Rift

by D. Fischer

  “I should have saved them,” she mumbles frostily. “I could have saved them.”

  I lean forward and grab her hand, hoping to give her the support she needs. I’ve never been good at consoling. “They gave their lives for the others, for us, knowing it was for the greater good.”

  “I know,” she agrees, refusing to meet my eyes.

  “Do you blame me? For taking you away instead of saving them?”

  She shakes her head. “No, of course not.”

  I wait, and finally, a tear streams down her still rosy cheek, trailing all her grief in one drop. She meets my firm stare, and I study her, watching her try to battle her inner sorrows.

  The question she’s been waiting for me to ask fumbles from my lips as though I’m unable to hold my doubts in any longer. “Do you fear me?”

  “No.” Eliza’s answer is absolute yet full of everything she isn’t saying. How she feels about me. How she can’t breathe when I’m not near. The secrets of her own. The self-doubt, thick in her voice. The fear of my well-being against her troubled lips.

  Reaching automatically, I run the pad of my thumb along her plump bottom lip, soothing them. I would die for this woman. I have died for this woman, and yet, she’s stronger than I give her credit for. She’s lost me twice, and still, she refuses to give up on us.

  “I don’t deserve you,” I admit.

  I lean forward and brush my lips against hers. It’s feather-light, different than it was before. She shakily sighs, the air tickling my tongue as I deepen the kiss.

  “Are you still mine, Eliza?” I ask in desperate hope to hear what I desire most.

  “I’ll always be yours,” she whispers, her lips playing against mine in perfect harmony.

  A pang rocks inside my chest, one I wasn’t expecting. I gasp at the pleasure of it. It’s love, her love, something I thought I’d never feel again. Not to this magnitude.

  Gathering myself to my knees, I reach and blindly grasp her food. Carefully, I try to set it aside, but it drops with a thud to the fur anyway. I lean into the kiss, towering over her. A sense of euphoria washes over me, sending my unease running for the hills.

  Her eyelashes tickle my heated cheeks, and I open my eyes, my gaze meeting hers. Her magic swirls, uncontained, and I smell it with a deep inhale, mixing with her original scent I’ve so longed for. Blue electric bolts meet my molten ones, and she says words I’ve never heard her say.

  “I love you.”

  And I believe her, pushing her back into the fur, nestling her spine against its soft strands.

  I stare down at her, and her eyes plead with mine to return the words.

  “You’re everything a demon shouldn’t have,” I mumble, my attention drifting to her wet cheeks. Cradling her head with both hands, I brush my thumbs against the wetness and then bend to murmur in her ear. “You’re everything I shouldn’t have, and the one thing I cannot resist. You are my greatest love.”

  I work my lips down her jaw with slow pecks, feeling her breaths heavy from deep within her chest. I kiss my way to the tip of her chin, featherlike and tickling. I still, and she whimpers her displeasure.

  “If you think love is one-sided in this relationship, you’re sorely mistaken. My life is yours, Eliza.”

  Gripping her knees, I spread them wide and settle myself between them. My shirt rides up my abdomen, and the warmth which radiates from her is more delicious than any meal of terror.

  I grind against her, once, twice, unable to control the sensation. She moans, and I capture the sound. Then, I capture her.

  Some time later, we lay side by side, our naked bodies bright despite the lack of light. The fire in the middle has eaten its way through the one log available and now glows in a silhouette of what once was.

  It’s dark inside the teepee we’ve claimed as our own. I have no idea how long we’ve been here, staring at one another, our souls speaking instead of our voices. There are not enough words in any dictionary to describe what I feel anyway.

  I lift my hand and brush her swollen, chapping lips.

  “What is it?” I ask when her eyebrows dip slightly.

  She shakes her head, pulling my finger from it. “Everything is different this time.”

  Affectionately, I seize her hand, bring it to my face, and kiss the soft flesh of her palm. I am different. We are different - heated, intertwined with a barely contained magic. We had been quiet, my mouth muffling her sounds of pleasure with each stroke, each passionate slow yet exhilarating thrust. She had writhed beneath, her sparking fingers gripping my shoulders. My shoulders tingle at the reminder.

