Page 95 of An Empress of Air & Chaos

A sob broke from her.

The sound of boots running on stones startled Emara and she swung around to see what came through the mist. Before she saw who or what it was, two deadly swords cut their way through the fog, followed by midnight black hair and an angular face. She wiped her eyes as she rose from the ground.

“Are you hurt?” Torin Blacksteel’s concern caught her off guard.

“No, it’s not my blood. It’s Eli’s. He’s gone.”

Torin looked down at the body on the ground and swore. “Emara, you can’t be out here. You are across the border of the wards. The demons can attack you here.” He looked around himself and Emara. “There were a few complications and they followed us back.”

Just then, he flashed in front of her, placing his swords between their bodies and covering her mouth with his large hand. His eyes signalled danger and his other finger pushed against his lips. As stunned as she was at how quickly he had moved in front of her, she nodded in acknowledgement.

He sensed a demon nearby.

His body gently pressed the steel into hers, holding both swords between their torsos. An unearthly breathing sound came from the far right and he pulled one sword free and sheathed it into the scabbard on his back. He then drew the other, manoeuvring his body in front of hers, holding the sword ready to kill.

The noise of fighting around them seemed to have died down and there were fewer cries for help—although Emara wasn’t sure if that settled her or not.

“Stay close to me,” he breathed. She nodded in response even though he couldn’t see her dwarfed behind him. “Do as I command, when I command it.”

A noise broke into the night from a creature so foul it had to come from an unworldly dimension. Torin rolled the sword’s hilt in the palm of his hand like he was warming up a fifth limb and bent his knees, ready to spring into action at any given moment. His head turned right in anticipation and he took one almighty swing.

He had been right to do so, as a winged creature leaped at them from the fog.

Emara stumbled back in retaliation of the creature’s presence, no scream could escape her mouth. The demon was not human-like at all. Not like the one in her grandmother’s house. Before that, if Emara had ever conjured up a picture of what a demon looked like, this was what she would have pictured.

The demon must have been at least seven feet tall and had black, bat-like wings. Its legs were like vines that intertwined around strong, black muscles. Its torso looked like it had been turned inside out and it had guts resting in its open cavities. Its rib cage stuck out around its decaying flesh, creating a chest-like area to support its moose-like head. Its antlers grew from its skull, pointing into lethal spikes.

Emara’s core shook as she tried to find it in herself to run or even breathe, but she stood behind Torin. She had not heard any commands come from his mouth.

“Are you just going to stand there?” Torin cocked his head to the side, taunting the beast. “What are you waiting for, summer solstice?”

Is he insane? Was he trying to aggravate the demon even more? She saw what had happened to poor Eli’s body and she didn’t want that for her or Torin.

The demon sprung towards him, but he had already predicted its move. He jumped to the side, pivoting on his back leg, and brought down his sword in a deathly hard swing. His sword connected with one of its long arms, cutting off its bird-like claw. The creature shrieked and gore dripped from its mouth and arm.

“Move to the left,” Torin barked his first command.

As he spun to match Emara’s movement, he unsheathed his second sword and drove it into the demon’s body. Emara braced herself for the massive frame to fall to the ground, but its vine-like legs held their base. The beast roared in the face of Torin Blacksteel, and she saw a tug on his lips as his eyes grew menacing.

He was, indeed, taunting the beast.

His cheekbones lifted as the smile pulled across his face. His sharp, angular jawmocking the demon to dance with death. Even covered in gore and guts, he was strikingly handsome—dangerously handsome as he looked evil incarnate in the eye with a smile.

Wielding two swords, he got to work. The demon struck out with its remaining talon, trying to swipe the weapons from Torin’s grip. “Duck!” he shouted to Emara. “And stay down.”

The demon clawed at him again as he whirled around it.

“Get on your feet,” he barked again.

“You just told me to stay down!” Emara shouted over the frustrated roars of the demon.

“Well, now I am telling you to get on your feet. Keep up!”

Even saving her life, in a battle with a demon, he could be infuriatingly demanding.

“Torin, behind you!”

The demon took its opportunity to pounce as Torin watched Emara. However, he spun with cat-like grace and drove the sword right through the flesh of its other claw. Emara jumped as a maddening roar erupted around the gardens. Reddish-black gore dripped from the demon’s hands, but that wasn’t enough for Torin. He drew his swords up into a cross above his head and sliced down towards the ground.

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