Page 19 of Of Wind and Terror

Under attack?

Terror squeezes my heart in an impenetrable vise.

Faye’s face registers shock for a fraction of a tick before she masks it.

“Who is it? The fae from the temple?” She stalks towards the doorway.

When I move to follow after her, Aleksander tightens his arms around me, keeping me plastered to him.

“The Fall Prince,” the fae says, trembling. “The Fall Prince is here. And he’s on a rampage.”

7

BLAZE

Iswing my ax with lethal efficiency at my foe—a tall, willowy Summer fae with braided blond hair and a trimmed mustache.

The blade lodges in his neck, and I watch with grim satisfaction as blood gurgles in his mouth and cascades down his chin.

He will die.

Everyone here will die.

Runt—the irritating pacon who led me here in the first place—lunges at another warrior and slices at her with his claws. Though the creature doesn’t even reach my knees in height, he’s still a formidable opponent on the battlefield, capable of wielding his claws and teeth like knives.

That’s not to say I necessarily like Kassandra’s pet. He’s nothing but a means to an end—the end being my mate. In my arms. Under my body. Hell, even on top. I don’t usually allow the female to lead, but with her, I’d be more than willing.

I just need to get to her.

Runt’s keen sense of smell led us here, deep within the Summer Court and into a tiny village barricaded by sandy dunes. The coloring of the fae here indicates that they’re members of the overrun Summer Court, but that doesn’t explain how they survived…nor how they managed to create an entire civilization.

More than likely, they’re refugees who escaped the brutal slaughter of their people instigated by the Day and Night Courts.

And right now, they’re holding my mate hostage.

For that, they have to die.

Something sharp pierces my stomach.

I stare in dismay at the arrow protruding from my abdomen. Blood wells from the wound and pools in a red puddle at my feet. Slowly, I remove the arrow and toss it aside. Then, I turn towards the idiot who dared to attack me.

The tiny fae trembles where he stands a short distance away. Sweat beads on his forehead and drips into his green eyes. He clumsily attempts to notch another arrow, but he’s too slow.

With a roar, I race forward and grab the pathetic excuse of a fae. I slam his forehead against the wall of the nearest hut once, twice, three times. Only when I’m positive he’s unconscious do I move on to my next victim.

Runt continues terrorizing the fae while I search the gathered crowd for either Calan or Kassandra. I don’t know which one I want to see more.

Calan? Perhaps. I certainly want to rip his head clean from his shoulders.

But…no. Even my need for vengeance doesn’t overwhelm my desire to ensure that Kassandra’s safe. I need to see her. Breathe in her citrus scent. Hold her.

“ENOUGH!” a feminine, strident voice bellows. A tick later, a short female with wispy blonde hair and an angular face steps on a wooden crate, adding much-needed height to her short frame. Her eyes zero in on me. “What is the meaning of this, Blaze?”

Blaze.

Not Prince Blaze.

Not Your Highness.

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