30. The First Battle pt. 2
30
THE FIRST BATTLE PT. 2
S he pressed her back against the wall, knees pulled to her chest as she cowered like the weak heirus everyone thought her to be.
The chain fell over the clammy skin of her arms and chest as she held her hands firmly to her ears, blocking out the screams. The cries. The clanging of swords and the sounds of battle.
She wasn’t used to this violence. Didn’t know the first thing about it.
Luella felt like she might throw up the measly amount of food in her system.
Books can only offer so much wisdom. And none of the war stories and adventurous tales she had read could have prepared her for… this.
And she knew this battle was but a mere drop of the real horrors war could hold. For all their perseverance and might, the attackers didn’t hold a chance against the savagery of Serpentis.
The soft padding of footsteps broke up the sound of her labored breathing.
She clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle her breaths, far too loud in the small space—a dead giveaway of her hiding space.
"Come out, come out, little heirus." A voice taunted in a low, almost friendly, whisper. "I won’t hurt you," the speaker promised.
As if she would believe him.
Luella pressed her back more firmly against the wall, eyes squeezing shut as she prayed and prayed.
She was sitting underneath a small table, the space so tiny that she barely fit. Her knees ached from how close she was pressing them to her chest, contorting her limbs to fold as small as possible. Her shoulder wouldn’t stop throbbing, a constant and persistent, burning pain.
The male gave a low chuckle, and one by one, the dim candlelight in the alcove went out. A small trickle as the flames puffed out of existence like they had never even been lit in the first place.
It cast the alcove in total darkness, and Luella’s heart came to a dead stop in her chest as the sound of footfalls grew closer, stopping right before where she was hiding.
Booted feet and the edges of the male’s legs shimmered in the darkness, barely perceptible in her periphery.
Ghostly pale fingers gripped the edge of the table. Then, ever so slowly, the male leaned down, breath almost as jagged as hers. A blood-splattered, pale face peeked under the table, lips curving up into a wicked grin. Shadows were in his eyes.
She screamed, a choked, muffled cry. It only seemed to excite the male more.
"There you are. We’ve been looking for you."
Without warning, strong hands wrapped around her ankles, pulling her from under the table. Luella scrambled and kicked, clawed and hissed like a feline, but he was far too strong for her. Her shoulder ached with every movement.
"No, no!" Fear clouded her voice, turning it into a trembling, pitiful thing.
The male’s long, dark hair tumbled over his shoulder as he unsheathed a dagger, the silver of the blade glinting in the dark room. "He’ll be pleased we caught you. You haven’t been easy prey." He held the dagger between his teeth while his other hand pulled a length of harsh twine from his pants pocket. He snapped it before him and started to tie it around her ankles.
"Who are you speaking about? W-who sent you?" Luella demanded. The quiver in her limbs gave away her fear, even as she infused steel into her voice.
"You don’t know?" The male stopped, a hand circling her ankle as his deeply shadowed eyes squinted at her. "Damn, when he told me the fae were clueless, I thought it was an exaggeration. They haven’t told you anything?"
She shook her head, confused. "Told me what ?"
"Let’s keep the suspense going, heirus," he taunted. "All in due time."
Luella resisted the urge to cross her arms and, instead, jammed her toe into the male’s side. Hard.
"You little fucker!" he hissed. His hands grew uncomfortably tight on her ankles, and he pressed the tip of the dagger into her thigh. The point of the blade drew a sharp and firm line up her pale skin, painting a strip of scarlet.
Blood bloomed and coated the material of her dress, and the sharp stinging made her whimper.
It wasn’t a deep cut. But it hurt nonetheless. Combined with her throbbing shoulder, she felt faint.
"I don’t think he’d care much if I brought you bruised and bloodied." The male’s shadowed eyes tracked where she was cradling her shoulder with one hand, and he pounced.
He lifted the dagger from her thigh and flipped it in his grasp to hold it by the blade. Blood tracked down his arm as he gripped it tightly, the sharpened, silver edges cutting into his palm.
Before Luella could jerk away, he rammed the pommel of the dagger right into the side of her shoulder.
White hot pain lanced down her arm like lightning.
Luella screamed, throat constricting and eyes welling up with tears.
"What do you… want from me?" she squeezed out.
Her head thumped against the ground, fingers weakly cradling her shoulder. Her whole side felt numb.
"That’s the thing, little heirus. I don’t want anything from you. But he does."
With a clang, the male dropped the dagger on the ground—his first mistake.
The rope cut into her ankles as he finished looping it around and tying it off, his focus solely on the length of twine as he moved to bind her wrists.
His second mistake.
