Page 49 of A Shard of Ice

Pride swells in me. Kyrie has always been a fighter. She’s always been far stronger than she gives herself credit for.

I grab her hand, and we run toward a cluster of rocks that offers some semblance of shelter. Arrows zip past us, clattering against the stone as we huddle behind it, trying to catch our breath.

“Did that fae say they were after you?” she asks me as she pants hard.

“We have to get to safety.” I use my body to shield her. “Then we’ll talk, I promise.”

“What are you keeping from me?”

I’m sneaking a look over the rocks. “Curse the gods,” I growl, ignoring her question. Now is not the time for such explanations. “I have to help Cyrano.”

“No…don’t…please.” She grabs my arm.

“He’s going to be killed.” I look over at where the male in question is crawling along the ground. It’s only a matter of timebefore someone notices him and runs him through or captures him. Even worse, he could get trampled underfoot by one of the horses.

Several bloodfae are drinking from the shadowfae, blood streaming down their chins and throats.

A shadowfae stabs one of them before beheading him. The dead fae falls on top of Cyrano, who screams, drawing the attention of two bloodfae.

“Stay here,” I instruct Kyrie. I’m loathe to leave her, but I can’t leave Cyrano to his fate, either. It doesn’t matter that he would betray me at the drop of a hat. That he hates me. I have to do the right thing. It’s how I am wired. It’s who I am.

“Please,” Kyrie begs. “Be careful,” she tells me when I turn back to her. Then she kisses me. It’s so unexpected in the middle of all the blood and chaos that for a few seconds, I don’t react at all. Then I snap out of it and kiss her back, pressing my lips to hers, breathing her in for just a moment. Pulling her flush against me and closing my eyes.

Cyrano screams again, breaking the moment. In the next instant, I am on my feet and running to save him.

17

Kyrie

I sink down behind the rock; mud mixed with water and ice soaks into my pants from below. The oversized oilskin coat I’m drowning in does a decent job of keeping me mostly dry and warm. I touch a hand to my lips.

What did I just do?

I’m struggling to breathe, but it has nothing to do with fear or exertion. My face feels hot even though sleet is still falling.

I kissed Damon. What was I thinking? I kissed him. It was me who put my mouth on his.

I wasn’t thinking, and that’s the problem. It just happened. A spur-of-the-moment thing.

I’m worried. More worried than I’ve ever been in my whole life.

What if something happens to him?

I can’t lose him. Not now.

Cyrano screams again. I turn my attention to the battle. My focus narrows, adrenaline coursing through my veins. Three bloodfae have the male surrounded.

No!

Damon rushes in and attacks the closest, cleaving his head from his shoulders. The other two leap forward, reaching for him, knocking Cyrano out of the way in the process.

I gasp. I wish I could wield a sword. I’d be able to help. My father taught us a few basic moves but nothing that would help against these bloodthirsty, battle-hardened fae. I need to stay out of the way and hope for the best.

The bloodfae scream as they charge Damon, who lifts his sword and deflects the blows, each one coming faster and harder than the last. His movements are smooth, precise, and graceful despite his massive size. It is clear to see that he has done this a time or two. That he is well-trained in the art of the sword. It gives me some hope that he will make it.

There is a flash of white light and a crackle that moves through the air. It’s followed by a brighter light and another louder crackle. Even from all the way here, I scent magic.

Damon staggers back a few steps before throwing himself back into the fight with renewed vigor. Damon attacked using his magic but was deflected. The fae seem reluctant to use their magic; I’m not sure why that is.

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