by T. A. White
Shea fell back a step as Braden and Trenton moved to either side of her, taking care of their own opponents.
They continued to fall back, meeting each beast with fierce aggression as they swung and hacked any time one got close.
A boomer barked from behind her, nailing the grindle in the side. It did little more than irritate it, the grindle treating the wound as no more than a bee sting as it stalked Shea and the other two across the bridge.
“It’s about to charge,” Braden said as the grindle lowered its head and scratched the stone of the bridge with one foot.
Shea held her left arm bent parallel to the ground in front of her, setting the sword on it as she firmed up her stance, Braden and Trenton doing the same on either side. She didn’t have a lot of confidence about being able to stop a charge. The grindle outweighed her by several hundred pounds. It would flatten her if she tried to stand her ground.
It leapt forward, its claws outstretched. Shea slid to the left, Braden moving seamlessly to give her room, and sliced with the sword, aiming at the tendons in the back of its leg. Trenton did the same on its other side.
It let out a cry as it passed, stumbling as it did so. It snarled as it regained its feet, shaking its head as it turned.
Before it could do more than stamp its foot, a barrage of arrows hit it, bringing it down.
Shea looked up, noting with a glance Trateri archers standing on the Keep’s curtain wall, Gawain a fierce presence among to them. She recognized him from his ice blue eyes and angry voice as he shouted orders, his men arranged in a long line, their faces masks of determination.
“Let’s go,” Braden shouted. He led the way, sprinting across the bridge toward the gate, Shea and Trenton right behind him.
A sixer climbed up and over the side of the bridge to stand in front of them, its lips pealed back as it gave them a macabre smile.
Shea and Trenton whirled to face the bridge behind them as it thumped, letting them know where the second sixer could be found.
The things had used the grindles’ distraction to climb down the underside and find a better place of attack. Now, Shea and the others were surrounded. Even with Gawain’s archers, Shea didn’t see an easy way out of this. He couldn’t fire on the sixers without risking hitting the three of them.
“I’m really beginning to hate this place,” Trenton snarled as he faced the sixer. He waved his arms trying to use noise and movement to intimidate it, but the sixer was no ordinary animal to be fooled by such things. However, Trenton’s antics were enough that it paced in front of them, studying them with dark eyes.
“Help Braden. We need to get to the exit,” Trenton ordered.
Shea nodded, joining the general as he feinted at his adversary in much the same way as Trenton had.
Before she could do much more than that, Fallon burst from the gates, a blood-chilling roar ripping from him, the warriors at his back a fearsome sight as he pounded down the bridge.
The sixer nearest the Keep, sensing danger, turned to face this new foe. Braden and Shea took advantage of its distraction, plunging their swords into its side and back. Its tail swept up hitting Shea across the chest, sending her sprawling.
Fallon reached the beast in the next moment, a fearsome expression on his face—a mask of snarling rage that rivaled anything she had seen on a beast. In that moment he was every inch the horrifying figure, the man the Lowlands called the scourge. The sight sent a thread of fear down her back.
His sword bit through the sixer’s neck as the men on either side of him buried blades and spears in its side, holding it at bay as it thrashed. Fallon jerked his sword free and swung it again, the steel descending in a killing arc that separated the beast’s head from its body.
Black blood arced up, coating his face and body. He rose, like something out of a nightmare, his burning eyes coming straight to Shea’s. He held one hand out to her, uncaring of the blood, fully expecting her to take it.
She did, slipping her palm into his as he tugged her close before pushing her to the gate and safety. He walked beside her as his men guarded their backs, keeping the rest of the beasts from them as they began their retreat.
Not until they were inside the safety of the gates with the rest of their people did Shea relax.
Fallon’s arms closed around her in a tight embrace as he lowered his head to press his forehead to hers. Now that the furor of battle had abated, she could feel the fine trembling in his arms.
“I’m fine. You saved me,” Shea said, keeping her voice to a soothing rhythm.
He lifted his head, an emotion running through his whiskey colored eyes that set Shea’s stomach to trembling.
“I suspect you saved yourself before I ever got involved,” he said, his voice soft as he took note of the bruises under her eyes and the disarray of her clothes.
She fingered a tear in his clothes and the dried blood under the fresh black of the sixer’s blood. That hadn’t come from the short battle he’d just fought. She raised worried eyes to his.
“I’m fine as well. Your pathfinders offered little exercise,” he said with a wolfish grin.
She snorted before dropping her head to his chest, letting the comfort of his embrace sink in, letting him convince her she was safe even as adrenaline and fear held her in its grip.
They’d survived. Somehow. Both of them had lived despite their enemies’ best efforts.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
They stood like that for a while, each grateful the other had lived, uncaring of those around them.
It took a moment for the trembling in her limbs to abate, but eventually she felt ready to step free and deal with the blows they’d just been dealt. Fallon’s arms tightened before slipping reluctantly away.
It was a sentiment Shea echoed. She would have been glad to stand there wrapped in Fallon’s embrace if not for the trouble brewing over their heads, angry voices that told her their brief respite was over.
