Chapter 13 Brynn #2
Archer draws his sword—because of course he has a sword—with a hilt that screams “I spent my family fortune on this.” But it's the runes etched along the blade that make my skin crawl, lighting up electric blue as he takes his stance.
“Where did you take our dragon?” he demands, like we've got a fire-breathing lizard stashed under the bed.
The other lieutenants fan out like they're posing for some clearblood boy band photo.
Gordon and Phillips—Tweedledumb and Tweedledumber—swing battle axes with glowy runes that match Archer's sword.
Ezra's got this whip thing with a nasty metal tip that could slice a person in half from ten feet away.
And Rennington? Dual daggers, because of course Mr. Fancy Pants needs two weapons when everyone else makes do with one.
“Wouldn't you like to know,” Corvin says, bluffing his ass off.
Smart move. Let them think we've got their precious dragon stashed in our basement or something.
Less chance they'll nuke our entire coven if they think their scaly friend might get caught in the crossfire.
And considering our spiritual batteries are running on fumes right now, we need every advantage.
“All you have to do is hand him over or point us in the right direction,” Archer says, all reasonable-like, as if he's not threatening to murder us. “It's the only way we're walking away from here without killing all of you.”
“There are more of us in Darkbirch than what you see here,” Corvin fires back.
“But you don't have our arsenal,” Rennington sneers, nodding at the dozen goons circling our gates like vultures eyeing roadkill.
Chad curses under his breath.
I follow his gaze and—double crap with sprinkles on top.
Their armor's got these channels running through it, pulsing with golden light like molten honey.
Dragon juice. The same stuff Mazrov used to nearly barbecue Jax?
My stomach does a backflip, then a nosedive.
My knees go all wobbly, like they're suddenly made of jello.
“They're using dragon fire,” I squeak, my voice doing that embarrassing thing where it sounds like I've been huffing helium.
“They lost their dragon,” Chad says, shaking his head like he can't believe what he's seeing. But it's right there, glowing like Christmas lights from hell.
Ezra's face twists into something ugly. “The little we salvaged from our reserves we diverted into our best fighters. They may not have Mazrov's capacity, but they'll do.”
We are so monumentally screwed.
It stings on my skin—the raw, lethal crackle of auras going toe-to-toe. Corvin’s eyes burn as he hisses, “We can’t turn back now. Stand your ground, darkbloods! These sniveling bastards came to kill us. What do we say?”
A guard snarls back, “Your souls are ours!” and everything explodes.
Shimmers of energy snap between us, darkblood against clearblood, and I taste ozone as golden pulses arc from their armor.
Corvin and Chad barrel into the five lieutenants head-on, axes singing death.
My heart hammers. I can’t let them down.
Clutching my dagger, I press the blade into my palm and etch the first rune—Angus’s old sigil—watching the marking flare scarlet.
“I need you three,” I mutter, voice tight.
Ezra is armorless but he lashes out with his nasty-looking whip. The crack of steel against air is the closest thing to a war drum I’ve ever heard.
The whip’s blade whistles toward my throat. “Brynn, duck!” Chad bellows. Without thinking I drop low and score the second rune—Ezekiel’s mark—into my flesh. Helena’s husband was a genius with potions; I can almost smell his amber brews as the symbol blazes blue.
But Ezra’s relentless. Every snap of that whip digs closer to bone as I dance sideways across the road. “Use a Gaudian Pulse—take him out!” Chad shouts, and I see his magic light up as he fights off Gordon and Phillips.
Chaos bites in every direction. Their weapons thrum with spells that amplify every strike, and behind them march a dozen suits of dragon-fire armor, each one hotter than hell.
My pulse echoes in my ears as I roll across the gravel, tumbling until I skid to a ragged stop by an ancient sycamore—first sentinel of Darkbirch’s western woods.
“I can’t… pulse now! It’ll knock me out!” I gasp at Chad, scrambling up. “Draw them into the forest!”
He blinks, then nods. The surviving darkbloods rally, driving the clearbloods off the road, past the gate, deeper into the moon-shadowed canopy where real nightmares wait.
I haul myself upright. Ezra stalks in, whip arcing overhead like a viper about to strike. I tighten my grip on my dagger, ready to carve the final rune—and unleash the darkness that only we know how to wield.
