The bird wasn’t remarkable in any way, a drab brown, and no bigger than the size of her palm. The way the bird glared at her and puffed out its chest led her to believe he was a male, reminding her of Ascher strutting around in his hellhound form. Why would half a dozen men be sent out to hunt such a small bird? The sounds of battle still rang in her ears, but the sharp intelligence in the bird’s eyes stopped her from leaving.
“I can’t just leave you here for those bastards.” Huffing a sigh in frustration, Morgan crouched, but when she touched the netting the skin of her fingertips burned, and she quickly jerked back. “Those assholes. No wonder you can’t escape.”
When she curled her fingers into a fist, the metal reacted so fast it looked like she grabbed the knife out of thin air. Careful to keep her fingers out of the way, she used the tip of the blade to cut through the delicate netting. Whatever the material, it definitely wasn’t man-made. Though the obsidian blade was created from the primordial realm, and supposedly stronger and deadlier than any other weapon, the knife met resistance as she sawed through the rope.
It was like trying to slice through thin strands of metal.
It took nearly a minute to slice through the first one.
By the time she managed to cut through enough of the ropes to free the bird, her fingers were singed black and her fingertips numb.
“Time to go.”
But instead of flying away, the bird only hobbled awkwardly, his wing twisted at an odd angle.
He wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.
She didn’t have time to linger—she needed to get back to help the warden—but she couldn’t leave the bird helpless, either. They would catch him in seconds.
When she reached forward to set his wing, he snapped his little beak at her fingers, squawking at her in outrage.
“Look, I’m going to set your wing, but we need to hurry. If you try to bite me again, I’ll leave you here for them to find.” She felt stupid for talking to a bird, but he cocked his head like he understood, then slowly extended his crumpled wing.
“Holy shit.”
Light caught the down near the base of the wing shaft, the brown feathers shimmering slightly with a bright yellow metallic color. No wonder he didn’t want her to touch him. He was guarding a secret.
She ripped the bottom of her shirt away, doing her best to bandage his wing. To her surprise, the feathers were warm. Instead of being soft and pliant, the colorful feathers were rigid and sharper than any blade she’d ever come across. “I would try to heal you, but my powers are unpredictable at the best of times. I’m afraid I’ll do more harm than good.”
Once she’d finished bandaging him, Morgan stood, took two steps away, then turned back, feeling responsible for the odd bird. “Listen, you won’t survive if I leave you here, but I need to go back and rescue the guy I was with. He tried to save me, so I have to at least try to do the same for him.”
The bird hopped toward her, obviously coming to a decision, and damned if she knew what it wanted. When he squawked again, she bent, holding out her hand, and nearly fell on her ass when he jumped into her palm.
She glanced around, searching for a place to stash him, but there was only one place where she could guarantee his safety…with her. Morgan hesitated for a second, then winced and shoved the bird down the front of her camisole. “Sorry. I know it’s not optimal, but I’m out of time.”
She didn’t wait for a protest, but took off running, ignoring his annoyed chirp.
The bird squirmed until he came to rest at the back of her shirt, next to the little stone gargoyle dog, the soft brush of its small body almost comforting. The bird’s talons sank into her spine. She hissed out a breath, but thankfully the sharp, blade-like wings remained sheathed. Heat radiated from the creature like a furnace.
As she burst into the clearing, her blade clenched tightly in her grip, she saw the warden was holding his own—as much as one man could against a dozen soldiers. It was an awe-inspiring sight. The elves were machines, efficient, using no wasted motions.
She thought Kincade and Atlas were the best fighters she’d ever seen, their styles like fire and ice, and captivating to watch.
She was wrong.
The warden moved like a storm, all violence and strength.
He had the grace of a big cat, his reactions instinctual, his movements so liquid, so practiced, he was hypnotizing to watch. She’d never seen anyone flight the way he did, as if he knew where the attack was coming from even before his opponent moved. He took a blow every now and then, but only because there were more of them. At any given time, half a dozen elves were laid out on the ground.
But the damned things were like zombie gophers, stubbornly popping back up despite being beaten and covered with blood.
She didn’t see any wounds on the warden, and doubted any of the blood on him was his.
Then he saw her and scowled.
The distraction cost him, and he took a nasty blow to the back of his head, so hard he staggered.
Morgan jumped into the fray, bringing up her weapons, covering him as he straightened.
Without speaking, they went back to back, studying the elves as they surrounded them.
“I thought I told you to leave.” The reprimand was nothing more than a growl, like he had difficulty forming the words.
“And let you have all the fun?”
None of the elves made a move to attack, so Morgan raised a brow and put as much snootiness into her voice as possible. “What do you want?”
“While you are not our intended prey, you are not authorized to be on this land.” The way he said prey raised her hackles. Arrogance oozed from the one who spoke, the elf clearly the leader of the group. “Who are you? Why are you here?”
“I am the war—”
“His name is Ward.” Morgan didn’t let him finish his sentence, every instinct warning her to keep him quiet. Morgan hesitated, then gambled on their lives. “Look, we don’t want to be here any more than you want us here. The Academy came under attack, and we were forcefully sent through a portal.”
