by Lori Devoti
Tense, Raf watched, listened, looked for an opportunity.
Ky folded her arms over her chest and waited. No one moved.
A standoff. Raf wasn’t big on standoffs. He was into action. He roared and pulled back in a squat to propel into a leap. As he did he saw another flash from above. This time it was steel—arrows.
Archers lined the walls around him.
His time was up. He catapulted himself forward, shimmered as the first arrows zinged toward him—through him. Solidified and sprang again. Until he was less than six feet from the keep’s entrance, this time he stayed solid, saw the determination in the elves faces as he leaped at them. They moved forward leaving space between them and the building. He shimmered, aimed at that space. He solidified behind them in the air…still leaping and plowed through the door.
The floor was slick under his pads. He skidded and spun, barely let himself slow as he sighted the wall where he had last seen Marina. There was an opening now—a jagged gap in the stone. He bolted through. No one followed.
The room inside was nothing but rubble—stones and dust everywhere, but in the center of the space, bent low and holding a knife was the royal, Anton. His eyes rounded in horror when he saw Raf; fear poured from his body.
Marina. Raf could smell her, sense her, but he couldn’t see her. Anton glanced down at the pile of rocks he knelt beside—and Raf realized the truth, realized what…who lay buried beneath those stones.
Fury hot and uncontrolled ripped through Raf’s body.
He roared and leapt.
Anton spun, tried to run, but the rubble got in his way. He tripped and Raf was on him. Raf could feel his eyes glowing, could feel the rage bubbling inside him.
Marina—his Marina, was buried and this elf was somehow responsible. He would tear him into bits, leave the remains strewn around for the rest to find, to learn from—except those outside. He’d hunt them down. Add them to his kill. Not a single one would walk away from this. Not a single one would live to celebrate his lover’s death.
He stalked forward; his gaze glued on the elf. The fall had put the royal on edge, given Raf an advantage—not that he needed it. Still, the fear and insecurity streaming from the royal added to the fun, fed Raf’s bloodlust, would make the kill quicker, give him more time to hunt the others.
“Raf?” A voice, muffled and rough.
Raf paused, his foot raised, ready to step forward.
“Raf, can you hear me?”
There was no mistaking it this time—a voice was coming from nearby. Lost in the bloodlust, Raf’s hellhound brain couldn’t process what it meant. He couldn’t change course.
He growled; kept his gaze on the elf.
When the voice had spoken, the male had edged forward. At Raf’s growl he pulled back.
“Raf. Get me out of here…please.”
Raf blinked, the tone, the “please”, broke through his fog. Marina. He turned to the pile of stone.
“I can’t move my arms,” she murmured. The words were soft, like a confession.
Raf found the space where her face was uncovered. Her eyes were dark, relieved, but alive—for a second—then they fluttered closed. He was losing her.
He pawed a pile of stones off her chest, then snapped his jaws together at his stupidity. He pressed his nose against her face again and shimmered her free of the rubble.
Once she lay atop the stones, he changed, gathered her into his arms and held her against his chest. She was breathing, but her eyes were still closed. He held her tighter, tilted her chin up so he could gaze into her face.
Anton moved. Raf looked up, but it was too late. The royal had already thrown his blade; Raf had already been hit.
Raf snarled and jerked the knife from his arm. Drove it tip first into the floor and started to stand. The room began to move and his vision to blur.
The smirking face of the elf grew closer. Raf reached out but swiped at empty air.
“Ky isn’t completely stupid. It was her idea we make preparations for a hellhound. Of course, that doesn’t mean the throne will accept her, and I am averse to getting rid of one option until I’m sure the second will work.” Anton turned. “Don’t you agree, Geir?”
Marina’s uncle appeared beside Anton.
“You know I always have,” Marina’s uncle replied. He stepped forward and tapped Raf on the chest.
Raf lunged again, but this time he fell.
“Do we keep him?” Anton asked.
