Chapter 46
Chapter forty-six
Before they could reach the man, a black tide of the dead surged in their path, closing ranks around their master. Skarn vanished in the crush, swallowed by a wall of armored corpses.
Meanwhile, somewhere beyond that once-living barricade, Fang Unit fought their way toward the barrier. Fire roared, flaring against the darkened sky as arcs of lightning split the haze in jagged streaks.
“Fuck!” Rynna dropped, dirt and ash kicking into her eyes as a pike whistled past her ear. She rolled under its reach, too late to catch another glimpse of Kaelith’s trailing black hair.
A sudden blast of wind snatched her head around. Fenn stood ahead of her, his arm extended, fingers splayed wide. The gale ripped through the dead, bodies buckling in its wake.
“Step by step!” His voice cut through the din. “We’ll get to him. Just keep moving.”
Two throwing knives appeared in one hand as the other slammed down to the earth. The ground answered, stone shoving upward in jagged slabs that crushed the legs of the nearest dead. Fenn spun then, blades carving clean through one rotted neck, before driving into the eye socket of another.
Debris from his attack swirled past her face, stinging her eyes, and through it, she caught sight of the other man.
Kaelith moved ahead of them, his body flowing like water, twisting away from spears and knives in one seamless chain of motion.
Each turn was a pivot into violence of wind-filled gusts, stripping flesh from bone.
And when his head angled toward her, his eyes were nothing but black.
Shit. It had only been days since they turned. The Hunger would rise surrounded by all this death.
“Kaelith!” She caught Fenn’s arm before he could turn away. In the next heartbeat, the world folded, and they reappeared at Kaelith’s side.
Fuck the Rules.
A serpent exploded from his palm, scales catching what little light there was. It coiled around the neck of an advancing corpse, the crush of its body drawing out a brittle crack before the thing sagged.
“Don’t drink their blood!” She closed the distance, her hand closing around the snake’s head.
Kaelith’s mouth opened, teeth flashing, but she shoved the creature hard into his arms before he could argue.
Then, her blades were already moving, silver arcs catching the flicker of fire from wherever Bran fought, crossing and uncrossing in the space of a thought.
She blinked in and out of reach, reappearing where the undead pressed thickest, cutting through tendon and spine in snappish, economical motions.
The copper tang clung to the air, thick enough to taste, filling her nose. A sharp ache bloomed in her gums as her fangs pushed longer, and her vision tunneled, the edges blurring into shadow while a deeper, hungrier strength coiled within her.
No. She forced it down. If Fenn or Kaelith lost control, she needed to be able to call them back.
Her blade punched through a zombie’s ribs while her free hand shot up to rip his spear away before he could swing again. Stumbling back, she shook her head hard, the motion breaking the creeping haze.
“Dead blood is like poison!” Her voice cut across the din, a reminder more to herself than the other two.
Kaelith’s head whipped past her, hair flaring in the wind as his neck coiled around a soldier’s body, squeezing until the telltale fracture of ribs cracked through the air.
“I wasn’t planning on drinking them, pet.” The black in his eyes had receded. “Dead flesh offers no appeal. Your little infection hasn’t changed that.”
Light bled across her vision, and the far-off barrier ignited—red blazing through the sky in a violent, searing burst. Heat brushed her face, too sudden and wrong, as if the air itself had been slapped. She froze, blade half-raised. So did Kaelith. Even Fenn’s next strike hung suspended mid-swing.
The fire flared again, brighter this time, rattling her teeth in a pulsing shockwave as the barrier shuddered again.
The air bent with it, just as Taren’s scream ripped across the field and the glow guttered into a sickly green.
Fenn’s eyes cut to hers, the tight set of his jaw hiding nothing. Worry bled through his stare.
She gave one nod, calling, “Eyes up!”
Her boots dug into the churned earth as she closed the distance between them in a sprint, hurdling over pieces of dead Hollow-born, dragging ropey viscera through the dirt in her wake.
Fenn crouched low, both hands open and braced. She planted one foot in his palms, feeling the sudden coil of strength—muscle and Source power—release beneath her. The world lurched as he launched her upward, wind punching beneath her in a focused blast of element.
Her body spun, flipping in a controlled arc. While underneath, the field bent and shifted in fire and shadow, the tangle of living and dead. She leveled herself midair, eyes fixing forward, scanning for the barrier…and for the rest of her team.
There!
Taren charged ahead, his great sword gleaming in a vortex of elemental fury. Lightning, wind, and water swirled around his blade as he swung it wide, cutting through swathes of the dead, blow after blow.
“Keep moving!” He planted his feet and sent a shockwave of earth through the ground, toppling the wave in front of them.
Bran dove in over the downed enemies, his hands blazing with fire. “I’ll make a path!” He unleashed torrents of flames at the dead, while flashes of power shot from his eyes.
“Pay attention, Bran!” Elara yelled through the roar of the elements.
“Now is not the time for showing off!” Her palms burst forward—one, two, three—and each strike sent a burst through the air, hitting the enemy like cannon blasts.
The three closest undead behind Bran jerked backward, limbs flailing before they crumpled into the dirt.
Rynna's ascent slowed, then briefly paused before gravity reclaimed her.
To the right of her team, Skarn was closing in, his purple robes drifting like smoke. To the left, a wall of dead poured toward them in an unbroken wave.
