Page 122 of Court of Evil

“I’m trusting you!” I shout back. “Don’t let me die, stalker!”

He nods and races to catch up to the wendigo as it heads towards me. I stand with my hand out, using myself as bait, trusting Shamus to keep me safe. My instincts scream for me torun, but I stand still, eyeing the monster who could kill me with one blow.

It’s almost on me when Shamus flies through the air, holding a long silver spear in his hand. His eyes are hard and determined.

Shamus leaps onto its back and stabs the silver spike into its spine. It roars and spins, throwing him off, the weapon still impaled in its body. It turns back to me.

Fuck!

Shamus climbs to his feet unsteadily and sees it the moment I do—its claws are coming towards me. Shamus leaps quicker than I could anticipate and lands before me. Its claws swipe through him, and I watch with wide eyes as he goes flying, but within seconds, he’s on his feet. I throw my blade at the wendigo, and his attention is back on me. Rushing towards it, I duck under its arm and slash its chest, opening a shallow wound that seems to annoy it rather than hurt it. It plucks me from the ground and flings me around in the air until I feel my brain rattle in my skull. It lifts me higher, and I glance down to see its mouth opening to swallow me whole.

Fuck that.

I drive a blade into its hand, and it drops me, then I roll to avoid its feet.

His arm comes up for another brutal strike when Shamus appears. He rolls across its back, pulling his spear with him, and then dances under its swing. It spins to keep him in sight, and I watch as he avoids those wicked claws until he can drive the spear into its ribs at the side. It tries to run away, but with a mighty yell, Shamus slams it in deeper, and the wendigo freezes. Its whole body contracts before it falls to the side, dead, the spike sticking from its corpse.

Clapping fills the air as Shamus stumbles towards me and takes us both to the dirty ground with a groan.

Chest heaving, I turn my head on Shamus’s chest, and our eyes meet. My lips curl into a smile, and I burst into laughter. He laughs with me before he groans. “Shit, that wendigo hit hard.”

My laughter cuts off, and I sit up, opening his shirt to see the epic claw mark across his perfect chest. “Shamus?—”

“It’s not life-threatening. Besides, I have plenty of scars.” He grins up at me. “It’s nice to see you worried for me though.”

“I’m not worried. I just don’t want to be blamed for your death,” I grumble as I touch the ragged wound. “Let me ask Zeev to heal it—” I look for him, but Shamus catches my hand.

“No.”

I jerk my gaze back to him.

“It’s not because I don’t trust them, but I got this saving you, the person I love. I’ll wear them with honour.”

“You bloody fool,” I snap, even as I twine our hands together.

“Rude, your commander is injured. Kiss it better,” he teases.

I scoff at that as Zeev appears at my side. “He’s right. They are warrior wounds earned while protecting someone he loves. He should wear them. Not doing so would be a dishonour to his feelings for you. I, however, can heal them enough that they will scar, but you will be able to move like normal.” He looks to me. “Shall I, little mortal?”

I sigh. “What’s the cost?”

“No cost. Anyone willing to sacrifice their life for yours deserves my magic.” He nods seriously as he looks at Shamus. “May I?”

He nods, and within seconds, the wounds have closed, looking months old rather than fresh. Shamus blinks incredulously as he touches the scars and looks to Zeev. “I would thank you, but I know better.”

“No thanks needed. You protected the only thing that is important to me.” Reaching over, I grip Zeev’s neck, tug himcloser, and kiss him. His smile is charming and soft, even if his eyes are still cold, and I glance up and around.

“Let’s clean this up and get back.” I look to Shamus. “Get up, commander. Don’t be such a pussy.” I go to stand when I’m yanked back down and his mouth crashes onto mine in a possessive, hungry kiss that leaves me gasping.

“My thanks,” he murmurs.

CHAPTER 51

The whole of Stalkers’ Rest is gathered, watching as another warning is added to the wall alongside Tate’s old team. George’s head is spiked next to theirs, and I scan the crowd. I can sense anger, disgust, and fear as well as respect. It’s a volatile mix, and I worry about what it means. Shamus was hoping fear would keep them in line, but what if it sends them the other way and makes her vision come true?

Could she survive her people turning on her again?

Could we survive a war?

---