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Arran’s wide, powerful hand gripped the tail of my plait, one fingernail scraping over the strand of lapis lazuli I hadn’t bothered to remove before pretending to go to bed. What would that hand feel like cupped around my breast, the fingernail scraping over my taut nipple…
A nighttime breeze stirred the warm air, lifting away the gossamer hanging off of me in shreds and teasing my tortured flesh. And on that breeze—a fetid, stomach-turning stench.
The warning ripped from my throat at the same time as Arran’s roar, the space where we’d stood moments before now a writhing mass of fur and fangs.
As the knife left my hand, I was already drawing the slender blades from my back. Longer than daggers, not as hefty as my brother’s sword, forged especially for my use.
“Get back!” Arran yelled, his battle axe catching a sliver of moonlight.
The creature it illuminated made my fae blood run cold. Nearly as tall as Arran, its blue-black fur gleamed in the moonlight. But the real threat were the sharp white extremities—pointed spikes down its back to the tip of its tail, wickedly curved horns that could pierce fae shields. At least those wielded by the elementals. I belatedly wondered if the magic that forged terrestrial shields was stronger as Arran raised his.
The shield shattered instantly, knocking Arran back onto the ground.
I screamed as loud as I could, the sound wrenching through the short trees. The skoupuma turned at the sound, giving me only a half second of regard before attacking.
It was enough—I was fast, if nothing else.
I jumped clear, landing hard against one of the trees at the edge of the clearing. Absorbing the impact at my shoulder, I used the force to shove myself in yet another direction.
But the skoupuma wasn’t fooled, its lithe body curling to face me. A cloud covered the moon. I couldn’t see Arran in the dark, though I could sense his gathering power. I could not wait and hope for him to save me.
Nor did I want to.
I launched myself forward with all the anger and rage I’d suppressed for the last six months.
One blade swiped for the eyes, dangerously close to those fangs, while I aimed the other for the base of its horn. If it impaled me with one of those horns, it would corkscrew its head from left to right, digging deep into my flesh. Not enough to kill me, but to subdue until its fangs—and the malodorous venom dripping from them—could end my life.
My blade found one eye, but the skoupuma’s vicious yowl, its head rearing back, sent my other blade skittering away. A massive paw hit my chest, the force of it sending me careening backward even as sticky green blood flowed down over my forearm.
But I didn’t stay down, could not. It was a second behind me, the stench of those fangs filling my nostrils as I dragged myself up into a crouch. I would not die here, now. I could not—with Arthur’s murder still unavenged.
I crossed my blades in front of my face, ready to shove the beast back and counterattack.
But I had no chance.
Blades of grass sprung up all around me, as tall as my face where I crouched waiting for an attack that did not come. I shoved them aside, pushing to my feet. But the skoupuma was already falling back, the long blades curving around its legs, pulling it down and pinning it to the ground.
I watched in awe. It ought to have been impossible. It was grass, for the sake of the Ancestors. My swords swiped through dozens of blades as I unraveled to my feet. But hundreds, thousands, maybe millions of blades of grass were twining around the creature’s body. It could do nothing but roar its displeasure.
I saw Arran then, standing on the other side of the clearing where he’d been felled. No shield or axe in sight. Only his empty hands, flexing before him, controlling the plants in the clearing. Not just the grass, I realized. He’d peeled back the very treetops themselves, so that the entire clearing was bathed in moonlight as clearly as if it had been day.
And the expression on his face?
Boredom tinged with annoyance.
Thatwas power.
He flicked his eyes to me, the glow of desire gone but a different sort of lust in his eyes.
“Finish it,” he said.
I didn’t argue with his order. I stepped through the long grass, now tall enough to reach my waist. I sheathed one blade behind my back, then shifted the other so I held it between my two clenched fists.
I did not look up to see Arran’s expression as I drove the sword down between the skoupuma’s horns.
It died in silence, no yowl or roar or ceremony.
I supposed that most of us could hope for no better.
