If it hadn’t been for Torn’s body slam, albeit unpleasant, I’d be barghest food. Even worse, a bite from one of the Hunt would take over my self control and add me to our enemy’s ranks. I’d been fortunate that my friends fought at my side, and that the vision hadn’t sucked me deeper into the pooka’s memories.
Next time, I may not be so lucky.
Our plan was to try to face Herne and his barghests here, head on, while our archers and our small cavalry of kelpie riders picked off the barghests, drawing them away from Herne, and taking them out one by one. Most of the water fae who weren’t needed to hold the river water were set as guards to keep those magic users safe, but some joined in the fight.
It was a good plan, in theory. The terrifying reality was all around us.
For every barghest we cut down, another took its place. It was that horror—the transformation of our friends and brothers in arms—that was the most unsettling of anything I’d ever seen in all my years of observing monsters.
An archer cried out, flailing her arms, as one of Herne’s giant owls hooked her shoulder in its talons and tossed her off the warehouse roof where she’d been taking shots at the barghests from behind. I held my breath, watching the body fall, tracing its outline in the failing light. The figure was wearing cargo pants, and I pressed a gloved hand to my mouth in guilty relief that the archer wasn’t Jinx.
A large figure rallied a small unit to where the female archer had fallen, and I was surprised to see that not only had the archer survived, but that Hendricks was the man who’d rallied troops to her aid. The large Hunter was a chauvinistic bigot who despised me and everything I stood for, but in that moment I admired his bravery.
It was too bad that the man’s courage and loyalty to his fallen guild sister would spell out his doom.
Hendricks and the Hunters he led formed a protective perimeter around the archer as one of them got a shoulder under her armpit, and pulled the injured Hunter to her feet.
A roar to my left tore my eyes from the archer, but when Ceff and I put down our barghest with the help of Torn, a female Hunter with a foul mouth, and a merman who fought with a barnacle covered sword in one hand and rusty boat hook in the other, my curiosity got the better of me. With a brief moment of respite, I lifted my chin in time to see that the barghest that had targeted the fallen archer was now attacking Hendricks and his men as they tried to make their way back to their position.
Hendricks is a huge man, so large and well muscled that I’d often speculated that he had orc blood somewhere in his family tree. To see a man that size fight was impressive. He swung a two-handed battle axe, and took off the barghest’s front legs at the knees. The hound went down head first, eating dirt.
At least, that’s what the barghest wanted his enemies to think. Hendricks and his men wouldn’t be able to see from where they continued their advance across the body strewn pavement, but at the last second the enormous hound ducked its head, taking the worst of the fall on its shoulders. It should have snapped its neck, been knocked out, or been suffocated by a face full of mud launched into its nose and mouth at high speed.
The Hunters turned their attention away from the cut down barghest, and it was a deadly error.
The barghest didn’t stop when it hit the ground, instead it rolled. Still in motion, it used the incredible strength of its rear legs, and sprung into the air. Red eyes fixed on Hendricks, it launched an attack.
I screamed out a warning, but my cries were drowned out by the clamor of battle, the clash of lightning, and the screech of owls overhead. I couldn’t leave my unit, and the barghest was too far out of range for my throwing knives to do any good.
Hendricks tried to hold the creature back with the shaft of his axe, but the weapon’s handle was slick with blood that still poured from the stumps of the barghest’s amputated front legs. The hound shook its head, wrenching the axe handle from Hendricks, and tossed his weapon out of reach.
The barghest’s head snaked in, jaws snapping, and bit Hendricks on the shoulder as he tried to buck and roll. Against another monster, the maneuver might have saved his life. The arm on his injured side hung limp and useless, but he managed to pull himself away as the barghest continued to bleed out from its wounds. Adrenaline and the compulsion of his master had pushed the barghest this far, but it was rapidly weakening.
Hendricks pushed the barghest away, and, this time, the beast didn’t get up. Its legs kicked uselessly as it bled out, the fire in its eyes extinguished.
