Page 72 of The Fated and the Damned
Noted. If I lost, she’d have a merry old time draining me of my blood. I suspected she’d be using those fucking fangs to do so.
My knuckles whitened where I gripped the reins, my magic rising in me with every angry beat of my heart.
A low horn echoed over the plains and our forces began moving, the militia breaking free from the front lines in a slow jog towards the beginning of the end. A hand found my thigh and I looked to Dante, finding comfort in his determined gaze. So steadfast and sure, like he was lounging on a throne. He was a pillar of strength. The calm before the storm. One that offered no quarter this night.
Archers lined up on the ramparts of the outer city walls, loosing arrows from longbows in a flutter of black-and-grey fletching. The arrows hit their marks, embedding deep into chests and eye sockets as cultists crumpled to the ground.
I forced myself to breathe like those archers might. In and out. Slow and steady. The seconds ticked on by as both sides of the field came to meet in the middle.
Three.
Two.
One.
Bang.
Swords clapped like thunder as steel clashed against steel, cultists and táltosok surging like the molten fires of a forge. I forced myself to remain still, my shoulders tense and my posture stiff as I awaited Dante’s signal.
András caught my eye and winked. I smiled back, something wild and wicked in my heart galloping with the change of atmosphere. Was it wrong that adrenaline surged through me? That I sought to wet my blade and feed the beast inside me?
Maybe. But I didn’t care anymore. Dead things didn’t lie or scheme or threaten everything I loved. I squeezed my hilt, eager to join the fray, and looked to Dante. He was already watching me, the glimmer in his eyes telling me he was just as bloodthirsty and vicious as me.
He was magnificent, dressed in full black leathers, greaves, gauntlets, and boots. The silver wolf spaulder snarled on his shoulder, a red cloak at his back clasped by the skeletal hand-and-flame symbol at his throat. His black breastplate embroidered with silver wolves sparkled like starlight, and his magic—red and black—smoked around him. My husband. My lord. A fucking death god if I ever saw.
We made a wicked pair. I wore the same black outfit and red cloak, the only difference being the wolf-and-floral breastplate I wore, gifted to me months ago by Margit as a sign of acceptance into the Wolfblood Clan. Into thefamily.
I would do that little deviant proud.
Dante’s lips quirked as he saw me drink him in, his brown hair swept back by a simple leather cord atop his temple. His eyes softened, the love and devotion in his gaze passing so quickly I almost missed it. Then he set his jaw and hardened his features, the gold ring in his eyes flashing.
Farkas thundered past the cavalry on his black stallion, his sword raised and his black regalia glimmering as it drank in the light of the torches. “For Mistvellen! For home and glory! For witches and táltosok and all the spirits of the land. Fight!”
Dante, András and I howled, feral grins on our faces as we charged, the clans at our backs answering the call. Arló’s hooves ate up the ground, pounding like the frantic beating of my heart as we closed in. Reality hit me before my brain had a chance to catch up.
Spears raced towards us and I slung low over my saddle, nearly falling out of my seat as I righted myself. Others weren’t so lucky, the sharp points embedded in chests of táltosok and horse alike, the steeds tumbling to the ground with whinnies and panicked shrieks.
I raced onwards, trampling all cultists in my path, Dante swinging his sword and lopping off heads from his horse beside me. When we reached the middle of the fray, I had little time to think.
My sword moved of its own accord as I slashed, arcing downwards at torsos and necks. Blood splattered, and weapons sang, accompanied by moans and screams of the dying.
Hands grabbed at me, trying to pull me off my saddle and I cried out, kicking and wriggling. Fear climbed my throat as I struggled to find purchase and I readied to tumble to the ground when an earth-shattering bellow sounded somewhere nearby.
I looked into the eyes of one of the cultists and gasped as a sword plunged through his throat, the man’s eyes widening as blood bubbled from his mouth. The man toppled forward as Dante kicked him and slashed at the others, his face dark with fury.
It shouldn’t have warmed my heart to see him all protective and murderous, but there was something undeniably alluring about him in full-death mode. His magic simmered around his hands, but he didn’t unleash it.
We’d agreed to save it towards the end when we’d need our full power to wipe Sylvie from existence. Besides, for him to use his necromancy, we needed to rack up more bodies to make it effective. Something I was more than happy to assist with.
Tearing my eyes from him, I focused back on the battle, my stomach sinking with dismay as I noted the overwhelming mass of cultists against our own. We were vastly outnumbered. If Mama couldn’t get the humans to stand down, the fight would be over in a blink.
A flash of blond caught my eye and I gritted my teeth as a cultist lunged towards András, who was busy fighting in the other direction, his back vulnerable to attack. With a scream of fury, I turned Arló and galloped towards my friend. I had good aim, but there were no assurances in battle.
Arló reared up, whinnying as he struck the cultist in the head with his two front hooves, sending the man to the dirt. I grinned like a crazed person as his hooves came slamming down onto the man’s skull. My horse had found his courage after all. With a satisfied smirk, I saluted András and scanned our forces. The táltosok were toppling too quickly. It was time for some real action.
I lit a fireball and tossed it straight into the air, giving the signal for my brethren. “Witches,” I yelled at the top of my lungs. “Show no mercy. Make them suffer.” Whether they heard me or not, fireballs and water jets lit up the sky like shooting stars. I turned my attention back to the cultists. “Time to see what real magic is made of.”
The ground began to rumble, grass, dirt, and lavender trembling beneath us. I watched in awe as a sound like splitting trees cracked all around me, then roots began stretching up and out of the dirt, latching onto cultists and dragging them underground.