I carve the third rune into my palm, and the sting melts into that weird tingly feeling that's basically an old friend at this point. Goosebumps parade down my spine as I call out her name. “Helena. I need you. Like, right freaking now, please...”
Corvin's holding his own against Dumb and Dumber—sorry, Rennington and Archer. They swing, he dodges, they curse, he smirks. Classic Corvin. He's backing them into the eastern woods, which is exactly where those pretentious clearblood jerks don't want to go. Score one for the home team.
A flash of fire lights up the trees.
Someone screams. A body hits the ground with that awful meaty thud sound that'll definitely feature in my nightmares later. The smell of burnt human wafts over, and I gag as the wind picks up.
“I never quite got your name,” Ezra says with what he probably thinks is a sexy villain grin. “I'd like to know who it is I'm killing tonight.”
The woods around us are basically a horror movie soundtrack—screams, fighting, the whole shebang—but there's something else too.
Low growls. Rattling that definitely isn't maracas.
Leaves and branches snapping like nature's own warning system.
The moon hangs overhead like a giant spotlight, practically screaming “It's showtime!” to every nasty thing that calls these woods home.
“It's Brynn,” I reply, planting my feet instead of backing up like a sane person would. “Brynn Salem.”
“Ah, Salem scum,” Ezra says. “I'll kill you slow, then.”
“I'm not alone here.” Gods, could I sound any more like a cheesy horror movie victim?
“Do you think I'm afraid of whatever devil spawn or vampires or werewolves lurk in these woods?” He laughs like I just told him the lamest joke ever. “We came equipped for all of them. Don't think you and your people will get much from pulling us into this place.”
Another scream rips through the night, this one with that special pitch that says “something is eating me alive.”
This time, Ezra flinches. Not so cocky now, are we?
“Oh, I think we're getting something, which is better than nothing,” I say, channeling my inner badass even though my knees feel like jelly.
My fingertips buzz like I stuck them in an electrical socket.
Helena, Ezekiel, and Angus are here—well, their ghostly essences—making the air feel thick as soup.
They're not at full power, but hey, three partially charged ancestors versus one clearblood with a fancy whip?
I'll take those odds. I'm saving my Gaudian Pulse for when I can practically kiss him on the nose.
Though with that whip keeping me at a distance?
Yeah, fat chance of that happening anytime soon.
“It won't change your outcome,” Ezra snaps and lashes his whip out again.
I dodge—barely—and the sharp whip slices into the tree beside me. Wood explodes like nature's shrapnel, and something hot stings my cheek. Blood trickles into the corner of my mouth, metallic and warm.
“Ah! You absolute trash goblin!” I spit. At least it’s only wood splinters that caught me, and not the tip of his whip.
But he's already winding up for round two.
My hand shoots up on its own—literally, like, not-my-decision up—glowing red-hot as the whip jerks backward. That was fast. Ezra's face does this priceless goldfish impression while distant screams echo through the woods. Please be a clearblood dying horribly, please be a clearblood...
“What the actual...” I whisper, as three distinct personalities flood my brain. My ancestors just hijacked my body like it's a rental car with unlimited mileage. Their cold emotions crash through my head—ancient, pissed-off, and ready to throw down.
Ezra's still doing his stunned mullet routine, so I swipe blood from my lip and fling a shimmering pulse at him. But this isn't my usual sad little sparkle attack—this thing blazes crimson like a radioactive light.
He ducks, then throws his whip at me again. But it lashes a few inches to my left; another miss.
“My turn,” I say and rush toward him, one thumb already drawing the Gaudian rune in my right palm.
The closer I get, the better the target.
“Think again.” Ezra smirks.
I hear it. The hiss of the whip coiling and coming up from behind. The snap in the air as it wraps around my neck. I gasp and claw, lungs screaming for air as I fall to my knees. I didn’t see it coming.
Everything turns white before my eyes.
My hands burn hot. My ancestors’ spirit power is rapidly withering.
They tried their best, I know they did.
I can’t breathe.
“I'll go after your sister, next,” Ezra whispers, his spell lighting the whip electric blue. The heat sears into my skin, and I scream with what little oxygen I have left.
Somewhere nearby, a branch snaps.
