Page 23 of The High Mountain Court

The younger gave Remy an evil smile as he pulled a short sword from a sheath hidden down the spine of his shirt.

“I hate to cut off such a pretty head.” He pointed his sword out at her. “Grab her,” he ordered to his father next to him.

The older one reached out to Remy, and she retreated a step. She dodged the man’s hand and kicked his knee. Normally, that move would at least topple an opponent, but these were not human men, she realized.

“Don’t touch me!” Remy shouted, red glowing flames already licking up her arms.

More people popped their heads out of doorways and windows at the shouting and then quickly shut them, the sound of turning locks echoing down the street.

They weren’t going to help a witch.

She spun around but saw the two other men from the bar turning the corner. Her eyes frantically searched for an escape, a door or alley, but she was trapped between the four witch hunters now.

Her gut clenched as the four witch hunters closed in. Her hands trembled.

Where was Hale?

She needed to use her magic, but how? She had pulled down a giant pine tree before. Why couldn’t she think of what to do now? She looked to the slum houses on either side of her. People were inside them.

Think.

But there was no time to think as the men from the bar advanced on her. She did the first thing she thought of and threw out her magic toward the father and son now at her back. She heard them stumble. She would have laughed at the thought of two fae males tripping, but she was too focused on the other two in front of her.

Remy cast out her magic toward the larger male, unbuckling his boots and belt. He involuntarily dropped his hand to catch his falling trousers, not noticing the belt slipping free and hovering behind him.

“Seriously? That’s the best you got?” He laughed. He was the ugliest fae Remy had ever seen with putrid teeth and yellowing, bloodshot eyes. His companion was equally foul. The life of witch hunting had ruined them.

Remy’s glowing red hands still shook as she focused on the male’s belt floating in the air behind him. She was clumsy with her magic, unpracticed. She had to hold her mind in many places at once. She couldn’t forget the rest of the fae around her, but she couldn’t drop the focus on the belt either.

She flung one scarlet hand toward the male holding up his pants, and the belt wrapped around his neck. Too late did he register what she was doing. His eyes bugged as he clawed at the leather garrote, face going a deep shade of crimson. More blood vessels burst in his eyes as his companion dug furrows in his flesh, trying to get a finger under the leather’s chokehold. Remy pulled the belt tighter, tighter.

A punishing blow crashed into the back of Remy’s head, and she stumbled down to her knees. She had lost focus on the other two fae.

“Hold her down,” one male shouted.

Remy looked toward the one who had yelled, but someone slugged her in the mouth. She spat blood as the world spun. A heavy boot shoved her to the ground. The father from the duo body-slammed Remy, crushing her into the dirt with such weight she struggled to breathe.

A small thread of her magic held onto that belt even still. The choking male had fallen to the ground, unconscious, but Remy held that belt, pulling it tighter until she felt his thread of life snap.

“You bitch!” The male who had been scrambling to save his friend pulled two daggers from his belt.

“End this!” the man atop Remy snarled to his son.

The older male pinned her neck to the ground with his forearm, and another hard boot collided with Remy’s ear. She saw spots, desperately clinging to consciousness as her heart slammed into her chest. Her mind was so jumbled she didn’t even register the pain. She couldn’t hear them anymore. Her ears rang. Her eyes strained upward to the young male as he brandished his sword.

This was it. The cake in her stomach rebelled, and Remy heaved up a stomachful of acrid-smelling food, spilling it onto the dirt. The three remaining witch hunters only paused to laugh at her.

Remy braced for the impact of the blade. She heard the whoosh of metal through the air and clenched her eyes shut.

Blood rained onto her, splattering across her face. The warm liquid poured through her hair. The male on top of her spasmed, rolling off her.

Remy peeked up. Standing above her was Hale.

The warrior prince wielded a sword in one hand and a dagger in the other, his eyes darting back and forth between the two remaining fae. Hair dragging through the muck, Remy glimpsed the body of the older fae. The spasms had stopped and unseeing eyes stared back at her. A gaping wound still spurted blood from the male’s slashed neck.

Hale stole Remy a quick glance before blocking a blow from the young fae with the sword.

“Run,” he mouthed. He stood stock still, muscles taut, a coiled spring ready to unleash himself on the two fae pointing weapons at him.

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