In the darkness of the room, a flash of white crept along the corners.
Luella’s eyes tracked the blob, unable to make out what, exactly, she was looking at.
A slight sound—a snarl.
Teeth glinted in the shadows.
And it pounced.
In a blur of sharp teeth and sharper growls, a white wolf tore into the male, closing its jaw around his arm and dragging him away from Luella with a forceful tug.
He let loose a loud and wailful cry. Blood spurted from the wound as the wolf tore a chunk of flesh from his arm and spit it out as though it tasted rancid.
She scooted back against the wall, one arm under her as her other was held close to her chest. Her bound feet slipped across the quickly spreading puddle of blood, the warmth seeping into her feet and staining the brown twine of her bindings a deep maroon.
Two more wolves waited in the entrance to the alcove, nostrils flaring as they scented the fresh blood permeating the air. Their snouts nudged away the curtain keeping the room encased in darkness.
A hand joined the wolves, parting the curtains to the side and revealing a sight that should have made Luella tremble further. But she could only feel a sweet sense of relief flood through her bones.
Tharen had found her.
The Prima’s icy eyes swept over the room, taking in the wolf finishing off the male.
He no longer made noise. And his limbs…
Bile crawled up her throat.
They were scattered over the room. Little bits and pieces of mangled flesh and torn-apart appendages.
A sharp whistle cut through the room.
Tharen pulled his fingers from his lips, commanding the wolf to heel.
"Akira," he barked.
The wolf lifted its snout at the call of its master. Blood coated the fur around its mouth and left smudges of red on its black nose. Deadly fangs flashed as a pink tongue peeked out, sated.
Akira gave a soft rumble and trotted over to its master, sitting back on its haunches near Tharen and the other two wolves.
Tharen smirked as he noted the bindings on Luella’s ankles. "Need some help, little lamb?"
"Not from you," Luella growled, scooting back against the wall. But it must not have been as ferocious a noise as she wished.
Tharen scoffed, his heavy boots thudding on the ground as he walked closer and crouched near her.
He had left the curtains parted, and light filtered in. Shadows cut over the mage’s face. From what she could see, blood splattered in a macabre pattern over his tanned skin, and the inky black tattoos etched into his neck and chest stood out starkly against the red.
Even with all the blood on him, the mage didn’t appear hurt but exhilarated, more alive than she had ever seen him.
"Sure about that?" Tharen tapped her ankle, doing nothing to remove the twine keeping her trapped.
"Y-yes." Luella sniffed, her lower lip trembling.
Call her stubborn, but she would make do without any help from the likes of him.
As if he could read her thoughts, he said, "Stubborn little thing."
Tharen pressed his face closer to hers, and in the veil of shadows encasing the room, it was a rather intimate position. Luella was acutely aware of his sweaty, muscled chest brushing against hers; his large, lethal, and combat-honed body dwarfing her frame where she sat tucked against the wall. Her throat bobbed with a swallow.
"Know when to pick your battles, Princess." His nose brushed against hers, and her head thumped against the wall as she tried to move away from him. "This isn’t the time to be stubborn."
Tharen started to unwind the rope, his fingers deft and sure as he quickly unraveled them, muttering under his breath, "He did a shitty job at tying you."
Now free, she rolled her ankle and braced her hands against the wall to push herself up.
Well…
She attempted to, at least.
A cry of pain was torn from her lips. Luella fell back down against the wall, her arm giving out under her.
The wall scraped over her back as she shifted her body to relieve the pressure on her side. The pain was worse, a throbbing burn that radiated from her arm socket and stretched out all along her side.
The mage’s icy eyes grew wilder. "You’re hurt? Where?"
"My shoulder," Luella replied weakly.
In a move that was far more gentle than she would have expected from him, Tharen touched her forearm, skimming his fingers over her elbow and up to her arm socket. Just the tiniest brush of his fingers, and she squirmed away from the pain, letting out a soft cry.
Not deterred from her protests, Tharen poked and prodded at her swollen skin.
"Dislocated." His eyes flashed as he called on his magic and firmly pressed along her collarbone, touching a spot that made her wheeze. "And a hairline fracture on your sternum."
Luella bit her lip so hard she tasted blood. Anything to stop herself from crying out again. He didn’t deserve to know she hurt. Didn’t deserve to be witness to her weakness.
"I can’t heal you here. We’ll get you back to my apothecary."
"But…" Luella started. "What about the battle?" With his touches no longer prodding and his hands resting against her skin, she leaned into his touch, exhaustion weighing her down.
His features grew sharp with worry. "It’s almost over. They didn’t even stand a chance. Not against us."
