Page 6 of Her Immortal Mate

Through the chaos of battle, a flash of midnight-blue hair catches my eye. Nyx, the First stands at the edge of the clearing, her wings spread wide. Something's off. Her usual fluid grace seems strained, her movements jerky.

"Press the advantage!" I shout to my warriors before breaking formation.

Purple flames erupt from a dark elf mage. She deflects them, but her counter-attack lacks its usual devastating precision. Her wings tremble with the effort.

I dispatch two dark elves blocking my path. "My lady-"

"Focus on the battle, Commander." Her voice carries its familiar steel, but sweat beads on her pale forehead. The markings on her skin pulse erratically, their glow dimming.

A dark elf breaks through our lines, sword raised. I move to intercept, but Nyx waves me off. She meets his blade with her own, their weapons clashing in a shower of sparks. Her parry is slow - too slow. The elf's blade slices her arm.

This isn't right. I've seen the First take on entire battalions without breaking stride. Now she's struggling with a single opponent?

"My lady, fall back. Let me-"

"I said focus on your warriors, Commander." She bares her fangs, but there's strain in her face. The wound on her arm isn't healing as it should.

The dark elf presses his advantage. Nyx stumbles, catching herself against a tree. Her wings droop, the tips brushing the ground. The swirling silver in her black eyes dims, flickering like a dying flame.

To hell with protocol. I surge forward, driving my blade through the elf's chest. As he falls, I catch Nyx's arm.

"You're unwell."

"Your observational skills are remarkable as always, Commander." She tries to pull away, but her legs buckle. "This is... temporary. A mere inconvenience."

Her skin feels cold, even for a vrakken. The markings that usually shimmer like starlight have faded to dull gray lines.

"When did this start?"

"That's not your concern." She straightens, but I can feel her trembling. "The battle isn't over. Return to your post."

A shout pierces through the clash of steel. My head snaps toward the medical tents where Mae works with the wounded. Dark elf soldiers have broken through our eastern flank, their violet magic crackling as they advance on the healers' position.

"Third rank, shore up that line!" I bark, but my warriors are spread too thin.

Mae darts between cots, helping injured vrakken to their feet. Her copper hair glints in the strengthening dawn light as she guides them toward the ridge. My chest tightens. She's too exposed.

"Get those patients out!" Her voice carries across the field. "Anyone who can walk, help those who can't!"

A dark elf raises his hands, purple flames gathering at his fingertips. I launch myself forward, wings propelling me across the battlefield. The spell releases just as I tackle Mae behind a supply cart. Magic scorches the ground where she stood moments before.

"I had that under control." She pushes against my chest.

"Clearly." Blood trickles from a cut on her cheek. My fangs lengthen at the scent, protective rage surging through me.

"The patients-"

"Are being evacuated." I risk a glance over the cart. More elves pour through the gap in our lines. "Stay behind me."

"Like hell. I have wounded to tend to."

A spell hits our cover, splintering wood. I pull Mae closer, shielding her with my wings. "The wounded won't matter if you're dead."

"Lieutenant!" I call to another vrakken. "Take half the reserve force and seal that breach. The rest with me - we're protecting the medical area."

Mae squeezes my arm. "There's a cache of healing potions in the main tent. We can't let them get those."

My warriors form up around us. "Clear a path to that tent. Nothing gets through!"

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