A number of the elves relaxed infinitesimally, the movement so slight, she almost missed it.
“You’ve seen more of us.” She nearly sagged in relief, but didn’t let down her guard. She didn’t trust them not to stab her in the back as soon as she turned. “How many others came through?”
The leader narrowed his eyes slightly, which surprised her, since his kind very rarely showed any kind of emotion. She didn’t know how Atlas survived as long as he had living among such people. While they might be beautiful, they were a bunch of cold fish…or maybe just emotionally stunted.
Atlas was different. His emotions showed through his eyes, not like these men. Their souls, what was left of them, were dead. The elf in charge was clearly annoyed at being questioned by what he saw as nothing more than a pest who was beneath his notice.
Pompous ass!
She wanted to demand an answer, but she couldn’t risk them showing more interest in her and perhaps discovering her true identity. If they learned about her heritage, she didn’t have enough training to protect herself, much less anyone else, and she refused to be used as a pawn.
Never again.
“It’s getting dark. We have no choice but head back and return after daybreak. Cuff them. We’ll bring them back with us.” He turned away, as if he expected them to obediently hold out their wrists and surrender.
Yeah, not happening.
Ward tensed at her back, the air around him becoming charged as he readied for battle, clearly thinking the same.
“If you want to see the others who came through the portal, you’ll do as I say.” The imperial tone pissed her off, but the nearly overwhelming relief at knowing the others were okay loosened the tightness in her chest.
She hesitated for a moment longer, then slowly held out her arms, hoping none of them noticed her weapons had vanished.
Ward growled at her capitulation, then re
luctantly dropped his pilfered weapons and followed her lead. A few of the elves retrieved their weapons, giving Ward the stink eye, the others watching him warily.
In seconds, she and Ward were in cuffs and being hustled through the forest.
The elves were on edge, and that made her nervous.
“Why not just kill us?” She couldn’t help asking the question. They didn’t spare her and Ward out of the kindness of their hearts. They wanted something for helping them.
No one responded.
Not that she expected them to answer.
“I hope you know what you’re doing.” Ward trudged next to her, clearly not pleased with the turn of events. He flexed his arms, fidgeting with his cuffs until his wrists were so chafed they bled.
“What’s wrong?” She reached out, grabbing his arm, and he went dead still.
For a second, she didn’t think he was going to answer, but when he glanced at her, his eyes were so bleak her throat ached. “The cuffs are magic-resistant.”
Morgan wasn’t like most people. Magic was new to her, her powers having been locked away for most of her life. But she knew what it felt like to be defenseless, helpless against others. With a furtive look at their guards, she slid her hand down his arm, ignoring the way his muscles jumped under her touch, the way the magic in him surged toward her, and dragged her fingers down until they came to rest against the manacles.
Magic hummed in the metal, the cuffs cooling under her touch, almost like the magic was trying to hide. Morgan concentrated on the metal, sorted through each particle, gritting her teeth as the magic began to fight back, springing forward to nip at her fingertips like fangs from a snake. Slowly, the spell began to shatter, red, sparkling dust drifting down from the cuffs, and she grunted in pain as the last of the magic dissipated.
The process took seconds.
By the time she pulled her hand away and dropped back a step, her fingertips felt like she’d stuck them into molten lava.
She’d always had the ability to repel magic, but it hurt like a bitch when she tried to break a spell performed by others.
Only after she finished did she notice Ward’s unnatural stillness. He didn’t look at any of the guards. He didn’t look at the cuffs. No, all his attention was focused on her, glaring at her like she’d just tried to slit his throat.
“What?” she snapped at him, not appreciating being made to feel like a freak.
“You foolish girl.” He shook his head, his eyes swirling with the void. “You must never do that again.”
Of course he would scold her.
That’s what she got for helping.
“You were going to lose your shit.” She refused to glance at him, offended, not to mention a little hurt, by his reaction.
Even with someone as odd as him, she was still considered an outsider.
“I know of only one bloodline that has the ability to work metal.” He didn’t sound happy with the knowledge, either.
She wasn’t simply a descendent of noble birth, one of the twelve great families that took over after the gods were expelled, but the last descendent of the royal bloodline. It was one thing to be considered royalty, another thing completely to be next in line for the crown.
“Where are your guards?” The question was thrown at her like an accusation.
A chill snaked down her spine—he knew the truth. Her mother had been dead for years. Everyone thought the royal bloodline had died out with her, and Morgan wanted to keep it that way for as long as possible.
She stared him straight in the eye and lied through her teeth. “You are mistaken.”
He scowled at her, opened his mouth to argue when a vicious howl echoed in the trees around them, sparing her from answering any awkward questions. The guards around them snapped to attention. Instead of freezing, they tightened into a well-trained formation, watching the woods in all directions for any sign of attack. A few drew swords while others pulled bows strung over their shoulders, quickly nocking their arrows.
