Page 5 of Her Immortal Mate

"Something troubles you." Eike's observation cuts through my thoughts.

"Just tired." The lie tastes bitter on my tongue.

He catches my arm, his touch sending electricity through my veins. "Mae."

My name on his lips does things to my insides that I refuse to acknowledge. I pull away, hating how my body betrays me by wanting to lean into his warmth instead.

"Thank you for the escort." I duck into my tent before he can respond, before I can do something stupid like trace the sharp line of his jaw or ask what his wings feel like.

I press my forehead against the cool stone wall, cursing myself. I can't afford to feel this way. Not about him. Not about any of them.

But as I sink onto my bedroll, his silver eyes haunt me, and I wonder when did I start wanting for a vrakken.

3

EIKE

We make it two more days without an attack. It's as close to peace as I've known in a while.

But it couldn't last.

The scent of something like pine mingles with woodsmoke as I stride between the canvas tents. My wings flex against the predawn chill, their metallic sheen catching the light from scattered campfires.

A scout bursts through the tree line, wings folded tight against his back. "Dark elf battalion approaching from the north! At least two hundred strong!"

"Alert the Commanders." I grab my sword belt. "Get everyone in defensive positions."

The camp erupts into organized chaos. Warriors pour from their tents, weapons ready. I scan the terrain - dense forest to our east and west, clearing to the north, steep ridge behind us. Perfect.

"Form three ranks!" My voice carries across the camp. "Archers on the ridge. First rank, shields up. Second rank, spears ready. Third rank, keep those wings spread - we're using them as cover."

A young vrakken lieutenant appears at my side. "Sir, that's not our usual formation-"

"Their magic can't hit what they can't see." I motion to the ridge. "Get those archers in position. Staggered formation, twenty degrees apart. Maximum coverage."

Purple fire erupts through the trees. The dark elves emerge like shadows, their elegant armor gleaming. They move in perfect unison, hands weaving spells.

"Hold!" I bark as our warriors shift nervously. "Wait for my signal."

The enemy advances. Three hundred yards. Two hundred. Their magic crackles, ready to strike.

"Archers! Target their spellcasters first. Aim for the hands."

A hundred black-fletched arrows arc through the air. They're imbued with magic, some sent on fire or to explode or to always follow their target. The dark elves' perfect formation wavers as several of their mages fall.

I suggested this so we didn't drain our magic so quickly. The sun does it for half our camp anyway. No sense in wasting what we don't need to.

"First rank, shields up!" Both physical and magic pours out to create a barrier. "Second rank, spears between the shields. Third rank, wings out - now!"

Our warriors' wings snap open, creating a wall of living armor behind the shield wall. The dark elves' magic splashes harmlessly against our defenses.

"Push forward! Keep those wings locked! Archers, maintain suppressing fire!"

Our formation moves as one, forcing the dark elves to retreat or be crushed against the tree line. Their elegant fighting style crumbles against our disciplined advance.

"They're breaking!" someone shouts.

"Keep formation," I command. "Don't let them regroup."

---