  “It was different,” I whisper.

  Eliza’s thin red brows deepen. “But?”

  “But,” I nod, kissing her hand once more. “Despite our feelings, both physical and emotional, I must leave soon.”

  She closes her eyes, her emotional pain a great deal. “I know.”

  “Eliza,” I call to her. “I won’t rest until he’s dead. The bond will be broken, and I will truly have you as my own.”

  She nods.

  I open my mouth for more words of reassurance but stop short when the village outside quiets. Within seconds, the songs and the chatter disappear entirely, a hush falling over the village.

  Eliza frowns, and a single scream echoes through the village, filtering into our tent as though it seeps through the skin walls. More quickly follow. She immediately pulls herself to a sitting position and her eyes glaze over, a brilliant hue of blue.

  “Eliza?” I sit up and grip her shoulders, turning her top half to me. She doesn’t respond, and I panic. Is Kheelan calling back his mate?

  Her head bobs and her red locks rock freely when I shake her. “Eliza! What is it?”

  More screams – women, men, children – come from the village, and goosebumps raise the hair on my arms. My demonic instincts feed from the obvious fear, my pores lapping the thick potent emotion.

  “They’re here,” she says.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  DYSON COLEMAN

  GUARDIAN REALM

  Flint’s laugh quickly fades when silence washes over the village. His jokes about the sex going on in the other teepee had grown tiresome, and even Bre, who usually laughs at whatever pops from his mouth, quickly became annoyed.

  The teepee we’re in is large enough so that we can each stretch over the fur and peacefully sleep without touching the other. We hadn’t been able to sleep though, too busy catching up on everything I’ve missed.

  Shaking off the immediate, unnerving silence, I open my mouth to reminisce another memory when a wave of unease pricks at my wolf.

  Danger, my wolf’s growl warns.

  A scream vibrates the teepee walls.

  A boom shakes the ground.

  Hoofbeats run past, hurried, a foreboding thunder which echoes the frantic patter of my pulse.

  Evo quickly stands, his gaze moving to the teepee door, then slowly, he swivels back to me. My mouth dries when his eyes harden. As Alpha, he’s seen many a battle, and his instincts when they arise are never wrong. He’s preparing for a fight we have yet to understand.

  Again, I open my mouth, prepared to say it’s probably the elves and their weird traditional behaviors, when more hollers and blood-curdling screams thieve the sentence from my lips.

  We jump to our feet, our bodies vibrating with the shift to wolf, and our eyes glow brighter than the small fire crackling in the middle. The walls brighten under the green and banish the remaining shadows. The snowflakes which fall from the opening at the top look like sparkles among the coloring shades, more illuminated than before.

  The tent door pushes open, and Bre visibly jumps, emitting her own scream. Her hand flies to her mouth to hush the sound when she realizes it’s only Eliza and Aiden.

  Aiden yanks a shirt over his face, ruffling his already tousled hair, and covers an impressive set of abs while Eliza’s bright blue eyes shift electric bolts inside them.

  “What the hell is going
on?” I bark.

  “The village is under attack,” Eliza yells over the ever-growing noise. I can barely hear myself think.

  “Under attack?” Kenna asks in utter disbelief. “But this is the Guardian Realm! Who in their right mind would attack a realm full of warriors?”

  Aiden’s eyes change to an impossibility, lava dribbling down the orbs inside until it covers them entirely. Sulfur emits from him during the sudden change and stings my nose.

  Kenna recoils with a “Sweet baby Jesus,” whispering across her lips. “It’s the devil in disguise.”

  “The angels are rebelling,” Aiden answers, his voice deep and almost unintelligible while completely ignoring Kenna’s prejudices.

  She’s right, though. It does look like a devil has a leash on Aiden’s soul, and maybe it does. And maybe it’s a good thing, at least in this moment. If the village is under attack, a little evil is needed.

  “The fee have made their first move,” I say, and Aiden nods tersely.

  I slip off my clothes in a hurry, fumbling with my arms inside the holes. Eliza shifts her gaze from us to the wall, ever the modest lady.