“I don’t know…” Geir prodded Raf in the side with his foot. “If we don’t my niece may be even more difficult, besides we might be able to use him. I think she actually cares for him.”
“No. That can’t be. The throne would never accept—”
“Of course not. There is no risk of that. But as long as we control him—she will be much easier to sway. It gives us a tool over her.”
“Like Ky was?” Anton’s tone was skeptical.
“Yes, well, that plan didn’t work out, did it? But it doesn’t mean this one won’t.” There was rustling, like another net being dragged.
Raf, his reality swimming, couldn’t do anything but listen as the two elves stepped over him and started wrapping him up.
Marina sucked in a breath; her arms ached as if they were being pulled from their sockets. She fluttered her eyes, reluctant to open them, but she couldn’t remember why. She could feel her body moving, being dragged…by her wrists, she realized.
“We’ll hide them here until I’ve assured Ky that Marina wasn’t here. Then come back and get them properly stored. Meanwhile, you find the Paladin. We need to talk to him, see what he knows and find the throne. If by some stroke the throne will accept Ky, then this—” something scuffed against her “—won’t be necessary.”
Whoever held her wrists gave another jerk. She barely suppressed a groan.
“We need to hurry. Ky and her elves know the hellhound came in here. They won’t honor your order to stay out for long.” Her uncle’s voice, behind her. He was the one holding her wrists.
“I blocked the door. They won’t get in without a struggle,” Anton replied.
Geir grunted. “How are you going to explain the disappearance of the hellhound? And what if Marina wakes up while we are gone?”
Marina froze, didn’t even breathe.
“I’ll tell Ky the hellhound shimmered away. I don’t know why he didn’t. He had the chance. Proof the shapeshifters aren’t that bright.”
Geir huffed, didn’t seem to agree with the other royal’s assessment.
“And as to Marina, we’ll wrap her in the net, too.” Anton paused. “Once we get the hellhound over here. He’s heavy. I’ll need your help.”
Her uncle muttered a complaint in elfin, but dropped Marina’s wrists and stepped over her.
They had Raf—in a net she concluded—and they were going to drag him to wherever they had stashed her, wrap them both into the net and leave them.
Once under the net’s magic, Marina would be helpless.
She’d been there before—didn’t like it.
She flexed her hands and felt for magic. The whole magic thing was new to her. She felt like she was blindfolded, groping around in the dark trying to find power inside her. Her mind knew it was there, knew she wanted to release it, but actually doing so…that was an issue.
The two times she had successfully used her powers had been like explosions. She hadn’t carefully drawn and fired. She’d been under some pressure that had caused the magic to bubble up. All she’d had to do was not control it.
But now, groggy and her body filled with a thousand pains, her physical state was much more apparent than any power hidden inside her.
She gritted her teeth and tried to locate some trigger….
“Why couldn’t she have fallen for an elf?” Anton asked, his voice winded.
Marina cracked one eyelid open.
One end of the net was across Anton’s shoulder. He leaned into it. Her uncle huffed a breath and pi
cked up the other end. As they pulled, Raf jerked forward; his face pressed against the open weave.
Marina’s jaw tensed. Anger crackled in her, and with it power. She focused on Raf, on how helpless he looked. He was unconscious; the net hadn’t done that—Anton and her uncle had. What had they done to him?
As her concern grew, so did her fury…and her magic. She could feel it now coursing through her veins. She couldn’t lie still. She had to move, so she wiggled her shoulders, her arms, her fingers until every bit of her body was filled with power.
Then she opened her eyes and stared the two royals down.
Both of them froze.
“Marina, you don’t—” her uncle began.
Marina ignored him, opened her hands and let magic stream from her palms. She had no idea what she was doing, no idea if she was about to stun or kill the uncle she’d lived with most of her life, and at that moment, engulfed in her worry for Raf, she didn’t care.
The power that flew from her was green, like her eyes. For a moment she wondered if there was a connection. Then as Anton turned, tried to flee, the thought disappeared—all thought except stopping his escape disappeared.
