Page 42 of Tempting the Fae Lord
“Except I hate him for it.”
You don’t even know him. But who am I to question her feelings on the matter? I could just as easily have grown up hating him. Many do.
“So is it my turn now? Will you tell me where you saw him?”
She waves her fingers. “Oh, here and there and everywhere. Every night. The woods to the north, south, east, and west. Wherever I go, he goes. But he won’t catch me, and I can’t seem to pin him down either. It’s a stalemate.”
My stomach drops. “Wait.You’rethe fae-souled sorceress?” It had crossed my mind when we first met, but… she’s so small and nice and normal…ish. As normal as any fae can be that is. The fact thatthisis who Ezra failed to conquer is frankly unbelievable.
“Is that what he called me?”
“Among other things.”
She rolls her eyes.
A zap of energy startles me. Sonja sits up straight. Outside, a roiling wave shakes the earth, and an eerie moaning rises like an otherworldly chorus.
Sonja presses her lips into a straight line. “That’ll be him now.”
Gatekeeper
I must be getting closer.The bone caller has raised dead humans tonight. Lately, it’s been the stinking, rotting carcasses of wolves, bears, stags, and whatever beastly things were available. I’d thought he’d run out of humans.
If it were me, I’d locate my hideout near the largest graveyard in the area. And seeing the number of lumbering undead headed my way, I think that’s right here.
I crack my knuckles and draw my knives.
As usual, the death mage hides as far behind his army of wretched corpses as he can. From my vantage point on an open ridge, he’s a dark-haired twig on the opposite ridge, hands raised, brandishing his foul magic from afar.
Also as usual, the fae sorceress has yet to make an appearance. Her habit is to show up and goad me midbattle, then to flee for safety before I can get a shot at her. Infuriating harpy.
The putrefied army plods forth. Rather than wait for them to reach me, I stride into their chaotic ranks and hack a swath through the stinking masses.
Corpse after corpse falls before me, but they don’t stay down. With an unholy stench, with dogged determination, and with any remaining limbs, they pursue me no matter how mauled their carcasses become.
I hack off an arm here, a leg there. Slash through a few torsos. Lop off too many heads to count.
They don’t fight back. They don’t howl in pain. They don’t even bleed, unless oozing a filthy grime counts. (It doesn’t.)
I’m surrounded, but it matters not. Too many years with these blades, too many wars under my belt. The mindless creatures stand no chance.
When I try to fly over them, the blasted death mage raises his slender hands, and the whole of his army lifts with them. After several attempts at battling them midflight, I learned it’s faster to cut them down from the ground.
Faster, but not exactly fast.
Minutes tick by, and the fight rages on, me slicing and dicing, them gnashing and thrashing. Their claws reach, but I dodge. My blades hack, but they persist.
We battle until I’m properly vexed and both me and the land are covered in gore.
“Show yourself, you cowardly slattern!” I yell into the distance.
Her tinkling laughter echoes through the valley. I dart my gaze toward the horizon, spot the death mage again, but see no sign of the sorceress.
“Stop cowering behind your minions and fight a proper battle.” I pick up speed and cut a straight path toward the mage. If I can’t have her head, I’ll settle for his.
Chin down, jaw clenched, I let muscle memory take charge. Striding forth, slashing and stabbing, I drop the corpses by the dozen.
Closing in foot by foot, I’m nearly there when I hear a voice that has me freezing mid-stride.
