Chapter 9
Nine
They’ve got me in their sights.
Those other immortals had fallen quickly, leaving Mina as the next target.
She plowed through the mud, that pack steadily pursuing. She was fast, but the wendigos moved across the sucking muck with ease. How close were they? The intermittent rain hindered her senses.
If she died in this place, Mirceo would blame himself for not being there for her, forgetting all his years as her determined protector.
And if Silt escaped this place, he’d be a threat to Mirceo as long as he lived. She simply refused to die before she struck down that sorcerer.
As miles passed beneath her feet, her thoughts turned to Kristoff. Why hadn’t she been able to speak to him when she’d had the chance? She recalled bringing a prized bottle of bloodmead to his villa. He’d accepted the gift with thanks and absently said, “You look well tonight, princess.” She’d stuttered some harebrained reply, almost passed out, then fled.
Now she imagined brave Kristoff storming this realm to rescue her, taking her into his arms. Having faced so many perils, she would have no time for shyness. Instead of stammering, she would clutch his shoulders and command him, “Kiss me, Gravewalker.”
Interrupting her reverie, howls sounded from . . . in front of her ?
She drew up short.
More wendigos approached from ahead. Those creatures had surrounded her? At least twenty of them grew visible through the sheets of rain. They hissed and bared their fangs as they loped closer.
She readied her weapon—that lion shifter’s belt strapped around a large rock—and entered the fray. Swinging her sling, she landed a hit against one’s temple, and a satisfying crack sounded. Brain matter and brown blood oozed.
Though years of training should guide her moves, the plague was like a fire in her, sending her aggression raging.
Using her speed to dart around swiping claws, she landed another blow. Another. Soon five wendigos lay twitching on the ground. Yet then the belt tangled around one’s throat. She abandoned her sling to leap atop the creature’s shoulders, dodging claws as she twisted its head free. The decapitated body stood for long moments. . . .
From her shoulder perch, she spied Silt rushing toward her with two weapons drawn. She met gazes with him. As she surfed the wendigo body to the ground, she whipped its gory head at the sorcerer.
Four wendigos sprang for him at the same time, distracting him; he felled the creatures, and the head struck him in the face.
“Godsdamn it, leech!” He swiped a forearm over his cheek. “I’m here to help you.” Was revenge that important to him? Idiot.
He slashed his way through even more wendigos to reach her. The weapons he carried were lengths of crystal, resembling obsidian, but obviously much stronger. He’d also sourced boots and a jacket.
The wendigos that had been closing in on her turned to him, giving her a moment to catch her breath and grudgingly admire the sorcerer’s skill. When two charged him, he feinted to his left and swung his sword right. He beheaded the pair with a single strike!
He looked worlds away from the sick sorcerer of before. He’d tied back his hair with a strip of leather, revealing all his face, now clean of road grime. His color had returned, which for him was deeply tanned skin.
Pronounced jawline. Aquiline nose. His lips, no longer thinned with misery, appeared chiseled with a sculptor’s care. His eyes had cleared, the golden-hued irises vivid.
The more skill he demonstrated, the more concern she felt for Mirceo. This immortal male—with all his millennia of strength and speed—was a true threat.
Another wendigo leapt for her, breaking her stare, so she used her own speed to get the drop on it and twist off its head as well. As long as she had one . . . She hurled it at Silt as he pivoted to evade another one’s claws.
The head struck him in the shoulder. His lips drew back from his teeth. “Will you desist?”
“No!” Yet then dozens more wendigos loped closer, heeding the others’ howls. Her target shifted from Silt to the baying pack. A single sorcerer and an unarmed vampire couldn’t fight off this many. “Give me one of your weapons!”
He laughed. “Get fucked, leech.”
She gasped at his language. “I’m serious! I’ve trained all my life.”
“All of your two decades? Just stay behind me.”
A claw whistled inches from her face. She booted the creature’s leg, cracking its femur. “I won’t target you again until this threat has passed.”
Seeming to judge her truthfulness—as if she could lie!—he finally said, “I hope you’re as good as you let on.” He tossed one of the crystal blades to her.
Testing the weight with a flourish, she recalled her uncle Viktor’s words: Wielding a sword is so comforting to Mina that it might as well be a shield. Though hideous wendigos bore down on them, she laughed. “Ah, sorcerer, I’m much better than I let on.”
He frowned, as if he couldn’t quite make sense of her.
Laughter fading, she inhaled for focus and began. She felled the closest one with a swift strike, then another. A third. During a brief lull, she spared a glance at the sorcerer.
When a pair charged him, he halved one with his sword’s downswing—then dissected another on the upswing.
Mina continued dropping foes, but her attention kept drifting to the sorcerer. The male she’d viewed as a pitiable magician was actually a warrior. Between the edges of his new trench coat, his skin sheened, his muscles swelling even more. His tattoos moved with mesmeric intensity.
She felt . . . attraction.
Now? For him ? It must be the plague madness taking root!
Focus, Mina. When she decapitated another wendigo, its head somersaulted in Silt’s direction. He sent it flying with the flat of his weapon, then glowered at her.
“That one was accidental!”
Onward she and the sorcerer fought. Her weapon struck bone; his struck bone— clanging, clanging . Martial harmony.
Four larger wendigos surrounded her. She ducked under claw strikes, using her speed to confuse the creatures. Her weapon alleviated their bafflement forever.
When Silt halved the body of a giant one, his gaze found hers and awareness simmered between them—a pair of immortals impressed with one another.
Soon only two corpse-eaters remained. “You want the honors?” Silt asked, sharing foes, a polite gesture.
“Delighted.” With a grin, she sped between the wendigos, twirling with her sword outstretched. Heads tumbled as their bodies collapsed.
Never slowing her momentum, she raced forward to attack the sorcerer.
“The hell?” He blocked with wicked strength. Then a second time.
Stalemate. Out of breath, they circled each other.
“I just saved your life—again—and this is how you thank me?”
“The threat has passed, so I reacquired my former target. Besides, you only saved your bait. I don’t want to be kept alive for a time .”
His lips curled, and he didn’t deny it. “You didn’t overstate your talents with a blade.”
“You didn’t hint of yours,” Mina said, proud of her banter.
“But I’m going to want my sword back.” He must be feeling better; he assessed her figure with a slow perusal.
The flare of interest in a male’s gaze should have mortified her. She felt her old awkwardness surging. Fury, plague, and the heat of battle helped her stifle it. “Indeed? Come and get it.”
“Your eyes are even redder. You’re as much of a maneater as that shifter you attacked.”
“He pounced first,” she said, beginning to explain. But letting this sorcerer assume she was a terror made sense. “And so he paid.”
When more howls rang out from behind them, indicating a number that would dwarf this one, Silt said, “That pack will swell as long as we’re in their territory.”
She’d spotted a rise several dozen miles away. Higher ground out of this muck should give her an advantage. “You and I will resume this at a later time.” She whirled around and sprinted.
But the sorcerer was right on her heels.