  “Where’s Sandy?” I ask, breathy, while unzipping my pants.

  Aiden tilts his head, an odd appearance with his molten eyes. “The sandman? Herding the children.” As if he could see him, he swivels his head back to the door.

  Sandmen don’t sleep. When it was time for us to retire, he stayed by the fire deep in thought. The children must have found him at some point and dragged him back to their games. Bedtimes don’t seem to be a thing here.

  I breathe a shaky sigh of relief. Tugging down my underwear as quickly as I can, I almost tip over in my haste. “What’s the plan?”

  His lava eyes tighten when they meet mine. “There isn’t one.”

  He manages to get the words out before my bones begin to crack and reshape. The sensation is like no other, a tingle where there should be pain, a stretch to stiff muscles.

  “And Kat?” I manage to ask before my nose and lips point with a snout.

  In answer, the unmistakable sound of a dragon roar rumbles the ground beneath our paws, and another boom quickly follows. Brenna’s wolf yips as she bristles, and in return, Flint nips her flank.

  Shit, I think to myself. Leave it to Katriane DuPont to take the entire matter into her own hands. When will she learn that she doesn’t need to be the savior of every situation?

  Aiden peers straight into my eyes, his expression hard as a rock. “Go,” he demands.

  The pack barrels through the door before I do, pushing past Aiden and Eliza and kicking snow back inside. I wrestle control with my wolf like a cowboy fiercely grabbing at the reins to anchor an unruly horse, to bring him to heel from doing something irrational. If I let him, he’d try to take on the entire fleet of enemy in a mad dash to save his mate who most likely doesn’t need saving. He paces in place, stamping his paws and baring his teeth to me.

  Once I have him seeing things my way, although in complete faithlessness, he snorts, his body rigid for command. I’ve seen shifters with a rogue wolf. Flint had suffered from such a thing, and it was difficult to watch. I won’t let mine become one. Disaster can happen without a clear head, and more harm than good can come about.

  “Dyson,” Eliza yells to me. “Go!”

  My wolf snaps his jaws, and against my better judgment, I allow him from the safety of this structure when I’d rather bench the beast instead. He skids in his tracks to a full stop, and hope drains from him quicker than it does me at the sight before our eyes.

  TEMBER

  GUARDIAN REALM

  The wind and enemy give chase with each swoop through the village territory, having taken flight as soon as the first arrow caught light to my neighboring teepee. It pushes against my feathers, a steady resistance.

  My black wings glitter reflections of electricity zipping past me, and I tuck and roll in the air, swaying left and right to avoid them while dodging each protruding tree limb that reaches higher than the others. The reflection of my frost-tipped wings is a beacon to the enemy like a lighthouse at the edge of a foggy sea. Compared to their white, I stand out with stark contrast.

  I dip to the forest for a moment of cover, narrowly missing an arrow to my chest. Jaemes and his matua are leading a group of warriors on the ground below – mostly consisting of his brothers whom I was introduced to before I retired to my teepee for some peace.

  Their animals’ large, six-legged bodies are intimidating as they canter on. I eye them for a split second, the branches my cover, and watch the beasts jump over bodies, friend and foe, already broken and dead. Some are bright embers, having caught the flames of Kat’s fire.

  Fallen angels dive into the trees after me. I grit my teeth and angle my wings to soar up and perch myself on a sturdy branch.

  Ire already within my steady grip, I aim, exhale, and release. It whistles as it cuts through the wind. Then, a boom shakes the forest when it finds its target. The fallen angel’s wings flutter on descent before the body thuds to the ground directly in Jaemes’ path. His matua rears and screeches, its smoky tail whipping in obvious displeasure.

  As it rears, it shuffles its back legs, angles its body, and provides Jaemes with the perfect opportunity to glance my direction. His face transforms from curiosity to edgy, seemingly unaffected by his matua’s aggression. We catch each other’s gaze, but I’m forced to look away. I aim again, striking my next target.

  There are too many of them. My fingers release as quickly as they can but to no avail. The breath hitches in my chest just before I’m overcome, but Jaemes’ group comes to my aid. Their own arrows release in a wave, hitting their targets as one. The dead fall faster than the snow.

