Chapter 5
Zephyr
Earth, ice, and wind fae fight alongside each other, attacking the enemy on our soil.
Icy rain pelts us, and the ground grows slick with each step.
My hand hovers over the sword at my hip, itching for the weight of the safety it provides, even if that safety is an illusion against the creatures infiltrating our land.
Seven, maybe eight, in total.
Small compared to a fleet of fae or any other magical creature, but Nephilim possess the strength and power of twenty skilled men.
A formidable foe, even amongst the king’s army, who have trained rigorously day in and day out.
With our food supply wilting daily, leaving us with a malnourished kingdom, this fight proves that much more difficult.
I scan the area around us, but I don’t see Niko.
I feel my mate’s emotions, which brings some relief.
He’s alive and well, though a tremor of fear goes through our bond.
Niko is good at crafting a mask of indifference and shrugging things off with jokes, but our bond can’t lie.
Fear drives him, just as it drives me. Fear for each other.
Fear for our land. Fear of the Nephilim. We would be fools not to fear them.
The ground quakes as a massive creature emerges from the trees; its sheer size sends tremors through the earth.
A fleet of wind fae are the first to react, slicing through the air as they rush toward the Nephilim.
In perfect unison, they summon their magic, generating powerful gusts beneath their feet that propel them upward until they hover at eye level with the monstrous being.
With swords gleaming in the dim light, the fae launch their attack.
Some manage to drive their blades deep into the Nephilim’s leathery flesh, but before they can press their advantage, the creature retaliates.
It happens in a blink of an eye. With a single, sweeping motion, it releases a surge of dark magic, an invisible force that explodes outward, hitting the surrounding fae at full force.
The impact is devastating. The wind fae are hurled back as if caught in a storm, their bodies flung through the air like fallen leaves.
Some crash onto the damp earth below, and their bones shatter on impact with a sickening crunch.
Others collide with tree limbs, their bodies going limp as they dangle from the branches, as if they are nothing more than morbid decorations.
The battlefield falls eerily silent. None of them move.
In a single moment, the Nephilim took out an entire fleet of our men. That’s a dozen trained soldiers. Sick dread coils low in my stomach, tightening my muscles. The Nephilim shrieks in a victory roar before its gaze drops to me. Its eyes narrow and darken as it finds another target.
Unfortunately, it’s me. Its thin lips curl into a sinister smile.
“Oh dear, it doesn’t look pleased to see you,” a familiar voice says in my ear, sending a jolt of shock through me. I turn my head just in time to see tousled green hair and a small body landing on my shoulder.
Finnick.
“You shouldn’t be here. Where’s your mother?
” My gaze darts around to see if Lady Thalia is somewhere nearby.
No signs of Niko and Finnick’s mother, which hopefully means she stayed in the tent where it’s safe.
But, like her sons, she also has an irritating quality of not listening to instructions, a trait that clearly runs in the family.
“I’m needed here.” Finnick puffs out his chest. “I can help. Trust me.”
“Do I need to point out the size difference between you and the Nephilim?”
Finnick doesn’t seem put off by my anger. “I’ve dealt with bigger.” He shrugs.
That, I highly doubt.
I curse under my breath, knowing Finnick is as stubborn as they come. He won’t go back, no matter how many times I command him to. Being a king means nothing to him, apparently. “Fine. But you stay by my side. If I tell you to run, run. Do you understand?”
“I don’t run; I fly.” Finnick dismissively waves me off, insisting that he, in fact, doesn’t understand. I open my mouth to lecture him again, but the Nephilim lets out another ear-splitting shriek and dives toward us.
Instinct takes over, and I unsheathe my sword in the same instant Finnick does.
My blade is forged for battle, capable of cutting through even the toughest of flesh and bone.
His, on the other hand, looks like it would struggle to skewer a grape.
There’s no way in hell that flimsy weapon will do any real damage against a Nephilim.
We’re fucked.
“Use that ice power of yours to distract it. I have an idea,” Finnick says with a grin, his voice full of unbridled excitement I know all too well. He’s up to one of his little games, but this isn’t a prank he can pull. This is a life-and-death battle.
