Page 113 of A Trial of War
“Hold on, Gunnar.”
An eerie, high-pitched scream tore through the edge of the forest as a massive predator as black as the night leaped from the brush. Ivory talons eviscerated the flesh of our enemies into ribbons as blood spewed out like a waterfall at the base of a cliff.
And there goes my appetite for the next century.
Shifting mid-leap, Shaw landed in his human form with a snarl. His body was beaten, battered, and bleeding. But his eyes held a fire only shifters could muster.
“You two look like shit,” Shaw said.
“Feel like it… too,” Gunnar managed to mutter.
Zola materialized beside him, stepping out of the shadow cast by a fallen pine. Her midnight eyes blazed as she threw a dagger with terrifying grace straight into the skull of a mage that survived Shaw’s attack.
“The tree line. Now!” Zola roared, eyes falling to Gunnar. “Healers are waiting and Rhea will cover our flank.”
Together, Shaw and Zola helped me guide Gunnar through the fray. Zola darted forward and back, cutting down threats before they even reached us while arrows soared overhead to protect us from behind. Shaw shifted back into his panther form, calling to his pack to help clear the way. By the time the trees swallowed us, the world shifted into a different type of chaos.
Wounded were littering the forest floor, with healers rushing from patient to patient, trying to help those they could. The earthy pines were coated with the scent of crushed herbs and bitter medicines. But beneath it lingered the coppery scent of blood and sweat, heavy with the weight of death and battle.
A male High Fae, dressed in Crimson City colors, rushed forward, lifting Gunnar from our arms. “We’ve got him.”
“Make sure you do,” I said with a low growl in my chest.
Shaw shifted back on two legs, chest heaving. “Castor!” Gods above, his eyes—too knowing—snapped to meet mine. “Where is Skylar?” he asked with a tremor in his voice.
The feisty redhead she-wolf joined him, her piercing stare almost as terrifying as Minaeve’s. “Castor… we can’t sense our alpha. Where the fuck is she?”
“I don’t know where they are,” I said, forcing my voice to keep steady. “But they’ll be back.”
Shaw searched my face, desperate for answers. While Rhea stormed off, spewing a stream of curse words in her wake.
“We must hold the line.” I gripped Shaw’s shoulder and then Zola’s. “Dax and Sky will come back. But until then, we must keep fighting.”
Zola nodded, shadows clinging to her like a second skin.
Shaw exhaled slowly, his hardened resolve returning. “Then we hold the line. Until they return.”
Chapter Forty-Six
Réalta Avermont
“Hurry over here!” Gilen yelled as he shifted from his roc form. “Réalta, I need help. He needs stitching along this wound.”
I ran as fast as my legs could carry me. Fidela’s nearly empty saddlebag bounced at my hip, but still, I pushed on. The wounded kept coming. I couldn’t fight with my soldiers, shifters, or High Fae, but I could try to keep them alive.
I skidded to a stop as Gilen carefully slid a wounded male shifter from his shoulder onto the ground. His base layer was torn to shreds, and a deep gash split his brow, blood smearing the features of his face.
“Do you know him?” I asked, fingers fumbling as I tried to thread a needle.
“Yes.” Gilen’s voice was clipped, unwilling to give me more.
I’d seen Gilen earlier through the trees, flying from the battlefield with what looked like a bear in his talons after helping save Castor and Gunnar.
“I’ll find a High Fae and see if they have any more healing vials to spare,” Gilen said, standing to his full height, though his eyes never left his fallen friend.
“Go. I’ll do what I can.” I waved him off, then called after him before he was out of reach. “Wait! If he wakes up, what’s his name?”
I didn’t want another delirious warrior or shifter waking up and trying to kill me. That had happened three times already, and I doubted my luck would stretch to a fourth.