The movements were smooth and clearly practiced.
To her annoyance, Ward stepped protectively in front of her like she was a fragile china doll.
She scanned the forest, noting the sun now sat low on the horizon, leaving the trees shrouded in darkness. No breeze stirred the treetops. No birds chirped. A heaviness hung in the air that warned something was stalking them.
“What is it?” She had a feeling the elves knew exactly what was hunting them, but they weren’t sharing.
“The forest has changed with the fog. There are more dangerous things than the creatures who normally inhabit these woods. We lingered too long.” The accusation was thrown at her, as if she and Ward were the ones who instigated the fight.
The howl came again, much closer this time, and one of the elves broke and swore, their fear like a stench in the air.
That fear worried her.
What was so dreadful to frighten a team of trained fighters?
A dark shape separated from the shadows, and her heart leapt in her chest.
Ascher!
The elf next to her released his arrow.
Morgan threw herself forward, knocking into the elf, and the arrow pinged off harmlessly through the trees. She firmly put herself between the elf and the hellhound.
A low snarl from behind her raised the hairs on the back of her neck, and Morgan realized she’d made a mistake.
She turned slowly.
That was not Ascher.
Nerves tingled under her skin as she met the dark eyes of the hellhound. He was similar to Ascher only in that he was a hellhound. Any resemblance ended there. Instead of smelling of charcoal and fire, he reeked of smoke. He was smaller, almost scrawny, his hide dull and slightly cracked, revealing a red glow, like heated charcoal burned inside him—a sure hint that he was going feral, the beast barely holding on to his humanity.
“We want him alive.” The arrogant elf sounded smug, and her stomached flopped as she imagined what they would do to him. “The collar prevents him from being able to kill.”
Rage burned deep in her gut. They had shackled the hellhound the same way Ascher had been imprisoned, the collar requiring him to obey his master.
Like a damned pet.
“He might not be able to kill you, but he can still do damage.” She glared at the elves inching forward. “I, on the other hand, will kill you if you lay a hand on him. Understood?”
They were at a standoff, the elves eying her speculatively, assessing the threat level.
Only when the arrogant elf nodded did the others retreat.
When they didn’t move far enough way, Ward forced them back until they were out of her sight. Then, to her shock, he remained at her back, his tense body still, ready to burst into action if anyone made a move toward them.
Morgan didn’t trust many people, but having him at her back was reassuring.
If they tried anything, he would stop them by any means necessary.
The hound eyed her suspiciously, and she knew he understood what happened.
Meaning he wasn’t too far gone.
Her heart wrenched in her chest at the thought of what might have happened to Ascher if she hadn’t been there to help him.
While Ascher might be beyond her reach at the moment, she could help this stray hound.
“I met a hellhound a few years ago.” Morgan knew it was foolish, but she crouched down to meet his eyes, blocking the elves’ shot and in turn preventing the hound from launching himself at them.
She would not allow them to have this hellhound.
“He has the most vivid blue eyes I’ve ever seen.” She would give anything to be able to see them right now and know he was okay. She shook her head, wishing she could shake away her worry as easily. “For years, I didn’t even know he could change forms.”
She still felt foolish for not realizing it sooner.
Morgan held out her hands, ignoring her cuffs, and tugged up her sleeve, revealing a beautiful, almost da
inty filigree marks of obsidian and molten silver swirling from the tips of her fingers and twisting halfway up her right arm. “The daft bastard even went so far as to become my mate.”
The elves behind her stopped moving at her comment, their calculating eyes on her, like the ice-cold fingers of death trailing down her back.
But her words had the desired effect.
The snarl the hound wore melted away, but the suspicion in his murky green eyes lingered.
He remained crouched, poised to launch himself at the guards and rip out their throats at the slightest provocation, slinking toward her an inch at a time.
But he was listening.
Then her eyes locked on the rusted collar clamped around his neck, and her lips curled in disgust. While Ascher managed to work around the orders he received, it had cost him. “He also had a collar…until I removed it.”
The hound stopped.
He glanced down at her cuffed hands, then gave a huffed of derision.
“Oh, of course.” Morgan concentrated on the metal, pulled the particles apart until the cuffs shattered in a shower of tarnished metal and red dust as the magic escaped.
The hound yipped and leapt back while the elves muttered and stared at her.
To their eyes, she went from being a nuisance to a valuable commodity.
Not a great place to be when she wanted to stay under the radar.
She mentally reached for her men, subconsciously seeking reassurance from them, only to come up against a blank wall.
Again.
They were alive, which was good, but she couldn’t stop probing the broken connection like a sore tooth.
“I’m trying to get back to my hellhound. He’s in danger.” And she wasn’t lying. The longer she went without seeing her guys, the worse the feeling grew.
Something bad was coming.
The hound crouched low, his murky green eyes roving over the men behind her, clearly not trusting them. Which was fine…she didn’t either.
Worse, they were no longer trying to capture the hound…as if they found much better prey.
Heart of the Assassins (An Academy of Assassins Novel Book 2) Page 5