“I don’t care what you think,” Gawain snapped. “My men will remain here until I say otherwise.”
“You’ll just get in our way,” Ronan said.
“It’s you who’s more likely to get in our way,” Gawain sneered.
Shea nearly groaned. They’d just come through an attack by beasts. Couldn’t they put aside their differences until they figured out what their next steps were?
“It’s like dealing with children,” Fallon muttered in a voice meant only for her ears.
She stifled her giggle against his chest before looking up at him with a slight smile. “Worse. At least children aren’t likely to try to cut off someone’s head when they don’t get their way.”
He made an aggravated noise in the back of his throat before stepping away, turning his attention on the fight brewing above on the battlements.
“Enough,” he barked.
The argument ceased as the group above slowly turned their attention to Fallon. Reece drifted over to join Shea, his gaze no happier than Fallon’s. Seeing her cousin at Fallon’s side seemed to settle some of the pathfinders, though there were a few Shea noted who took the sight as a confirmation of sorts, their faces darkening and their gazes turning hard. She made a mental note of who those people were. She was willing to bet they were among the ones causing trouble.
Her father also joined Fallon, his gaze disgusted as he looked over his people.
“It’s likely there will be another attack,” Fallon said in a calm voice when all eyes had turned to him. “We do not have time for your petty squabbles as you bicker like children. Put aside your differences before I do it for you.”
Gawain listened with his arms folded and his legs spread, his cold eyes turning to the pathfinder standing beside him.
“Gawain,” Fallon barked. “Draw up a rotation. I want at least one of our people on watch for every pathfinder up there.” His attention flicked to her father in a cutting glance. “Any objections.”
Patrick loo
ked grimly satisfied as he shook his head. “None.”
Fallon’s expression turned cold as it whipped back to the men and women above. “Good, then there should be no problems. Make sure your best archers are among those assigned. Treat this as if we expect another attack at any moment, then report to my rooms.”
Gawain inclined his head at the order before turning to his counterpart above.
“Is there something you’re aware of that we aren’t?” Zeph asked, his warriors at his back.
“We’ll discuss this later, in my rooms,” Fallon responded. “In the meantime, arrange your men into groups. I want them patrolling the Keep, including any secret tunnels our hosts will tell us about.”
Fallon turned dark eyes on her father who grinned with thinly veiled amusement.
Fallon didn’t wait for anyone to voice further arguments, grabbing Shea’s hand and pulling her in his wake. Trenton fell into place behind them, shadowing them as they made their way to their rooms.
The trip was short and mercifully uneventful. They didn’t speak until Fallon stopped at their door, letting Shea precede him in as he turned to Trenton and Caden who she just now realized had followed them.
“We’re not to be disturbed until I say otherwise,” Fallon ordered. “I want this door guarded at all times. Our enemies are close. I want you both to be alert.”
He didn’t wait for a response, slamming the door behind him.
Shea turned to him with a question, the words going unspoken as his lips crashed down on hers. Passion rose like an inferno between them, the heated conflagration catching her in its grip and sweeping away anything else.
Their kiss was tinged with desperation, the very real awareness of how close they’d come to losing everything. It consumed them in one gulp.
Shea caught fire, forgetting the world and their situation as she became obsessed with the press of his lips against hers, his rough hands pulling her close as he pressed his length against hers.
It took little more than a hop and she was up, her legs around his waist, her hands tangled in his hair, his palms supporting her ass as he backed her into a wall, pressing all of him against her.
He rolled his hips against hers, the length of him sliding against her core as he used the friction of their clothes to press against just the right spot. A throaty moan escaped her. He felt so good, all the better for the danger they’d just survived, the adrenaline in her system heightening every sensation.
Neither of them gave any thought to anything else, each consumed with crawling as deep into the other as they could, reassuring themselves in the most primal way possible of the other’s safety and life.
With her back hard against the wall, his hand slid from her ass to between them, busying itself with the laces of her pants before diving in and pressing against the wet heat of her.
Shea’s hands clenched in Fallon’s hair as warmth spread from her core. He buried his face against her neck, the stubble on his jaw rasping against the delicate skin as kissed her neck. The sensation spiraled deeper as he plunged two fingers into her, his thumb flicking her clitoris in a way that made her breath catch in her throat.
She pushed her hips towards him, needing his touch more than she needed her next breath. Her insides tightened and she panted. She was so close.
He hit a spot deep inside that sent everything tightening further, before propelling her off a cliff of sensation. He swallowed her moans as his lips came back to hers. He moved quickly, whipping her pants off before undoing his own.
Then he was sliding into her in a rough glide and a muffled groan. He set a rhythm that saw her building toward climax again, reaching for that life-affirming splendor. There was no time to play as they usually did. No sweet coupling. It was raw and dangerous, their need for each other almost terrifying in its intensity.
She threw her head back as she came, her back bowing. He pumped into her several times more before he followed her, claiming her lips with his own.
