Page 17 of Her Immortal Mate

"They are exposed there." Mae points to a gap in their formation. "Drop there."

"Like hell." I bank hard right as another spell screams past. "You're staying-"

"Trust me." She squeezes my arm. "We can help."

I growl but dive toward the gap. Mae runs as we land, pulling out a knife that I didn't know she had. She strikes at the nearest dark elf's hamstring, bringing him down. The disruption spreads through their ranks like ripples in water.

My wings snap wide as I pull up, drawing their fire. Spells light up the night sky but none connect. I've fought their kind too long to fall for predictable patterns.

"Push them back!" My voice carries across the battlefield. Our warriors surge forward, coordination drilled into muscle memory paying off.

The dark elves' formation crumbles. Without their commander's magic anchoring their spell matrix, their coordinated attacks fall apart. One by one, they retreat into the shadows, dragging their wounded.

Mae appears at my side, breathing hard but unhurt. "I think I would make a good fighter," she says with a teasing lilt."

"No." I scan the treeline, making sure they're truly gone. "Go be a healer." At least then, it wouldn't feel like my heart was trying to leave my chest.

Our warriors move with practiced efficiency, securing the camp. Mae slips off the check on the wounded. The dark elves may have fled, but they'll be back.

I move through the aftermath, wings trailing behind me. The metallic tang of blood fills the air - dark elf blood, rich with magic. Bodies litter the ground, their elegant armor now dented and torn. Their faces frozen in expressions of hatred even in death.

Mae works beside our healers, her medical training proving invaluable. She catches my eye but doesn't stop her work, pressing herbs into a warrior's wound.

My gaze sweeps across our camp. Broken weapons, scattered supplies, scorched earth from their spells. We won this battle, but at what cost? Each raid grows bolder, their numbers larger. They know something about the First's disappearance - something that gives them confidence to strike so openly.

We're immortal, yes, but that doesn't make us invincible. And as I look around, I take in how many of the bodies on the ground are vrakken. They won't die but they will need time to heal. Time we may not have.

The cold truth settles in my gut like lead. Without the First's guidance, without Akeldama's blessing, we're fighting a losing battle. Our numbers dwindle while they throw endless waves at us. Even immortality has its limits.

A breeze carries the acrid smell of burnt flesh and spent magic. In the distance, thunder rumbles - or perhaps more dark elf forces gathering. We can't distinguish friend from foe anymore, not with both our deities gone silent.

My fingers trace the worn pommel of my sword. How long before they return with twice these numbers? Three times? The First would know what to do. She always did. But she's gone, leaving us to face this alone.

I look at my people - proud, fierce, but tired. So tired. We can't keep fighting like this, not when every victory feels more like a defeat. Not when we're losing pieces of ourselves with each raid.

8

MAE

The iron-rich scent of blood fills my nostrils as I press a cloth against a vrakken warrior's wound. His alabaster skin has turned an angry red around the gash, courtesy of a dark elf blade that caught him during the latest skirmish.

"Hold still." I dab at the edges of the cut. Even in the dim light of the tent, the wound glistens wetly.

Outside, voices rise in heated debate. The camp hasn't known peace since sunrise, when another search party returned empty-handed.

"The First wouldn't abandon us," a female voice cuts through the air. "She's being held captive. We need to mount a rescue?—"

"With what army?" Another voice interrupts. "Half our warriors are wounded, and the dark elves grow bolder by the day."

"Better to strike now," a deep voice rumbles. "While they think us weakened. Hit their settlements, burn them to ash—" I catalog that, not realizing that the dark elves were building settlements while we maintained our war camp.

"And expose ourselves to the sun? Brilliant strategy." I wince, knowing that's a sore subject. Some vrakken have no trouble and some manage to maintain a glamour.

My patient tenses under my hands as the argument outside intensifies. Through the tent's thin walls, shadows dance and weave as vrakken gesture wildly at each other.

"The new leadership is getting us nowhere," someone spits. "We need decisive action."

"They keep us alive," a woman's voice rings with authority. "Or have you forgotten how many we lost in the last foolish assault?"

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