Page 39 of Claws of Death

“Child,”Kaira repeats in her mind with contempt. Out loud, she shouts, “You never called me a child when we slept together.” The bite in her tone tells me she’s ready to spear the male with the arrow nocked on her bow. Herinor’s shoulder has shoved slightly in front of her, his expression giving away that he will join right in the moment Kaira unleashes her wrath on Arebar. She controls her anger, hands only mildly shaking as she stays her arrow. “I wish I were still a child. Innocent ignorance is a great state of mind.”

She sounds confident, even when I can sense her trembling through our connection. Royad and Silas have their blades drawn, Silas’s hatchet loose in his grasp as if he hasn’t decided if he’ll throw it at the fire-haired male or hold it in his grasp while spilling blood. Clio is the only one I can’t find between the ruins of trees, and I have to admit, the panic coming with her absence has everything to do with the close friendship that has grown between us. She’s an experienced fighter, wielding powerful magic, and can take care of herself. She probably site-hopped right out of danger, leaving us to fight the Flames, confident we could handle them after Silas’s display of strength in Recienne’s arena. Still, there’s a part of me that won’t stop worrying.

“You weren’t the most experienced back then, so perhaps I should have.” Arebar’s features remain serious as he mocks my sister, making me consider the merits of simultaneously stabbing him and ripping him to shreds with my Crow magic. If only I had control over it, I might have done the latter already.

As I measure the distance to the Flames, I’m not the only one to notice the ground around us is steaming, even with little to nothing left to burn. The twenty Flames are aware of it too, judging by the way they are holding their wall of fire close to them once more when it barely finds purchase in the space between us. If they’ve come to burn us alive, the forest won’t be made into a trap the way they might have managed the last time they attacked here. The thought is a meek consolation, considering that my friendscanburn. Only the silvery shimmer of a shield around them makes my heart a bit lighter.

“You’ve always been too weak to fight at our side, Kaira,” Arebar spits. “Too weak, too little of a Flame. Worthless.”

I’m about to throw a retort at Arebar, but Herinor beats me to it. “You fucking prick can’t possibly know the meaning of the wordworth.”

Why his eloquence surprises me is beyond me. He’s proven to be a better conversational partner than a friend. At least, for me, where any allowance of support may cost him everything.

Arebar’s laugh echoes through the dead land like a flame of ice. “So, you’re the poor lad she’s stringing along these days?” He shakes his head. “Pity. You should have found afemale of your own species rather than fall for a Flame weakling like her.” He puts a finger to his lips, a grin forming. “Oh, I forgot… You don’thavefemales.”

The fact that he knows Herinor is a Crow might have something to do with the feathers sprouting on the male’s neck as he seems to struggle to control his temper.

“It’s none of your business, Arebar.” Kaira is keeping a level head even when Arebar seems to be on a personal mission to destroy her. I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s the reason the Flame Matrone chose him to hunt us down.

“But it is when a Crow takes one of our females. Again.”

“I’m nottakinganything.” Herinor’s voice is trembling, but he can’t possibly be lying. Whatever is going on between the two of them, he hasn’t forced anything.

Arebar merely hurls a fresh assault of fire at my friends, making me hurtle toward them. To do what, I don’t know. Fight them with my daggers? Or my uncontrollable magic? Neither seems so great an option. I might as well blow them up with a strike of my Crow power that gets out of hand.

A minor part of me wonders if I’ve become delusional, believing I might be stronger than any of them. Herinor and Silas are ancient warriors who know how to handle their power, and Royad and Myron have made impressive progress since the curse first broke. It’s only me and my unpredictable magic that’s blessing and curse in equal parts.

The first wave of fire bounces off what I assume to be Herinor’s shield just as I arrive at Kaira’s side, Myron one step behind me. Herinor sends a strike of silver power toward the Flame, and we all watch with horror as it isconsumed by the ball of fire Arebar sends out to meet it. The smirk on his face tells me Arebar isn’t finished. Calling his small army to action, he summons the simmering wall of fire they have been maintaining at their fingertips, sending it across the scorched space.

Royad is in front of me in an instant, protecting both his cousin and me with a thin shield and his body as the heatwave splinters Herinor’s layer of power. Silver magic sprays at the Flames, and the curse ripping from Kaira’s throat isn’t the only one, but I don’t have time to turn and check who got hurt, her or the grumpy traitor male she has a soft spot for. The Flames are marching on us, and they are fast.

Hiding sounds like a great idea right about now, but it’s too late. I’ve made my choice to stand with my family. The first Flames’ blades are met by Royad’s arrows when they are fifteen paces away, flashes of silver power curling around the missiles which hit hard, even against swords. Sparks of Crow power weave through the air while the Flames are rebuilding their fiery shield. Myron’s broad form slips past me, joining Royad at the front, Silas completing the trio as he steps to Myron’s other side, patting away smoldering pieces of leather from his armor.

“Those fuckers got me.” His tone tells me everything I need to know about how much he hates the Flames—and that they’re in serious trouble.

“They got Kaira, too,” Herinor grumbles, making my head jerk to the side to assess her state. The stench of freshly singed flesh assaults my nose, and I understand the fury in the male’s gaze. He’s ready to stab every last Flamesoldier through the eye for what they just did, and I cannot blame him.

Kaira swats away the flecks of ash from her lower arm, hiding a wince as she throws back her braid. “I’m a Flame; I can handle a small burn,” she complains, breaking free from Herinor’s gentle hold on her upper arm where her armor is dangling from her shoulder. It’s only then that I notice the angry red blotches and painful blisters on her exposed skin. “It’s nothing,” she insists, shaking her head at everyone who’s about to disagree. “Focus on the battle.”

So we do.

The next wave of fire hasn’t hit, allowing us a moment to breathe while we meet the Flames’ swords with our own weapons in a clash of metal and silver power. Screams of pain tear the air where the Crows’ magic hits its mark. In the tangle of limbs and metal, Royad, Myron, and Silas are engaging the enemy in front of me while I stab at the ones breaking through their line of defense. I wonder if, in a one-on-one fight, any Flame could survive them. But we’re outnumbered here, despite our resolve to tear them limb from limb.

Herinor and Kaira are raining down their fury on the Flames to my right, meeting each blow with one of their own. Kaira stabs and strikes like a true warrior, but her injuries are catching up to her, and where she was able to push back a Flame before, she now staggers away when her opponent releases her from a deflected hit.

My Crow strength is fueling my own attacks, my blade biting into Flame skin and bone as I hack my way toward Kaira.

It’s not enough, though. No matter how hard we strike, the Flames are slowly pushing us back. If they release another wall of fire, I’m not sure the Crows’ shields will be able to withstand it. Let alone the feeble layer of magic I’ve managed that doesn’t even remotely resemble a shield.

Strike and parry. It’s all I can do, suppressing curses when my bad hand gets tired and sluggish. They are twenty. Twenty flames against four grown Crow males, one part-Flame, and one no-longer-human creature without proper control over her magic. We should be able to hold our ground.

Should.

Myron and Royad spin to the side, angling their swords to spear a Flame pushing to get through the gap between them with his sword aiming directly at my chest. Blood sprays as they pierce through leather and flesh, and the Flame’s scream dies in a gurgle as they draw out their blades, already on the next opponent.

“Thank me later,” Myron says with a wink, but his voice is shaky.

That Flame would have gotten me in the heart had they not taken him down. A heart which is racing in my chest as I’m processing what just happened.

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