“Finnick, you can’t—” The words catch in my throat as he vanishes in a blur of green, his form twisting away so fast that he becomes nothing more than a streak of color before disappearing completely.
“Fuck this,” I snarl, snapping my focus back to the Nephilim. It’s closing in, only a few yards away now, his massive form bearing down on me.
Power surges through my veins, crackling beneath my skin with icy vengeance.
I slam my fist into the damp earth, and instantly, a wave of blue mist erupts outward, spreading through the air like a living force.
The wet grass beneath us crystallizes with frost, ice shooting outward in jagged tendrils until it reaches the Nephilim’s feet.
The moment it steps forward, its balance wavers.
Its massive frame teeters; then, with a deafening crash, it slams to the ground, shaking the earth.
The rain around it turns into jagged, sharp icicles, penetrating its body.
The creature screams in pain, but it doesn’t stop.
No, these creatures don’t let pain slow them down much, and it races toward me at an alarming speed.
But someone else is faster.
Finnick appears from seemingly nowhere, with the damn toothpick of a sword in his hands.
He lets out a battle cry before shooting down and driving his sword into the soulless eye of the Nephilim with a sickening, wet sound.
A terrible howl of pain leaves the Nephilim, but Finnick doesn’t seem to be done.
He whistles, and as if waiting for his signal, the people of the forest descend upon him.
Centaurs, nymphs, and goblins break through the trees, ready to defend their home.
A troll brings down a club hard upon the Nephilim’s head, followed by four other trolls doing the same.
The nymphs bend the tree limbs to their will, as strong vines and roots wrap around the Nephilim.
Centaurs move in for the kill, using their mighty hooves to stomp through the Nephilim’s chest until the ground is stained with a dark, almost black goo that is blood.
A putrid odor settles in the air, and I have to cover my nose to keep from gagging.
Finnick flutters over to me, a smug smile on his face as he lands on the bridge of my nose. “You can say it.”
“Say what?” My voice comes out gruff, trying to ignore the horrid smell.
“Thank you, Finnick. You’re the best, Finnick. You are so much more brilliant than your brother, Finnick.” He gives me a cocky grin before slapping my forehead. “You’re quite welcome, my favorite king.”
Despite the chaos happening around us, I can’t help but smirk and roll my eyes at his grand display. “I suppose you did alright,” I tease, laughing when he glares at me. “How did you gather the people of the forest?”
“Because they’re my friends. This is their home too, and they are just as mad that these vile creatures are ruining it.” Finnick flies to my shoulder, perching atop me. “I think they have this one covered; we should—”
A loud, blood-curdling scream pierces the air, reverberating through the trees and turning my blood cold. Even Finnick stiffens and jolts up. “What was that?” He turns in a slow circle.
The better question would be who was that? The scream sounded feminine—a terrified female at that. She screams again, only this time I hear sobs.
Instinct takes over, and I head toward the sound.
Battle rages around me. Another dead Nephilim lies beheaded on the ground, with another on its knees, fighting a fleet of earth fae.
Is Niko with them? I want to get back to my mate’s side, but the screaming woman pulls me like an irresistible siren in trouble.
I’m vaguely aware of Finnick whistling for the people of the forest, but I don’t stop to look back and see if they heard him.
The dense forest stretches before me, its towering pines and willows swaying under the weight of the biting wind.
My breath curls in the air, misting before vanishing entirely.
The underbrush crackles beneath my boots as I push forward, weaving between gnarled roots and frost-dusted ferns from the rapidly dropping temperature.
Then, I reach my first obstacle. A wide pond, its dark waters rippling under the dim light shining through the trees.
It hasn’t frozen over yet, but that’s an easy fix…
if I were in top form. My magic is depleted due to lack of food, so there’s only one way through.
Testing the water with a cautious step, I find it’s shallow and propel myself forward.
Each step is light and swift as I sprint across.
My boots skim the ice without faltering, and within moments, I reach the opposite bank, only wet from the knees down. The cold doesn’t bother me, though.
Pushing through a thicket of twisted branches, I emerge into a small clearing. My breath steadies, my senses sharpening as I scan my surroundings. This part of the forest is eerily quiet, the silence pressing in around me. Then, my gaze locks onto a figure standing a few feet away.