A Hunter reached out a hand to help Hendricks to his feet, but he was hardly upright before he fell to his knees. A hound reached my position, and the next time I checked on Hendricks, the Hunter who’d offered him help was face down in the mud, his neck at an impossible angle.
Hendricks roared, his body bending and contorting as he transformed into a hound of the Wild Hunt. Black hair erupted from his flesh, and when he lifted his head his eyes glowed red. Hendricks howled, and Herne’s laughter made my stomach churn.
Hendricks had lost his own will, and became one of Herne’s hounds.
I stood dumbstruck, only launching back into battle when Ceff cried out my name. Then there was no time to grieve for Hendricks, or worry about the injured archer. There was only blood, and fangs, and screams that would give me an eternity of nightmares—if we survived the night.
Chapter 43
It’s amazing how slowly time passes when you are surrounded by absolute horror. Now was one of those moments in my life when seconds stretched into eons as I watched the life bleed out from our friends’ eyes, and an emptiness worse than death enter the eyes of more friends still. The battle seemed endless.
As we faced our turned brethren, while choking down snot and tears, we were surrounded by Herne’s booming laughter as he goaded us into more and more foolish and desperate acts.
“YOU THINK YOU STAND A CHANCE AGAINST THE WILD HUNT?” he asked with exaggerated disdain. “THEN FACE ME AND FIGHT FOR YOUR FALLEN.”
He was taunting us, keeping us distracted and emotionally off balance. The Hunters were trained for that kind of mental attack. I’d witnessed the Guild’s instructors berating Jenna during practice, and I knew from our conversations that what I’d seen was just the tip of the drill instructor iceberg. It didn’t mean that the guild members who fought with us didn’t feel emotion. They were just well trained in either burying their sorrow, fear, and rage, or channeling those emotions in a productive way.
No matter how many losses they took, or how badly Herne taunted them, the fighters from the Hunters’ Guild kept their heads and wits about them. Some of the water fae were much less experienced in that department.
Micro storms broke out above the uneven pavement and muddy riverbed that had become our primary battlefield. Herne’s owls and hounds shied away from spots of rain, but spell clouds did nothing to even the fight. These were manifestations of the water fae’s fears and frustrations, and as such the balls of storm were out of control. Lightning and poor footing brought down friend and foe alike.
A sizzling cloud the size of a pillow opened up a deluge of rain and hail over Torn’s head, and he hissed.
“Whose bloody side are your men on, fish breath?” he asked.
A hailstone hit my shoulder, and Ceff frowned.
“For once, cat, you may have a point,” he said.
Ceff raised his trident, drawing on his power. The unnatural storm clouds whizzing over our heads began to shift and gather in a dark, flickering funnel above his trident. He took control of the chaotic water magic, his eyes shimmering green as he fought to master all that raw power.
With the possible exception of the ocean god Mannan Mac Lir, I doubted any other man could manage to turn that much water magic to his will. But Ceff wasn’t just a man. He was Ceffyl Dwr, king of the kelpies.
Muscles flexing and jaw tightening with the strain of his movements, he swept his trident through the air. Wind and water buffeted him, but he held on. I wasn’t sure if it
was the tilt of his head or the shift of his stance, but I could tell the moment the storm was his to command.
A funnel cloud formed out of the chaos, and a smile drew my lips from my teeth.
Thunder crashed as the funnel cloud smacked into Herne, sending him from his mount. The smile froze on my lips as a young kelpie, barely more than a colt, spooked away from the herd he fought alongside.
The kelpies had been focused on trying to separate one of the barghests, leading it away from its pack and Herne’s protection. When the young kelpie ran, the barghest gave chase.
I knew Ceff would go to him before I even felt the shift in magic, or heard his anguished cry. Ceffyl Dwr had lost his sons, had watched helplessly as they were murdered at the hands of a madwoman. He was incapable of standing idly by and watching another young kelpie die.
I loved him for it, even as I cursed him for his empathy. We were losing our momentary advantage over Herne, who had been struck from his saddle. Torn was rushing in, but with Ceff’s magic directed elsewhere, barghests were already coming to their master’s aid.
