Page 129 of Samhain Savior
He’d felt my panic, my fear, and he’d tried to help in whatever way he could, sending me calm reassurance and strength through our bond. Taking a breath, I attempted to send my gratitude back to him, then focused once more on the task at hand.
I was close. I could feel it now, the silver bullet that festered in Mex’s shoulder like a parasite, the hex that hadbeen inscribed on it infecting her body as the life bled out of her.
I just needed a moment—just a few seconds more—then I could get it out. If I could remove it, the bullet and the hex, I knew Mex’s natural healing would take over and she’d be okay.
I just needed time.
But that was something I didn’t have.
Behind me, I could hear the struggle and sobs of Genevieve, still attempting to beg for her life at the mercy of the witches who bound her. The hell hound growled, his mistress doing little to soothe his temper as he fed off the pain and suffering that was flooding the maze. And the tattooed man, now angrier than ever, was approaching me, his steps heavy on the dewy grass as he headed my way, ready to rip me away from Mex once more.
Just a little more time.
The tattooed man grunted, his shadow falling over me as he neared, and I could feel the hate pouring off of him.
“I had planned on being nice, but you had to go and pull that shit,” he scoffed, the sound rough and judgmental, but I didn’t even bother to look at him, too focused on my task. “Well, we may need your blood to bind the pieces of the Key, but that doesn’t mean we need you in one piece,bitch,” he snarled, and I watched as his shadow raised one hand, bracing myself for the strike.
But it never came.
Instead, the entire clearing was suddenly engulfed in darkness, the moon and stars hidden from view as shadows crept in from all sides. Dark and insidious, they rolled across the ground like an advancing army, rising up to create a walled fortress all around us, locking us into the center of the maze with no way out.
The tattooed man faltered, looking around wildly for the source of the latest wrench in his plans, but as his head whipped from side to side, he neglected the most important direction of all.
Up.
Out of the sky, swooping down like an avenging angel, Archer flew, his wings wide as he circled over us once. Twice. I could see the moment they realized he was there, the moment they understood what was happening.
Death had arrived, not on a pale horse, but on wings of night, ready to mete out Hell’s Holy vengeance.
I watched as Archer circled lower, my pulse racing, my love for him so powerful, I could hardly contain it. The feel of his own love, his overwhelming concern for me, flowed through the bond between us, infusing my magic with his, bolstering it, holding it up where it looked ready to fall.
My hands, still covered in Mex’s dark blood, began to glow even brighter, the light and shadow magic flowing into the wound almost without conscious direction. Mex gasped, her eyes wide and her whole body straining against the pain. Wrapping my thoughts around the hateful intrusion, I could finally begin to draw the bullet back, removing it carefully so as not to inflict more damage.
In almost no time, the bullet had been pulled out of Mex’s body, the ritual hex drawn out of her system, and before my eyes, the wound began to close. She sat up slowly, letting out a rough breath and offered me a tremulous smile.
“Merci.” Her voice were quiet, one hand dragging down her face as she wiped off the sweat and blood. “Fuck,cher,” she grumbled, climbing to her feet. “This sure is a Hell of a night.”
We stood, the two of us watching as Archer continued to circle, drawing the attention of everyone in the clearing, their frightened eyes taking in his every move, a predator hunting its prey.
Suddenly, his wings pulled back, his body hurtling to the ground as he landed heavily before me, crouched and ready for a fight.
Taking in the witches before him, Archer slowly stood, drawing himself up to his full height, and then growled, “Which one of you dared to put your hands on my mate?”
Chapter sixty
Archer
The night pressed close around us, heavy with mist and the metallic tang of the river. The garden was a hushed cathedral of ancient oaks and clawing moss, the quiet shattered only by the muttered incantation that still held Genevieve captive and the distant cries and soft rasp of insects in the dark. My shadows curled eagerly along the hedge walls, restless, hungry. They could already taste what was coming.
I stared at him, the coward of a witch who thought he could touch what was mine, letting him see the depth of my fury.
And, oh, how he trembled.
The large, tattooed swine who had shown no hesitation brutalizing my mate shook before me, his massive frame betraying its weakness in the subtle quiver of his muscles.His barrel chest rose and fell in ragged breaths, his previous bravado already unraveling.
“The Storm-bringer didn’t say anything about her being a demon’s mate,” he huffed, trying for defiance, but failing. His chin lifted, but his eyes betrayed him, wide and fearful. “I wouldn’t have touched her if I’d known she was yours.”
Mex spat at the ground, her spine rigid though her face was still pale from the wound she had just received. “So women only have value if they belong to a man? That’s some serious bullshit, if you ask me.”
