Page 53 of Atop the Faerie Throne
There aren’t many survivors here. Those who escaped the first wave of my magic have sought safety in numbers, but occasionally we encounter a band of opportunistic looters trying to grab what they can before fleeing. They don’t make it far.
Lore makes us stop to admire his pyramid of skulls—which is three times as tall as he is—and I manage to focus past the vacant dead stares of his victims to compliment it. That earns me a huge beaming grin and a brain-melting kiss that breaks my concentration for several seconds until I remember where we are and shore up my connection to Danu again.
Drystan is very good at moving us on. I suspect he knows that if I’m allowed to stare at the hundreds of cooling corpses, I’ll lose it. My magic has wrought nothing less than a total bloody slaughter, and it only gets worse as we pass through the lower city and take back the huge gate that used to be the only way to pass through the inner wall.
The giant gap to the left of it makes the gate useless, but its fortifications have turned it into an attractive stronghold for the surviving Fomorian troops.
Unfortunately, they have no defences against me. The ghosts swarm through walls, and I even summon a few more before I notice Jaro giving me a look.
“I’m not straining myself,” I promise when his wolf chuffs in gentle reprimand. “The mating bonds are keeping me steady, and there’s no iron dust around.”
Thankfully, this far from the palace, the awful stuff is completely absent. The only threat to me are the iron weapons of the enemy, but I’m so well protected that they’re never an issue as we make our way into the outer city.
Beyond the gate are hundreds of houses, connected by tiny alleys that give our enemies plenty of places to hide. My heart thuds mutely as we pass burnt-out homes and the shattered shopfronts, and the scent of ash and blood fills my nostrils.
We will rebuild, I tell myself,and magic will make it easier.
It’s impossible for my mates to check all of the buildings; so I sneakily summon more warriors from the wall, sending them to whisper through walls. I don’t even realise that I’ve summoned a shifter until a ghostly wolf bounds through a door and straight into Jaro’s path.
I expect my Guard to just ignore it and walk past, but he stops, breaking our steady advance as his tail begins to thud lightly. He looks back at me, checking that I’m still safe, before slowly circling the other wolf, licking its muzzle in an affectionate greeting that the other wolf returns. They butt heads, making noises I can’t even begin to interpret.
This wolf means something to him.
Are they related?
My questions are cut off when Jaro returns to my side, the other wolf honouring us both with a deliberate nod before returning to battle.
“Oh, look.” Lore is perched atop a collapsing balcony. “I can see the army. Onward, to the real fun!”
He jumps, blinking just before he smashes into the ground and reappearing with his daggers embedded in the meaty neck of a Fomorian who was making a valiant attempt to escape one of my ghosts.
His announcement brings with it the realisation that we’re almost at the edge of the houses, heading for the open fields of the outer city. By some silent agreement, my mates don’t head along the road to the northern gate, but instead cut across the farmland, heading straight for the outer wall.
There are still Fomorians atop it, firing down on the battle below, but we clear them swiftly. Once they’re gone, I take advantage of the moment of calm to survey the battlefield.
War cries and metallic clashes echo across the dawn-soaked landscape. I can see the remnants of order, with the fae forceshaving approached from the northeast, and the Fomorians trying desperately to break through their line and escape, but otherwise, it’s a mess.
The two sides are fairly evenly matched, but the sheer number of dead is piling up, and exhaustion is hitting everyone hard. I can make out the familiar banners of the Hellebore Knights to my left, but there’s so much blood covering everyone, and they’re moving so fast, that I have no hope of identifying any of my brothers or even the minor royals.
If the Fomorians didn’t have blue skin and pale hair, I might’ve been unable to tell which side was ours.
Reaching deeply into Danu, I tug at the ghosts behind me.
They pour over the walls in a wave, attacking the Fomorians from behind. Danu’s power snakes through the wall, finding more grave markers, pulling forth more of the dead until the enemy is caught between the fae army and me.
Lore is behind me in the next instant, his breath tickling the shell of my ear as he wraps me in his arms. My head falls to one side, instinctively accepting his affection, while my mind remains fixed on the work before me.
“Want to see why they fear my kind?” he asks huskily, turning my chin with one hand until I’m looking eastward.
For a moment, I don’t understand what he’s talking about.
Then I see them.
The redcaps are an unstoppable tempest of scarlet. They crash into the enemy like a force of nature. Unyielding. Chaotic. Bloody. My breath catches just watching them, because although it’s brutal, it’s somehow also mesmerisingly beautiful, and I just can’t wrap my head around the juxtaposition.
Lore’s eagerness, and arousal, pushes at me through the bond. There’s an instinctual urge to join in, to be part of the madness, wired into him on a base level. Logically, I understood that battle turns his kind on, and I was curious.
I never thought I’d experience it myself. Perhaps I wouldn’t, if I wasn’t his mate. Still, that’s definitely warmth flushing across my breasts and pebbling my nipples. His biting kisses at my neck aren’t helping, nor is his hand, which has slipped down to collar my throat.
