Chapter Forty-Five
Asher
I n all my life, I had never thought that the sight of blood would be something I grew used to. Yet there I stood—looking on as mortals and demons fell at the hands of fae, and vice versa. Witnessing the overly green kingdom become a river of red.
My hand dug into the hilt of one of my daggers, rage clouding my vision. I caught sight of a Shifter dragging a mortal with its teeth, the man screaming for help. That was all it took for me to move. The dagger left my hand without a sound, soaring through the air and finding purchase in the bear’s open mouth as it released the limp body. Gurgling roars filled the air, my dagger protruding from the back of the Shifter’s throat.
Without a second glance, I moved on, using my magic as often as I could. Upon the jumbled battlefield, it was hard to distinguish between friend and foe, let alone within their minds. But I still tried, often taking the safer approach of ordering them to sleep rather than killing them.
Bodies fell like raindrops, so reminiscent of the days during which rain proceeded reapings that I nearly lost my mind to the memories. Genevieve took my left just as a fae’s sword swung down towards me. She deftly blocked them, crossing both of her swords to catch the enemy blade before kicking into the fae’s chest, sending her stumbling back.
Slit your throat.
The female took her blade and followed my instructions, her gushing blood staining the grass beneath her. Genevieve looked at the fallen body, grim acceptance on her face. Neither of us stood there for long, each taking a different side to protect the other’s back. We fought side by side, cutting down fae as quickly as we could. Both mortals and demons were still being portaled in as quickly as they could be, but that meant fighting heavily outnumbered until reinforcements could arrive.
Shah had been furious when I saw her last, and I witnessed just how much the love for one’s realm could strengthen them when she jumped on the back of a fae a head taller than her and ended his life in seconds.
Wrath, too, was proving to us why he was so feared. He towered above, ripping gold-clad soldiers in half and laughing as they screamed in terror.
Across the clearing, Henry glowed in the night, a beacon of gore and death as he slaughtered fae between portaling. Each time he came back, he brought with him groups of soldiers ready to fight for Behman.
Bellamy, Damon, and Noe had been forced to transport soldiers too, needing their strength to portal as many as they could. Ranbir stayed behind as well, healing the wounded as they were brought in. But Lian, Farai, and Cyprus were fighting alongside us, cutting down as many as they could—both air and shadow-like mist killing as often as swords.
My eye caught on Lara as she appeared beside Henry, her small blue eyes searching the crowd with the same bleak look of tragic resolution that she seemed to always sport. Then, as quickly as she had come, she was gone, her body melting into liquid before taking flight, bubbles filling the spaces between gold and silver.
More screams sounded, and I felt myself pause, hating the sound of the fae— my fae —begging for mercy. Because they had not chosen this. With a deep breath, I closed my eyes and begged for Eternity to guide me, to forgive me just long enough to do what needed to be done.
When I opened my eyes again, my mental gates fell.