I was torn between going to Ceff, or helping to take down Herne. In the end, it wasn’t much of a choice. I would always choose to help Ceff save the life of a child.
I ran to Ceff, glancing back only once to see Torn hamstring Herne’s mount. It was a wise strategy, keeping Herne from being able to ride and from gaining the saddle where he had a vantage point for watching over the battle and issuing orders. I gave Torn a crisp nod, and turned back to Ceff.
The young kelpie was in his horse form, and he was fleet of hoof. That speed and agility had served him well so far, but it was obvious the kid was tiring. The barghest was gaining on him, clods of mud and chunks of broken pavement flying behind him as his huge paws struck the ground. Oberon’s eyes, it was a huge beast.
Was it Hendricks? A lump formed in my throat, and I swallowed hard, shaking off the thought. It didn’t matter who or what the barghest used to be. Now it was an enemy, and one that threatened my mate.
I gripped my blades, and closed the distance between us. I was fast, but Ceff and the barghest were faster.
The barghest let out a terrifying howl as it barreled down on its prey, and the young kelpie froze.
“Run!” I screamed, but it was no use.
Skinny legs shaking, it stood as if rooted to the spot. The barghest howled again, and the kelpie let go of its bladder. Its comrades were running now, but they were too far away, and I was too far out of range to risk using one of my throwing knives. At this angle, I might hit Ceff or the young kelpie.
As if in slow motion, the black fur-covered haunches of the hound’s flank bunched, and I knew what would happen next. I poured every ounce of strength into my legs, but I was still too far away. The barghest lunged, going in for the kill.
Ceff pushed the young kelpie out of the barghest’s reach, and fell beneath a ton of nightmare muscle, claws, and fangs.
Chapter 44
Ceff and the barghest went down in a mass of fur and mud. I paced, heart racing, circling the tangle of bodies, but there was no opening. If I threw one of my blades, or jumped into the fray, I’d just as likely skewer Ceff as the barghest.
I gripped my knives, ignoring how damp my hands were inside my gloves, and waited for my shot. My eyes tracked their every movement, with no regard for the rest of the battle. It was as if everything else fell away. It was just me, Ceff, the barghest, and my blades.
I watched, standing on the balls of my feet with every muscle ready to spring into action. Ceff bucked, creating a few inches of space between him and the barghest. I could work with that.
I leapt forward, blades flashing. A throwing knife went into the barghest’s eye socket, extinguishing its red glow. A silver and iron spike went into the base of its neck, piercing the spinal column. The barghest froze, and I dove onto its back, grabbed its head, and dragged a blade across its throat.
I turned my head away as blood sprayed over my gloves and jacket, narrowly missing the bare skin of my face. With a shuddering breath, I heaved with all my strength and pushed the barghest to the ground, freeing Ceff who’d been pinned beneath.
“It’s dead,” I said, wiping the sleeve of my jacket across my face.
I didn’t manage much more than smearing the mud, or possibly blood, spattered across my cheeks and forehead, but I didn’t fall into a crippling vision. Thank Mab. The barghest was dead, but the fight was far from over.
“Come on,” I said, offering Ceff a gloved hand. “Let’s go teach this one’s friends a lesson.”
He shook his head, coming only to his hands and knees. I looked past him to the battle surrounding us, and bit my lip.
“I c-c-cannot,” he said. “You must go.”
The battle once again forgotten, I dropped into a crouch. Ceff was clawed and bitten, but the injuries were mostly superficial. I frowned, eyes roving over his body. My brain just couldn’t connect what I was seeing with what he was saying. His rib cage wasn’t caved in, and his limbs weren’t hanging from a thread or bent at unnatural angels.
“By the tides, ahhh…” he moaned.
His tanned face turned ashen, and his entire body shuddered violently, wracked with spasms.
What was wrong with him? A tiny voice inside my head whispered that whatever the injury was, it had to be bad. Most fae can take a beating, but Ceff had demonstrated an amazing ability to withstand injury. He’d remained stoic even during extreme pain and torture.
“I’m not leaving you here,” I said. “Tell me what’s hurt, and I’ll get you back to the nearest medic.”