"If that’s true, then why do you look so frightened?"
Tharen’s grip grew unrelenting on her shoulder, and Luella gritted her teeth against the deluge of pain. "I don’t get scared, little lamb." The mage all but hissed the words in her face, so close she could feel the hot puffs of his breath against her cheeks and lips.
She didn’t want to counter him.
But she knew what she saw.
Tharen was scared.
If their attackers weren’t a match for them, and he knew Serpentis would prevail, why did his countenance contradict his words? His tone was sure, yet his posture was on edge, shoulders tense and jaw clenched, the vein on his temple pulsed, and his tanned hands were white from how hard his free hand gripped his weapon.
Fear.
His snowy scent was coated in. Turning fresh white flakes into mottled clumps and melting puddles.
She breathed out through her nose, not willing to contest his claim.
"How will we get to your apothecary?" Luella changed the subject.
Tharen reached behind him and pulled free one of his longswords, the hilt encrusted with blood-splattered jewels. The blade was already coated in thick blood.
Strong hands went under her thighs, lifting her from the ground and tucking her against his chest. He was careful to keep her injured side away from him, a hand cradled protectively over her bad shoulder. It seemed he wasn’t even aware of the action, and Luella didn’t want to draw attention to it—it seemed the psychotic and strong-willed mage wasn’t as impervious as he claimed.
Instead of carrying her with both arms, he hoisted her legs around his waist, nudging her uninjured arm to grip his neck. Her thighs clenched as she held on, and the position left Tharen’s hands free to wield his sword. But on the downside, it put her far too close for comfort with him. Her hand brushed the hilt of the other sword at his back, and she skimmed her fingertips over his nape, his skin warming her.
Tharen’s braids brushed against her cheek from where her head was nestled into the crook of his neck, and beads of sweat dotted his tattooed neck, mingling with the bits of blood coating his skin.
Luella’s nose brushed against his pulse point, and she stifled a sigh.
A sharp whistle cut through the room as Tharen called his wolves to his side.
The trio of vicious beasts banded behind him, lips curling back from their teeth and hackles raised as Tharen lifted his sword, prepared to face the waning battle outside the alcove.
"Hold on," Tharen instructed.
A shiver wracked her frame as his chest rumbled under her. "Okay," she breathed.
The shadows clung to them as if urging them to stay in their midst. Or to keep them trapped.
Dying and weak battle cries sounded around her. Muffled pleas and frail calls.
It was almost over.
Luella curled closer to Tharen, thighs tightening around his waist.
It was almost over.
The words played like a mantra within her head, resounding in an echoed chorus with every slash of Tharen’s sword or sweep of his hand, his magic killing the dwindling attackers from a distance.
Not one drop of blood landed on her.
Nor did any assailants get close to her.
The throne room was littered with bodies, and the few attackers that were left were not in good shape. Her nose brushed against Tharen’s neck as she peeked behind her. Merely a few were left. She had escaped the worst of the battle tucked away—like a helpless babe—in the alcove.
All the attackers that were left standing were males, their bodies rugged and strong, expressions fierce. But they were still no match for Serpentis.
Bastian lazily reclined on a settee on the far side of the room, not a hair out of place or a finger lifted as he felled the attackers. His eyes flashed, the red nearly glowing. With his Mind magic, the vampire only had to look at someone to make them fall. Blood oozed out of his victims’ eyes, ears, and noses, and then, they dropped to the ground, comatose, as Bastian wiped every piece of awareness from their minds, turning them into an empty husk, unable to do anything but lay in a puddle of their own blood as death took them.
Tharen shifted to grip only one of her thighs, his fingers digging in deep as he threw out his other hand, a swath of orange fire burst from his fingertips, lighting a weary male’s entire body up in flames. His sword clattered to the ground, and he let out a pitiful wail as he burned, embers crackling. A charred crisp was all that was left of him.
The fetid scent of burning flesh assaulted her senses. Luella’s nose pressed into Tharen’s neck, seeking refuge from the effluvium.
Silent as night and shadow, black feathers fluttered to the ground around her right before Graves materialized beside them, knees bent and a sword gripped in his hands. His cowl was pulled up over the lower half of his face, hood over his head as his deep blue eyes scanned the room. The raven shifter pressed his back to Tharen’s, poised to strike.
"Took you long enough," Graves muttered.
"Just say you missed me," Tharen retorted.
Graves huffed under his breath and flung a dagger across the room. With a thunk, the blade buried into the chest of an oncoming attacker, blood spurting from the wound. "You wish."