  I grip the bark of the tree and flex my stiff fingers. The fog of my breath lingers in front of my face. I look down and nod my thanks to Jaemes then drop from the branch. Midway down, I flap my wings once to slow my fall. Snow lifts from the ground, disturbed by the gale of my feathers, and swirls around the elf warriors.

  Jaemes growls as he bats at the flakes. “Tember!” he yells at me.

  “What?” I mock, exhilarated. “Fallen angels you can handle, but tiny frozen water you cannot?”

  The warriors turn their heads to each other, clearly confused by it. Mitus had put his youngest in charge of this group. They’re uncomfortable with my presence and the way Jaemes and I speak to one another. Jaemes ignores their obvious discomfort, bares his teeth, and hisses at me like a feline. The expression is humorously despicable, the horns haloing his head and his long, pointed ears tipped along his scalp.

  “Ah,” I coo, and a sly smile spreads across my face. “The little kitten doesn’t have fangs yet.”

  He hides his smile well, but I can see the twinkling laughter in his eyes. Does he find glee in my adrenaline rush? It is quite easy to banter when war pumps in my veins.

  “How about a little wager then, ugly duckling?” he begins. “That is the story, is it not? The outcast among the flock?”

  I narrow my eyes suspiciously and bristle against this new ‘endearment’. “Yes,” I say, drawing out the word.

  “Excellent.” He nods mischievously. “Whoever kills the most of Tember’s flock, and this includes you,” he says, pointedly beaming at me, “will have no hunting duties for a week.”

  “We’re not keeping score, Jaemes,” I protest and switch Ire to my other hand. “You can’t bet on lives! We need to find Erma and protect her.”

  He opens his mouth to retaliate but snaps it shut. His matua whips around without obvious command, and its tail of snaking smoke disappears in a gust of snow.

  “Get ready,” Jaemes rumbles to the warriors and myself.

  Angels, running on the ground, stampede our way. Their halos glisten from this distance, bouncing off the trees’ dark trunks while illuminating the grooves of bark. They choose land instead of flight, a wise move. A dragon is in the sky, and this group knows she’s impossible to tangle with. Plus,
the cover of the trees makes it difficult for an air assault, which is why we pushed them from the village’s sparser trees as soon as we could.

  Smiling grimly, I lift Ire and wait for the first line of angels to reach shooting distance. They grow nearer, and the weight of their stomping vibrates my calves.

  Recognition clicks when the face of one of Jax’s friends is the first I spot. “Dena,” I murmur.

  It’s unnerving, almost heartbreaking, knowing I’ll soon end a life of someone I’ve once talked to. I swallow my guilt as a bolt of lightning brightens my bow, awaiting release despite my reveries. Jaemes beats me to it, taking advantage of my hesitation. The swift arrow pushes into Dena’s chest, and her body slams into the angels behind her.

  “One,” Jaemes counts, shouting to the group. Laughter rings among the warriors. I don’t share in this victory. My heart serenades my sorrow.

  I shake my head, clearing my thoughts and emotions before they render me useless, and vow to grieve for the losses after this is over. All the losses that will come by my hand or another’s.

  “A pack of heathens,” I mumble under my breath and sling my bolt at another.

  It won’t be long before we mesh with the foe, and there aren’t enough warriors here to pick them off before they reach us. A hand to hand fight is inevitable. They run quicker than I imagined they would, smartly using their wings to gain speed.

  I leap into the air, swinging Ire’s long tip. The wood smacks against the side of the head of an angel. Stunned and bloodied, he staggers, his eyes unfocused like he’s seeing everything and nothing at once. I grab his red hair at the roots and twist his neck. The spine cracks. It doesn’t kill him. No, it won’t kill him. The only thing that will kill the betrayers is. . .

  Before he slumps to the ground, I twirl and aim. My bolt zings in harmony with the string’s vibrations, striking the angel’s wrist. This is the deadly blow. This is what will truly kill them, kill us, kill me. The heart of an angel is in the wrist.