Chapter One
The Cursed Fae and a Shattered Heart
Rain rolled down the side of Rion’s face as he peered around the stack of piled wood. The fabric wrapping his knee soaked up the muddy water surrounding him. Thunder rumbled through the sky above and lightning snaked across the darkness.
Two Fae warriors screamed over the downpour, instructing five others who promptly raced across the muddy field in the wrong direction.
He smirked.
They knew he was here. Knew The Demon was in their midst and they weren’t taking any chances. He had watched them round up their warriors. Had seen the traps on the ground and redirected their attention on purpose.
It would have been easier to just kill them all. The act of killing didn’t bother him anymore, but there were at least a hundred Fae in this camp, and he didn’t feel like taking them all on at once. Instead, Rion had dispersed his magic across multiple entry points, forcing the warriors to chase after him.
The rain had been a blessing, even if it made his clothes cling annoyingly to his body.
Another group of ten sprinted past with their weapons drawn. He loosed a breath, studied the darkness, then darted from his hiding place. Rion moved across the earth like a wraith. He wasn’t a child anymore, nor a teen. He’d honed his skills to near perfection.
Rion paused beside the window to a small warehouse and peered inside. Empty. Good. They were scrambling.
He couldn’t rely on his sense of smell tonight. A disadvantage due to the water pouring down in droves. But in his current situation, he’d take the advantages over the disadvantages.
He carefully cracked the door and slipped inside.
Crates were piled to the ceiling and lined every wall. Rion found a bar leaning against the nearest one and used it to pry the box open. He saw the straw first and carefully moved it aside before grimacing at the contents.
A dozen glass vials full of a greenish liquid sat in two neat rows, each evenly spaced.
Poison. Just as Saoirse expected. It was an ongoing issue they’d been fighting for a few years. A rebel faction was responsible for using the deadly substance on more than one village that had refused to conform to their delusional ideology.
Rion carefully placed the vials on the floor then scattered the straw. He’d suffered the effects of poisoning before. He would have killed the one responsible had Saoirse not gotten to them first. But this—this was said to drop a Fae in less than five minutes. He’d seen the agonizing effects. Body convulsions. Profusive vomiting. Uncontrolled fever.
Thankfully, someone with a brilliant mind had crafted an antidote and Nàdair’s warriors were now required to carry it on their person at all times. He was no exception, at least where Saoirse was concerned.
Rion opened another lid, carefully set the vials aside, then spread more straw across the floor.
At least it was flammable.
He pulled a match from his pack, threw it into the scattered straw, then sprinted through the open door.
A group of ten warriors waited for him on the other side.
They paused. Their mouths fell open, but Rion didn’t have time to pause. He charged and they stumbled back. Rion shoved the nearest two out of his path, then the building exploded.
Muddy earth rose up behind him to block the shrapnel that flew in all directions. His ears rang, but Rion pivoted in time to see a male racing toward him with six following in his wake.
Rion drew his sword—one hundred on one. Not the best of odds, but there was only one way to see who’d emerge victorious.
Rion raised one arm and a wall of squelching mud rose with him. Those nearest to it tried to dive out of its path, but Rion shoved the dripping magic straight for them. The force of the impact knocked the breath from their lungs. They hit the ground and the mud washed over their bodies, dragging them under.
When facing warriors from Brónach, Rion always ensured he maintained control of everything beneath his feet. He’d learned far too many hard lessons. Seedlings wriggled in the mud, reminding Rion of an angry swarm of insects, but he squashed each, refusing to be caught off guard. There were too many warriors in this camp to allow any mistakes.
The male to Rion’s left lunged, blade drawn, a dozen vines in his wake. Rion smirked at him. Another followed, but his fear already coated the vicinity. Rion crinkled his nose. Someone had wet themselves.
He usually let those who fled escape, but these Fae were part of an organization hell-bent on bringing down their family line. And he couldn’t allow that. For Saoirse and for his pride.
A tree trunk erupted from the ground and spurred toward him. Rion jumped away from it, losing his grip on the ground around his feet. A bush burst from the mud, but Rion used his magic to propel himself into the air, avoiding the snake-like strike from the thorny branches.
More trees emerged and Rion raced along the branches, ducking and dodging everything that came at him. It was often a game. To see how long they could last while he outran their maneuvers. He was always faster. Always stronger. He’d almost grown bored over the last few years, but when he encountered large groups like this one-—
Freedom. That’s what fighting was. A chance for him to use his skills and implement the new ones he’d picked up along the way.
A trunk bent at a ninety-degree angle and slammed into Rion’s side. Breath left him and Rion grimaced before using his magic to grab his own arm and yank himself away from the magic trying to close in.
Rion rolled across the ground, blocked a knife aimed for his throat, then spun in a circle. The surrounding ground lifted all at once. It morphed into hundreds of pieces of rock the size of his palm, then shot out at a high velocity in all directions.
The warriors covered their faces, but Rion was already running for the nearest of them. He drew a knife from his belt and flicked his wrist. It buried itself in the male’s throat. He pulled another out and let it fly. It sank into a male’s chest, stopping his heart on impact.