"I’m surprised you parted with that dagger," Tharen said, a finger making a circle as he conjured up his Aer magic, lifting an assailant high to the shattered skylight before jerking his hand back down, their body cracking against the marble floors upon impact.
Blood seeped from the back of the male’s busted head, and Luella grew ill at the sickly sight.
Graves muttered a curse under his breath, head directed to where said dagger was buried deep in the dead male’s chest; the hint of the blade that was exposed above his chest cavity glistened with blood. "It was one of my favorites, but I don’t see how I had any choice in the matter." Suddenly, as if taking note of Luella wrapped around the mage, he poked her cheek. "Okay?" he mumbled.
She had to strain to hear him from how his cowl muffled his words.
"I—I guess." But it was a lie, and if the way his eyes narrowed into slits was any indication, he knew it.
From across the room, Bastian stood and sauntered over, sidestepping the maze of bodies littering the ground. His mouth opened wide as he yawned, and webs of red glowed from his half-lidded eyes.
"That was rather uneventful," the vampire remarked.
It was quiet in the room, the lingering cries of the dying were gone, and only the living courtiers and Serpentis soldiers remained.
They had won.
Strange how her enemy’s victory made her heart sing when it once was her downfall.
Luella felt safe enough to leave the mage’s hold. She tapped against Tharen’s shoulder to be let down, and his grip on her thighs and waist loosened. Her gown rode up over her thighs as her legs dropped from his waist; she hurried to right it, the broken links of the chain brushing against the floor as her hands moved, but Bastian beat her to it, smoothing down the rumples with pristine and clean hands.
Az lumbered over, shackled hands held in front of him. Splatters of blood coated his skin, and her eyes burned as she searched for any wounds, but she saw none. He appeared relatively unharmed. His chains dragged against the ground, and he held a piece of the length, tightening it around his fingers like a noose. Blood coated the sturdy steel, and little droplets fell from the chains, plinking against the puddles on the floor.
The demon leaned down and nuzzled his face against her cheek, his horns brushing against the crown of her head. "Angel," he rumbled.
She carefully lifted her good arm, pressing her fingertips against the side of his face in acknowledgment.
"Are you alright?" he asked.
Luella opened her mouth, then promptly closed it. She couldn’t lie to him, so she gave a soft shake of her head. He growled, shackled hands tugging her against him. Her injured shoulder knocked into his side, and she choked out a pained gasp.
Az drew back, amber eyes frantic as he searched her, holding her body out from him as he scoured her, from the blood on her feet to her tangled hair. "What is it?"
"My shoulder." She cradled her arm to her chest, protective.
The muted happiness over their survival and the shock from the horrors had numbed the pain, but now, it was back in full force. A gnawing ache that lanced down her arm socket and radiated over her chest—from the fracture in her sternum, no doubt.
Tharen walked to the male Graves had killed with his dagger. He braced a hand on the male’s shoulder and tugged the blade free. It gave way with a soft, squelching noise, blood dribbling from the blade. Graves silently held up a gloved hand as Tharen tossed the dagger to him.
Even with the cowl covering his mouth, she imagined a tiny grin playing upon his scarred lips. She must have imagined it, but his eyes crinkled as he spun the dagger around in his grip, solemn.
"She’ll need a healer," Graves said. He didn’t even look her way.
Luella’s jaw ticked, and she stepped out of Az’s embrace, ignoring the twinge in her chest from how even the simplest act jostled her shoulder. "I am here, you know. Y-you don’t have to speak around me."
"Is the little lamb growing some teeth?" Tharen taunted.
Bastian gave a drawn-out sigh. "We don’t have time for this. In case anyone has forgotten"—he gestured around them—"King Vale has not returned yet."
The roars and wing beats of the dragons above had grown so distant that Luella had nearly forgotten—she guessed it could be forgiven with her own harrowing brush with death. But she wasn’t sure if the lack of noise was a sign of triumph or failure.
The throne room was silent, save for their talking, and the absence of noise made everything sharper. She was more aware now than ever of their stares, the cadence of their words, and the power that radiated from them all…
Tharen glanced up briefly. "He’ll be back soon."
"How do you know?" Luella blurted.
Tharen looked at her, ice-filled eyes boring holes into her quivering frame. Az settled a hand on her side and pulled her back into him, careful of her shoulder this time.
Graves tucked his dagger back into his sleeve. "The King always wins." Confidence made the raven shifter’s voice firm, and she was left with no choice but to believe him.
Luella lifted her eyes to the sky above.
Scant rays of golden dawn light peeked through the clouds, breaking up the darkness.
Morning was coming, and with it, freedom from the terrors that had infiltrated the night.