Page 8 of Blooms of Darkness

“Agh,” I cried.

Our fight remained far from over.

I could hear the swords of the others, each of us now engaged with our surprise attackers. I ducked at the assailant's swing coming for my head again, attempting to move to the ground with my leg to drop him. I underestimated his strength, and instead, fell too far forward.

Rolling as quickly as possible, I righted myself, facing him before he could swing at me again.

The man I fought grinned as another joined him, faster than I could react. The pair circled me, forcing me backward. The movement pushed me farther away from Ian and closer to where Storm and his friend were battling four men themselves.

Storm grunted and barked, “Not sure I want to do this without using?—”

“Only if it’s dire,” his friend growled back, slamming his sword into the gut of one of the attackers.

Ian’s fight grew worse. There were now four men descending upon him.

Again, I stopped mid-fight, unable to move. A flash of a distant memory played across my mind, and my hands loosened at my sides.

A cold, dark stone room, sweat dripping down my back. Shaking from concentrating as hard as I could, struggling to will a blade of grass to peek its head through the cracks in the ground. The angry shouting echoing in the stone room over and over again, screaming at me to produce some sort of magic. Any magic.

“If you cannot produce magic, your loved ones will perish. Their blood will be on your hands, Illiana.”

“You are a disgrace to the royal line. Pathetic.”

Ian coughed up blood, hurt. The soldiers kept beating him. I lifted my hand toward him, but my body refused to move, refused to access any magic to save Ian. I needed to get to him, but my feet were like lead on the ground.

“It’s real!” A voice broke through my mind. “This is real! You have to move. Now!”

Ian.

The forest came into focus. Ian still fought the Fae around us. And he’d pulled me out of my frozen stupor, as he always had on too many occasions.

This is real.

A fist collided with my face, sending me to the ground immediately.

Definitely real.

The assailant stepped on my wrist, kicking my dagger from my hand, disarming me faster than any of the guards I’d trained with ever could. Acracksounded as his hand shot out, pulling roots from beneath the earth as they wrapped around my wrist like a rope.

Earth Fae.

He tugged me by the wrist—away from the fight and deeper into the woods.

With one arm still free, I grunted in frustration, reaching toward my boot where I stored a spare dagger.

Across the clearing, Ian still battled his four attackers, while Storm and his friend moved in sync, dominating their own assailants. Damn it all, they weren’t in a position to help.

“Get off of me,” I shouted, twisting to reach my blade once more.

My cry caught the attention of both Storm and his friend, and within a second, the hooded figure turned, staring straight at me. In the blink of an eye, he disappeared amongst the trees, and instead of waiting for help, I resumed my struggle to obtain my last dagger. My fingertips brushed the laces of my boot.

Just a little further. My fingers wrapped around the hilt, and I jerked it out.

Before I could use the blade, my head slammed forward against the cold dirt, and my vision blurred. The attacker's blade sliced my forearm open as I tried to catch myself. Blood oozed from the wound, while my head swam from the blunt force of my fall.

This is not where I die.

The weight on my back let up. Twisting around, I plunged the dagger into the side of the man gripping my arm. Simultaneously, Storm’s friend stood behind me, slicing at the other attacker’s neck before gutting the man despite my lodged dagger.

---