s longer blade and Allie slipped underneath.

Instead of penetrating his chest, she stabbed him deeply in the side, burying the entire blade there up to the hilt. Moffat turned white, dropping his weapons.

He looked at her, his eyes red with rage and hatred, a terrible promise there, and he vanished.

“Damn it,” Royce cried in frustration.

Allie sagged against the wall. She could barely believe what she had done—she had almost caused Royce’s death again!

He sheathed his swords and took her by the arms.

Instantly she became aware of his power, his rage and his heat. She stiffened with tension, her gaze shooting to his.

His silver eyes blazed with savage bloodlust. But he said, “Are ye hurt?”

“No. Are you?”

“Nay.” He wet his lips, looked at her mouth and Allie felt the blood rushing through his veins. She felt the huge pounding pulse in his loins. She felt his murderous rage change, becoming pure, primitive male lust.

He turned abruptly to assess the battle, his jaw hard and flexed. Allie followed his gaze—the giants were fleeing, although a number of Masters and giants remained engaged, both on the ramparts and below in the ward. Their master, Moffat, was undoubtedly calling them off.

She leaned against the wall again, smelling Royce’s scent—man and sex, blood and death. He became still, but his grip on her arms didn’t ease and his breathing was rapid and shallow. With terrible clarity Allie recalled how he’d taken her on the table after the last demonic attack. Her body quivered in response to both the memory and the man holding her, but it didn’t matter. They were surrounded by so much suffering and death.

The urge to go to those who needed healing consumed her. “Let me go,” she said quietly, tuning in now to the wounded. A man pierced with three arrows, one through the lung, was closest. He would soon die if she did not attend him.