The Hunters’ Guild had skilled medical teams who were highly trained in battle triage. Whatever injuries Ceff had sustained, one of Janus’ medics could patch him up. They had to.
A figure slid behind me, and I spun, knives drawn. I was prepared to protect Ceff from the entire Wild Hunt if necessary, but it wasn’t one of Herne’s hounds. It wasn’t even one of our Guild or fae allies. It was Torn.
“What’s wrong with fish breath?” Torn asked, ignoring the blades held at more than one major artery.
“I don’t know,” I said. “Ceff?”
Ceff didn’t answer, only dug his fingers into the muddy ground and moaned.
“Um, Princess,” Torn said, leaning in and stroking his scarred chin. “Is that a barghest bite?”
“Huh?” I asked, staring at my mud caked boots. When had I gotten so filthy? “Yeah, I guess?”
Torn took a step back, and swore.
“Go…now,” Ceff ground out between shaking fits.
I blinked dumbly at the pink-tinged spittle at the corner of his mouth.
“I told you, I’m not leaving your side,” I said, frowning. “We’ll get you to a medic. Torn, a little help here?”
I reached for Ceff, but Torn lunged to stand between us. What the Hell was wrong with him? The man could be a pain in the ass, but this was no time for games.
Ceff was hurt, and he needed our help before one of Herne’s hounds decided we’d make an easy target. The back of my neck itched with the awareness of nearby enemy threats. We had a man down and the battle continued to rage along the mud-slick riverbed.
We were sitting ducks.
“Look at him, Princess,” Torn said, voice abnormally soft. “Open your eyes and truly see what is happening to him.”
It was the lack of mocking tone that finally cut through the haze of shock and denial. I blinked, a ragged breath forcing its way out of my lungs and leaving me feeling unusually empty inside.
“Ceff?” I asked.
But I no longer expected a coherent reply. I’d not only opened my eyes and looked at Ceff, I’d gazed sidelong at him with my second sight. A fine tracery of magic tore its way through his veins, linking his body to the entire Wild Hunt. Even now, he fought against the onslaught, but the magic was too strong.
Ceff was a powerful faerie, a king, but the battle raged on. And when he lost, he’d become one of Herne’s slaves. br />
He’d be one of the Wild Hunt.
“There must be something we can do,” I said. “He’s strong, much stronger than Hendricks. He can fight this.”
But my words lacked conviction. I bit my lip, drawing blood. I would not cry, not now.
“Princess, we have to go,” Torn said. “He’s lasted longer than any other man here, human or faerie, but you’ve seen what a bite from one of Herne’s hounds can do. I don’t know how he’s held on this long.”
But I knew. Ceff and I had a bond, a love that we intended to share for centuries, and he was not going to give up on the future we’d promised each other. He wouldn’t let go of our dream that easily.
“You can fight this, Ceff, I know you can,” I said, ignoring Torn.
“NO ONE IS THAT STRONG,” Ceff said, eyes flashing red.
I flinched, staggering back. The face was Ceff’s, but the voice and the evil in his eyes was all Herne.
I hadn’t known that Herne could speak through his men. It was a nasty trick. My hands began to shake, and I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from screaming.
“Ceff?” I asked. “Ceff!”
The red glow faded, and sweat beaded on his brow.
“Too strong,” he said, panting. “P-p-please, make it stop.”
That one word “please” made my stomach clench and my blood run cold. Ceff was a kelpie king. Faerie kings don’t beg.
“You know what you need to do, Princess,” Torn said.
I whirled on Torn, nearly taking off his head with one of my blades.
“I won’t kill Ceff,” I said. “Not while there’s a chance of saving him.”
“Easy,” he said, lifting his hands.
I turned back to Ceff, shaking my head.
“I…I can’t,” I said. “I won’t give up on you.”
“Then…RUN,” Ceff said.
His voice boomed, full of power, but it wasn’t Herne’s voice. It was Ceff pouring every ounce of royal command into the word. He wanted me to run. He wanted me to be safe, from him.