She opened her other hand, let magic stream from it, too. Two lines of power stretched from her body to the royals, rolled on the floor toward their feet like a vine grasping for sunlight. But this vine didn’t want the sun—it was after the elves. It wrapped around their ankles and jerked them to the floor.
Marina smiled. She’d intended that—had seen it in her head right before it happened. She focused and tried again, envisioned the vines lengthening, coiling over and over around the royals’ bodies like thread on a spool. The magic thinned, but didn’t break. In unison, the lines snaked up and around their legs, pinning their calves together so they had to pull with their upper bodies to try and escape.
“Marina. We didn’t harm him—or you. What are you doing?” Geir yelled. He grabbed a rock and jammed it at the power—as if the stream of magic was a vine and could be cut. Marina sent the magic higher, locking Geir’s arms against his body and stopping his hacking with the stone. When he opened his mouth to cry out again, she urged the vine between his lips like a gag, did the same with Anton. They mumbled around it, their eyes huge. Anton’s filled with uncertainty and Geir’s with anger. She ignored both and walked toward them.
With the magic moving through her, her aches were gone, the tightness in her chest was gone. When she reached Raf, she stopped and kicked the net off of him.
She switched her gaze between the royals she held bound by magic and the net. She could use it to hold them, but she needed a free hand. The power felt and acted like independent lines, but both came from her body—if she didn’t break the source, could she transfer it?
She brought her hands together and scraped one palm over the other. The line of magic moved, shifted from the palm she scraped to the one she held flat. She had two streams shooting from one hand now. She stared at it for a second, taking it in. She’d gone so long thinking her power was too weak to be of any use and now…She shook her head, prayed it would be able to do something for Raf—but first she had to take care of Geir and Anton.
More comfortable, she quickly tugged the two closer until she could throw the net over them. Unfortunately, the net cut off her magic. Both opened their mouths to yell. She picked up a knife that lay on the floor and slid the tip through an opening in the weave, pierced Anton’s neck. Blood dribbled onto his silk tunic.
She stared at Geir. “Don’t think I won’t have the time or energy to slice your throat, too. It will take longer for them—” she jerked her head to the outside “—to hear you than it will for me to move.”
Her uncle held her gaze—there was no fear in his eyes, but she hadn’t expected any, didn’t really want to see it there. Strange as it was, after everything he had put her through, she held no malice for him. It would be like hating the serpent. Both were snakes, both were just being true to those identities.
She slid her gaze to Raf. “What did you do to him?”
Geir arched a brow, and for a second she didn’t think he would reply, then he blew out a bored breath. “Nothing lasting, just at touch of canine sedative.” He pointed to the side where a dozen or so arrows were scattered about.
“You poisoned him.” Marina’s hand jumped, drove the blade deeper into Anton’s throat. The royal made a gurgling noise. Marina dropped her hold on him and reached for an arrow.
“Canine you say? Any idea how it works on elves?” She drove the arrow through an opening in the net and into Anton’s thigh. His eyes widened and his mouth opened, but before any sound could escape his throat, his body locked up—like a convulsion had hit but hadn’t released. Marina jerked out the arrow and prodded his chest. “Interesting. Looks like it’s a bit rougher on elves.” She selected a second arrow.
“I won’t give you away—I can’t. Only Anton was working with me. Your sister sees me as a threat—not as big of a threat as you, but still, given a choice, she would eliminate me.”
Marina tapped the arrow against her palm. “You should be grateful then that I’m the sister who has you.” She lurched forward and drove the arrow into his arm. Then sat back on her heels. Even frozen, her uncle managed to look superior.
She shook her head and shoved his immobilized form over onto its side. Then she turned her attention to Raf.
Poison had done this to him—how could she undo it? Could she?
She shook her head. She had to. There was no other choice. She couldn’t shimmer and Raf was far too big for her to drag out of here—even with her newly found magic to help her with a battle.
Her magic. She stared at her fingers. Could she use it to revive him?