Two shadows bolt out of the darkness like ninjas. One slices through the whip while the other slams into Ezra hard enough to make him eat dirt. Those snickers? Unmistakable. The incubi twins. Just. Great.
“Out of all the... creepy crawlers in this... place,” I wheeze, yanking the dead whip off my neck.
Sun—yeah, the same perv who planted a love-bonding sigil in my laundry—materializes with a smirk that makes me want to punch him and kiss him at the same time. “Baby, you didn't think we'd let you die tonight, did you?”
“You owe us a date for this, though,” Kun appears beside his brother, both of them rocking the whole horned-devil aesthetic—crimson eyes, killer smiles, and bodies that belong on the cover of “Supernatural Hotties Monthly.” Incubi 101: looking like a snack while plotting to eat you alive.
“Get the hell out of my way!” Ezra snarls, scrambling up and shooting blue energy from his hands like some clearblood Iron Man wannabe.
The twins vanish with that poof-into-smoke trick they love so much, their laughter echoing from everywhere and nowhere. Perfect chaos. Exactly what I need to charge up another Gaudian Pulse without getting my head lopped off.
Ezra goes full lighthouse, clapping his hands overhead and flooding everything with white light.
Suddenly I'm watching a twisted National Geographic special: a wolf taking Rennington down like the last gazelle at the watering hole, a vampire turning some clearblood into a juice box before his fancy armor can power up.
And there's Chad, sprinting toward us like his ass is on fire.
“Brynn!” he shouts, because apparently yelling my name helps me not die faster?
I feel Ezra’s breath ghosting my cheek. “Too late,” he hisses. A gleaming blade springs from his sleeve. I hear Sun and Kun’s frantic footsteps pounding closer.
“Dammit!” Chad snarls—and then boom, a Gaudian Pulse slams into both of us. My solar plexus sears with pain, heat blooming across my gut. Paralysis drags me down; I crumple into the grass as shadows crawl over my body. Ezra’s spell sputters out of light. He’s down too.
“Get him!” Chad bellows.
I can’t lift a finger. I only hear the skitter of bare incubi feet, leaves crunching under their weight. Then, miraculously, Ezra staggers upright, sweat glistening on his skin. So I took the full blast. Chad, you absolute ass.
With a roar, Ezra fires a counterpulse that sends the twins skittering backward, and bolts. But the forest’s hunger is real; I can feel its claws itching at his heels. I hope it will swallow him before he ever sees the road.
“Brynn!” Chad drops to his knees beside me. “I’m sorry. I had to.”
I want to scream, “Go screw yourself!” but my lips refuse to cooperate.
“Remember, Brynn,” Kun’s mocking voice drifts over the trees as the brothers vanish into the darkness, “you owe us that date!” Their laughter echoes—Ezra’s probably their target again. Good. Someone needs to put those bastards down.
“Blink once if you can hear me,” Chad mutters, cupping my face.
I don’t feel his touch, only an ice-cold void in my chest, but I manage to force a blink.
“Good,” he says. “You’ll be upright soon. You took the brunt of that pulse, but I had no choice.”
Yeah, thanks for the reminder, jerk.
“It knocked Ezra out of the fight but didn’t finish him. Hopefully your boyfriends handle him quickly.”
Boyfriends? I’d tear his spine out if I could. Great—now I’m talking like my sister again.
“The surviving clearbloods withdrew,” Chad reports, all business. “We lost three men. We took out seven of theirs. Not bad.” He shrugs, as if reporting the weather. “They’re desperate to reclaim their dragon. That much is clear.”
His palms press against my shoulders, sending uncomfortable heat through my frozen muscles.
“Ch...Chad...” The word manages to scrape past my lips.
The paralysis is wearing off. My blood feels like it's on fire, pins-and-needles cranked to eleven as my fingers and toes start twitching like I'm having a seizure.
“There we go,” Chad says, watching me twitch. “Recovery's already starting.”
I force my tongue to form words. “Need to... tell you... something.”
He leans in like the sucker he is. Summoning every scrap of returning strength, I swing my leaden arm and crack my palm across his cheek.
He chuckles. “I'll give you that one,” he says, fingertips touching the angry red handprint. “But only once.”
The sting in my palm is worth it.