Page 3 of Crownless Heirs

Kyron’s voice dropped to a mere whisper, “We’re in a bog, of course it is. We walked right into this, Cat; we need to get out of here.”

Cat struggled to understand why she would be in such a place, how they had ended up in a bog, but then, with a sudden flurry of motion, her skeletal hands shot out, aiming directly for Cat. He planted his feet, canines bared, and roared with a force that shook the very ground, just as he had done before. The sound tore through the air, causing the banshee to falter, standing still as if stunned. In that same moment, Sorcha blinked as her world snapped back into focus, though her body still felt heavy, as if waking from a deep sleep. Her movements were clumsy as she staggered forward, fighting a wave of vertigo that threatened to send her to her knees.

Before she could fully grasp what was happening, Kyron was shouting to her. “Sorcha, you need to go!” he urged.

The banshee shrieked, reaching for Sorcha, and the raw grief in the woman’s voice pierced Sorcha’s soul. “Sorcha, don’t go.” She wailed. The banshee touched Sorcha‘s hand, gently tugging her toward the waters. That’s when Sorcha screamed. Her cry echoed the banshee’s; the physical force sent the banshee staggering back across the bog, her eyes wide with shock.

Kyron whirled to face Sorcha and Cat. “Cat, get her out of here! Now!” he cried as the banshee let loose a screech that ripped through the clearing.

The nightmare creature charged on all fours, its tattered robes billowing like smoke. Kyron stood his ground as the banshee slashed wildly. Her skeletal fingers dug into Kyron’s arm, eliciting a sharp hiss of pain and ragged gasps as his blood spattered the damp earth. With a piercing shriek born of pure rage, she lunged again. Kyron stumbled backward as she screamed and tore into his abdomen.

Meanwhile, Sorcha’s eyes, wide and unfocused, stared blankly ahead, her hands hanging limply and her body trembling. A choked sound escaped her lips.

“Sorcha,” Cat rasped, nudging her leg.

“Sorcha!” His voice grew louder with urgency.

Incoherent murmurs were all that left her lips as one of his tails coiled around her waist. With a fluid, powerful movement, he scooped her onto his back and fled. The screams behind them drowned out the frantic thudding of his paws.

The banshee’s wail chased them into the trees, yet Cat maintained his pace. The sting in his side didn’t register until the fight was far behind them, when the noise thinned and the forest closed in. Pain grew beneath his ribs; her armor was burning him.

“The Iron,” he hissed through his teeth and flicked his tail.

Of course, it was the iron. Sorcha’s weapons and armor were all made of iron. He should have expected it, as it was slowly draining his magic the longer he stayed close to them. Fortunately, the magic of the Otherworld aided him, and he had already begun to mend the damage. It was stitching the tissue and skin closed with a slow, steady heat, even as it burned away and reopened.

Cat finally slowed when they found a clearing near a quiet brook. Gently placing Sorcha on the ground, he slumped back onto the grass. A long while passed before Sorcha began to speak, her voice groggy, as if waking from a dream.

“What happened?” she asked, her head pounding and exhaustion weighing on her. Cat examined her for a long moment before speaking.

“A banshee attacked us, but...” He seemed to struggle to find the right words. “You returned the banshee’s call, Sorcha. You answered it.”

Sorcha rubbed her eyes, then her temples, her brows knitting together in confusion.

“What do you mean? What does “returned the call” mean?” Cat was about to answer when Kyron emerged. He stepped through the trees, carried by mist and shadow, his boots soaked and bloody. On one arm, his shirt had shredded, and something had torn away the lower half. His skin glistened with sweat, and Sorcha’s gaze fell upon exposed stomach. Scratches trailed across his side, visible beneath the frayed fabric. He saw Sorcha first. She met his gaze for a moment, then looked away, turning red. He smirked and then stepped forward.

“She vanished the second I threw salt down,” he said.

He kept walking, casually surveying the two of them. “She’s gone. For now.”

Cat nodded. “Still in one piece, I see.”

Kyron shrugged. “More or less.”

Sorcha moved to speak, but then her attention dropped to the crimson soaking Cat’s side.

“Cat, you’re bleeding.”

Kyron moved his hands across his body, pulling at his clothes. His eyes watched Sorcha; he watched the way her eyes followed the motion. The way her gaze lingered on his bare skin. Cat noticed too.

“It’s fine.” Cat said flatly.

“But you’re still bleeding.” Sorcha countered.

“I’ve had worse,” he said dryly.

“Cat, I’m being serious.” She responded, her frustration rising.

He smiled, slow and forced. “I’m fine, really.”