A woman.
She’s draped in unfamiliar clothing, and loose strands of hair have escaped her bun, spilling free and sticking out in every direction. In her hands, she clutches something. My mind scrambles to make sense of it. A weapon? A relic? No… it’s a pan.
A damn pan.
I blink, my pulse still hammering from the run. “Seriously?”
I don’t have time to ponder why this woman thought to bring cookware to a battle because I see the reason for her screams. A rogue Nephilim approaches her, bridging the distance between them at a deadly speed.
There’s no way I’ll be able to reach her in time, and although my body is fatigued and I shouldn’t be wasting my magic, I send shards of ice at the creature.
It hits the Nephilim just before he can grab hold of the woman. It was close.
Too damn close.
Her head jerks back, and she locks gazes with me. Then her hazel eyes cross as she sways on her feet before crumbling to the ground. Passed out. Dead weight. Just what I fucking need.
Ignoring her for now, I direct more of my magic at the angry Nephilim with its sights on me now.
Blood oozes from the wounds my ice shards sliced through it—doesn’t stop it though, only slows it.
I’m keenly aware I’m alone out here, waiting for Finnick to pull the people of the forest away from the last fallen Nephilim to help take down this one.
But until then, I’m on my own.
Just as darkness flashes from the Nephilim’s hand, I dodge the power ball, only barely. The intensity and power of the magic still rock me. Getting blasted with that power would be a death sentence.
I pivot to the side and charge the creature. My sword slashes across the Nephilim’s leg, and it howls in a mixture of pain and anger. But it effectively keeps it away from the woman still passed out on the ground.
The Nephilim brings down its giant fist, missing me by mere inches. The force of its blow still makes me stumble, nearly falling on my sword. What an embarrassing way to die. I quickly right myself and charge again, this time skewering my sword through the creature’s foot.
Audible war cries break through the clearing, signaling I’m no longer alone.
The centaurs reach me first, but the trolls follow in suit, with Finnick leading them.
He looks little more than a small shimmer, but he’s a powerful force in his own right.
I jump out of the way just in time as the centaurs stampede past me, eyes focused on their target. They lock in battle instantly.
“Are you okay?” Finnick is at my side again. “You held your own against a Nephilim. That’s no small feat.”
“No,” I pant, allowing my muscles to unclench now that I’m no longer alone. “No, it’s not, but I’d rather not fight one alone again.”
“My fool of a brother thought a stern voice would keep me in place,” Finnick snorts.
And, well, fair. I doubt it mattered how Niko spoke to Finnick. The sprite would have done what he wanted to do, regardless. The only thing that would stop him is if Niko locked him away in a jar or something he couldn’t escape. However, I suspect Finnick would find a way to do the impossible.
“Who screamed?” Finnick reminds me why we ran over here in the first place.
“That woman there.” I point to her unmoving form on the ground. “Don’t know who she is, but she was holding a pan.”
“A pan? Like something you’d use in the kitchen?”
“That’s the one.”
“Huh,” Finnick hums in thought. Probably getting some weird idea or inspiration from the cookware.
There’s a sudden flash of fear through my connection with Niko, and I gasp, clutching my chest.
“Zephyr?” Finnick asks, concerned, but I barely register him. My mind is desperately trying to connect with Niko, making sure he’s okay. That bastard told me not to die, and I’ll be pissed if he didn’t listen to his own orders.
“I need to go…” I grunt, my chest heaving.
“But what about the girl with the pan?” he asks before I can leave.
I curse silently. “Just stay with her until she wakes up. Make sure she’s okay.”
“But—”
“Finnick, I have to go!” My voice comes out sharper than I intend, but I can’t afford to care at the moment.
Maybe I’ll regret it later, but right now, every instinct in me is screaming to find Niko and make sure that reckless bastard isn’t injured, or worse.
I have to believe this strange woman is in good hands with the sprite.
Without another word, I turn and sprint back the way I came, leaving Finnick and the mysterious woman behind. The air is thick with the scent of smoke and magic, the distant clash of battle ringing in my ears. But none of it matters.
I push forward, straight into the heart of the chaos, desperate to reach my mate.