She rolled Raf onto his back and stared down at him, unlike her uncle and Anton his limbs weren’t locked up, he only appeared to be asleep. She brushed his hair from his face and pressed a kiss to his lips.
Air moved in and out of his mouth, assuring her he was alive, but his heartbeat was faint. She placed her palm over his chest, felt the light tap that should have been a hearty thump.
Anger soared inside of her. She glanced at her uncle, rethinking the idea that she didn’t hate him. She could. If Raf didn’t survive, she would. He would wish Ky and her zealots had found him.
Power filled her. Her hair moved as if alive, rustling around her face. She tingled, and all doubt fled. She knew she could bring Raf back; she had to.
She covered his body with hers; ran her hands down his sides and breathed into his mouth. He lay still beneath her, lost in slumber. She pulled up her shirt and pressed her bare skin to his. Warmth built inside her. She willed it to move from her body to his, for his heart to beat louder, stronger, for him to breathe deeper. She placed her lips over his and blew gently into his mouth, filling his lungs.
His chest expanded, then froze. She froze, too, afraid the paralysis that had affected her uncle and Anton had struck Raf. Then in a rush, the air exploded from his lips, and he took one shuddering breath.
His arms wrapped around her and he cradled the back of her head with one hand; pulling her mouth more closely against his, he kissed her.
Chapter 20
M arina lay atop Raf—even with his eyes closed and his mind still half-lost in a fog, he recognized her. There was her springtime scent, but it was more than that….
A cocoon of warmth was wrapped around them, separating them from everyone and everything except each other.
He pulled her lips to his and slipped his tongue past her teeth, stroked the velvety inside of her mouth. Her hands and stomach pressed against his chest; warmth poured from them, excited him. His sex hardened and he wanted nothing except to be with her, inside her.
He moved his hands to her breasts, started to shove the silk she wore up and out of his way as he shifted his lips from her mouth to the side of her neck. Her hair wound around him, clung to him as if alive and part of their passion.
“Raf, Ky…the elves,�
�� Marina whispered.
He remembered then where they were, what had been happening when he’d fallen. He moved to get up, but she pressed her palm against him, keeping him from standing. “Anton and Geir…they’re in the net, but we can’t stay here. Take me somewhere…anywhere.”
His gaze dashed around the room. The royals were on their sides under the net. He ran the back of his fingers down Marina’s cheek. “You rescued me. The princess isn’t supposed to do the rescuing.”
She leaned forward and whispered against his ear. “Just get me out of here, take me away from Alfheim, keep me with you. That’s all the rescue I need.”
He wrapped his arms around her waist and ran his lips down her neck. “I will.” But right now, at that moment, there was something else he needed, something he knew they both needed. He couldn’t shimmer them out of the keep, but he could shimmer them somewhere else inside.
He pulled her to her knees and pressed chest to chest, thigh to thigh, he shimmered them to the tower.
His body still tingling from the move, he wove his fingers into her hair and pulled her mouth toward his. Inches from a kiss, he murmured. “Your rescue will have to wait, princess.”
She looped her arms around his neck. “Princesses are used to waiting. We are good at it.” Then she pulled his head down to hers.
Marina kissed Raf like she’d never kissed any other male. Her lips met his, demanding and filled with passion. She was strong; she had always known it inside, yet she’d had no power of her own, and had been forced to play so many parts. But now…because of Raf…because of her need to save him, she’d discovered what had lay hidden inside her.
She wouldn’t forget. She knew he wouldn’t let her. He believed in her and now she believed in herself.
They shouldn’t be here, doing this. They should be running for the portal or bracing for a fight, but this was more important than anything to her right now. Without him, nothing else mattered.
She ran her hands down his chest and hips. His skin there was smooth, the muscle under it hard. A thrill shot through her, the same thrill she always experienced when she touched Raf, but this time there was more. This time she thought of him as hers. She had made the decision to leave Alfheim. In some other world she could be with Raf, they could be together…forever.