They remained like that for several moments afterward, locked in an embrace as their breathing came back to normal and their hearts settled.
Her legs slipped down his sides and she stood there feeling like every drop of anxiety and fear had been wrung from her, along with all emotion.
He lifted his head and their eyes met, their gazes clinging.
She placed one hand on his cheek and gave him a bittersweet smile. His hand came up to cup hers as he lifted it and pressed a kiss to her fingers before stepping back to stride—as naked as you please—to the bathing area.
Shea watched him go with slumberous eyes, grabbing a robe sitting on the end of their bed and following him.
The water turned on and moments later she could hear splashing. She crossed the cold floor and rounded the privacy screen. She leaned against the wall before the tub and folded her arms across her chest as she watched Fallon bathe.
Her gaze settled on where the skin along his ribs was just starting to darken with the beginning of a bruise. She stepped closer and rested her hand against the small spot. Someone had gotten close, at least enough to leave a bruise.
She sighed, the sound heavy and sad. His hand came up to clasp hers as he held her hand to his side, a question in his eyes.
She looked up at him. “It’s Griffin. He’s the one responsible for all this.”
Fallon’s face turned pensive as thoughts moved behind his eyes. “I thought you said he was dead.”
She shook her head. “I don’t know how, but he somehow survived. I don’t know how to explain it. He’s changed, but not in any way that I understand.”
Fallon seemed lost in thought as she waited for his response. She was half braced for his blame. It was unlikely Griffin would have targeted the Trateri if not for her presence. She waited for him to realize that.
A frown took over his face and he tugged Shea into the water with him. She landed with a splash, her legs getting tangled in her robe.
“You do not look at me that way,” he ordered her, his voice a fierce rumble over her head. “You don’t look at me like you’re waiting for me to cast you out or blame you for things beyond your control. He’s chosen his path. Him and no one else. Just like those pathfinders I killed today. No one forced them to act stupid. They did it all on their own.”
Shea had tensed against him, but at his words she relaxed, her head resting on his chest as the water soaked into her robe. Sensing her mood had shifted, Fallon’s hands brushed along her back in a soothing caress.
“You and my father seem to be getting along rather well,” Shea observed.
He grunted. “Yes, there’s nothing to bond a father and his daughter’s lover like killing a common enemy.”
In an innocent voice, she asked, “Did you have fun hunting?”
A pinch landed on her side, and she jerked up, one hand going to the offended spot as she leveled a mocking glare on him.
“That’s for not warning me,” he told her.
“I did tell you it wasn’t what you thought,” she said.
“Your entire people are insane,” he grumbled.
She snorted. “That’s rich coming from you.”
He leveled a displeased look on her. “My people are perfectly normal. It’s everyone else that is irrational.”
She eyed him for a startled moment before she threw her head back and laughed. She supposed she could see how he thought that. Other cultures and peoples would invariably seem strange when you’ve spent your whole life immersed in your own.
He watched her, his lips twitching before he splashed her with water. She gaped at him and received another splash for her troubles.
“It’s on,” she said, splashing him in return.
*
A knock came at the door after Shea had finished mopping up most of the water.
They shared a look. Their interlude was at its end, the real world encroaching once again. It was pleasant while it lasted but now it was tim
e to find their way forward in this mess.
She threw on her shirt and made sure she was at least semi-presentable as Fallon bade the person to enter.
The door swung open to reveal Braden and the clan leaders, Gawain, Zeph, and Van, as well as Caden and the healer Chirron. That wasn’t that surprising. It was Reece and her father bringing up the rear that really impressed upon her how things had changed.
“Have you told her yet?” Patrick asked Fallon, his eyes going immediately to the warlord at her side.
Fallon shook his head. “Not yet. I haven’t had the opportunity.”
Shea frowned at both men, not liking the way they were talking over her head, as if they were plotting something or trying to protect her. It made her instantly suspicious.
“Perhaps we should do this later,” her father said.
“Spit it out,” Shea said, interrupting them. “Whatever it is, it’s not going to get any better the longer you wait.”
For one of the few times in her life, her father looked unsure of himself. Tired and wane. It wasn’t like him, and she was filled with a sense of dread. Whatever they were sitting on was bad.
Patrick rubbed his chin with one hand and let out a heavy sigh. “It’s your mother. She was attacked.”
A roaring filled Shea’s ears as the entire world seemed to stop, the words so unnatural that it felt like the air around her had stilled, after sucking a harsh breath in and holding it. Or maybe that was her. She exhaled with a shaky gasp and inhaled, struggling to keep her face blank—emotionless, while inside she felt like she’d just received a wound that would never heal.
She and her mother had problems—that was an unavoidable fact. There was a lot of hurt and anger on both sides. Betrayal. Missed opportunities. But Lainey Halloran was still her mother. If she was dead, if she’d left this world for the next, Shea would never get to say the things that needed saying. She wouldn’t get the chance to give or receive the forgiveness they both so desperately needed.