“Shit.” She spread her arms and legs wide, slowing the fall, voice breaking across the chaos. “On your left!”
Bran and Elara’s heads looked up in unison, eyes locking on her before they shifted position, sliding to guard Taren’s left flank.
Rynna tipped her weight, tucking her body, then pulled her arms and legs tight into a dive, sending herself into a direct drop.
And as the ground rose toward her, Fenn’s dark shape filled her sight.
Smile tugging at her lips, she wondered, again, if he’d come up with this nonsensical scouting technique all those years ago just to lay hands on her during missions.
He caught her out of the air without flinching, hands closing on her waist before redirecting her momentum into a sideways arc. Her feet hit the ground in a low skid, dirt spraying as she came to a halt, grinning widely, adrenaline buzzing through her blood.
Kaelith spun away from a group of undead, wind screaming around him as bodies came apart mid-lunge. “Since when do you fly?” His voice rolled low, eyes flicking over her.
“You’re not the only one with tricks.” Fenn drove forward, stone erupting down the path he carved to her. “Rynna. Report.”
“Taren’s still testing the barrier. Elara and Bran are holding his left.” She glanced past Fenn to Kaelith. “Skarn’s approaching from their right.”
“Then that’s our position.” Fenn stepped into Kaelith’s path.
Kaelith’s head tilted, that pointed smile spreading. “Skarn is mine.”
Fenn didn’t pause, just lifted his arm to the other man’s shoulder. “We approach together.”
Fangs bared, his gaze dropped to Fenn’s grip on his shoulder and then back to his face. “You don’t understand what he did.”
“It doesn’t matter. I won’t have you risk the team.”
They stood like that, the space between them tight as a drawn bowstring, the dead closing in but neither moving first.
“We’ll hold the space so you can face him.” Rynna’s fingers closed around Kaelith’s hand. And, before either could respond, she reached out with her other hand and caught Fenn’s, adding, “As a team.”
Both men went still, their grips hardening without a word.
“Agreed?” she growled as the dead pressed closer, their moans bleeding into the crackle of power building at her fingertips.
Two weapons lifted in answer—Fenn’s blades and Kaelith’s claws.
“Good.” She nodded, gathering her Will for the jump.
The world broke around them, air collapsing inward as pressure popped her ears. Then it spat them out into the open scar of a clearing she'd seen during her flight.
Skarn’s silhouette wavered ahead.
“I do not like your method of traveling, Rynna.” Kaelith clutched his stomach on landing.
Lunging, she caught his arm before he could topple as Fenn’s blade came up, his other hand flaring with power.
The rocks around them tore into the air, scattering in a shrieking whirlwind that sent any nearby enemies scattering.
But through it all, a high-pitched laugh cut through the storm, close enough to raise the hairs on her neck.
Kaelith went rigid. And in the next moment, he straightened, shaking her grip from his arm.
“Kae?” She raised her arms, palms up.
“That one owes me a debt, Rynna.” He wouldn’t look at her. “Don’t stand in my way.”
She hadn’t realized how much weight he’d been carrying, or how deep the hunger to settle it ran. He’d been entirely focused on her since she’d brought him back.
Then it hit her—white-hot. This was his version of the nightmare. Memories of pain lanced through her, snapping her limbs taut as the image of a greenish sphere flared around her.
“I’m here.” She swallowed it even as her fangs sliced her tongue, and her pulse roared in her ears, knowing that the one who caused him such harm still walked. “Do what you need.”
“Rynna!” Fenn’s voice was faint through the blood-rush.
She snarled, shaking her head clear. Then, her hand rose, tangling in the thick black at the root of Kaelith’s ponytail, yanking his face to her until their noses nearly touched.
“You fucking make him pay.” She held him there. “Right now. In this moment. Nothing else matters. Fenn and I will give you the time you need.”
“Rynna!” Fenn’s voice rose, closer.
Behind them, the tide of undead jerked to a stop, mid-step, arms flailing, fingernails scraping at empty air mere inches from the trio.
“What the hell…” Rynna’s fingers itched at her sides, watching the corpses writhe.
“Perhaps the apprentice would also like a one-on-one with our new friend,” Fenn said, eyes cutting to Kaelith. “Are you ready for this?”
A shimmer caught in the other man’s gaze, the pupils tightening to knife-thin slits of purple light. Shadows pooled around his irises, and when his hands flexed, each fingertip gleamed—nails stretching even further as they hardened into hooked points built for ripping.
No words passed between them. The dead began to move, one after another, stepping aside to clear a crooked path.
Kaelith’s weight rocked forward, but Rynna’s hand shot out, catching his arm again. “Don’t do anything stupid. I will chase you into Hell itself just to tear your dick off if you get yourself killed.”
He actually blinked, startled—right as a flicker of purple flashed between the bodies ahead. Skarn.
“I would never do something so foolish as dying,” Kaelith scoffed. “Not now that I’ve got you back.”
Rynna didn’t answer. Her fingers lingered on Kaelith’s, feeling the faint tremor there—not from fear, but from the coiled hunger she’d seen take men apart from the inside.
The kind that didn’t care what was left standing after it was fed.
She let go slowly, forcing herself to inhale, the ache in her chest settling like lead as he stalked forward. Alone.
Fenn moved up beside her, his presence a wall at her flank. And, together, they watched the path ahead as the dead peeled back one by one, making way for Skarn’s slow advance.