The next one had recovered enough to block Rion’s sword, but Rion spun and smashed his elbow into the male’s face. The satisfying crunch of bone told Rion he’d broken the male’s nose. Another lunged and Rion grabbed his arm, twisting it back at an unnatural angle.
One strike for each opponent. That’s how he fought groups. Incapacitate each individual until he was left with a pile of injured warriors who would rather crawl away than fight.
Not that he’d let them. He’d seen too many children dead to forgive these monsters.
Rion planted his fist in another male’s face and shoved him away when a sound echoing from the other side of the field drew his attention.
Fae were screaming. Battling. Rion couldn’t afford to stop, but he tried to glance through the pouring rain. Friend or foe? Had Alec sent someone as backup? Unlikely, and Saoirse was busy with a mission of her own.
A knife cut through Rion’s sleeve. He ripped the knife away from the warrior and shoved it through his arm.
Rion shifted positions. He summoned his magic again, this time using it to shove his enemies back. Then he took off toward the new sounds. He still had warehouses to destroy. If his enemies had sent a back-up unit to retrieve the vials, then he needed to put a stop to them first.
Rion stopped short. Three Fae fought side by side, each guarding the other’s backs from the onslaught of warriors rushing toward them. One female, two males.
Not his enemy, then. Were they from Nàdair?
A blade whizzed through the air and he spun, catching it before launching it right back at its owner. He didn’t bother to see if it had landed.
The female’s piercing gaze swung toward him. She made a hand sign and, perplexed, Rion glanced behind. No one else, aside from his enemies struggling to regain their balance.
She was already fighting again by the time he looked back, but—she wasn’t struggling. No, she was dancing around her opponents with grace. A blade swiped toward her and her companion, a male with dark hair, blocked it, sending her attacker flying back.
Rion ducked beneath another swing and broke the arm of the male who had attacked. He let his magic soar, shoving earth and rock through his opponents before turning to look at her again.
She was watching him from the corner of her eye. So were her companions.
She gestured again. More aggressively this time, as if she were aggravated that he hadn’t listened. The thought was almost comical. Rion closed the distance, dispatching warrior after warrior in his wake.
Adrenaline rushed through his veins. His breath was ragged. Alive. This was what being alive felt like.
The earth was always a little more difficult to move when it was wet and it had been raining on and off for days.
The female closed the remaining distance, but Rion kept his guard up in the event she was present for more sinister reasons. He was no stranger to assassins.
But the female wasn’t looking at him. She was too busy focusing on the Fae advancing on them all. Two large groups, one from either side. He wasn’t worried.
“Can you handle the ones on the left?” She was breathless, and her clothes were covered in blood and dirt. She hadn’t just arrived. She’d been on the other side of the field, for how long, he didn’t know.
Rion looked her over. She was covered in cuts and bruises. Her left eye had nearly swollen shut. One of her companions had a thin stretch of fabric hastily tied around a bleeding wound in his upper arm.
“Yeah, I can handle them.”
“There are two other warehouses to destroy,” she said. “One north, the other west. They also have one just on the outskirts. Some have already fled there to—” Her sentence was cut short when magic burst from the ground at their feet.
She jerked her own up and wrestled with the plants, fighting for control. Rion upended the ground, knocking the female and her companions momentarily off balance. He righted them as a courtesy, then proceeded to focus on his own group.
His blade cut through them one at a time. It could have been minutes or hours. The blood pumped through his body, fed by adrenaline as he relished in the sight and sound and smell of battle.
The trio never strayed far from his side and as a group, they brought down Fae after Fae, rendering their magic useless. The three kept a sharp eye out for him and he did the same in turn, always watching for that extra knife that might be thrown his way.
Only when he was afforded a gap did Rion race toward the nearest storehouse. The northern one. He kicked the door in, ripped open one of the crates, and threw a match inside before sprinting away.
Rion made it a few feet before the box exploded, then the ones next to it followed suit. He yanked the ground up to protect his body once again.
Fae were screaming on the outskirts of the storehouse, some swiping at flames, while others grabbed for their throats.
No wonder Alec wanted it destroyed.
Another explosion echoed from the west and two dark silhouettes raced toward the trio.
No one stopped. No one asked for help.
The battle ebbed, slowly quieting. Rion hunted the few who’d attempted to hide, but their rapid heartbeats gave them away. He didn’t give them time to beg for mercy.
Rion wiped the blood from his sword and eyed the female from earlier. The rain had shifted to a light drizzle. She stood in the center of the chaos, whispering to two of her companions while two others shifted through the dead. He didn’t want to know what they might be looking for.
He stared at the five, wondering whether to approach and thank them or get to the last building, destroy everything inside, and make his way home. He’d kill for a hot meal.
The female’s gaze shifted his way. She eyed him for a long moment before approaching, sheathing her sword as she closed in. “Well,” she started, still a bit breathless. “I suppose you don’t need an introduction.”
“You’re from Nàdair?”
She nodded. “We’ve been tailing a small group of them for about a week. They led us here.” She eyed Rion, then their surroundings. “There’s one more storehouse. Do you want the honors?”
Rion looked her up and down, then turned away. “Have at it.”
“We could travel back together if you wanted.”
He raised one hand in farewell and kept walking. He knew better than to trust anyone. He’d learned far too many lessons the hard way.