The being soared into the sky, the torrent of wind plummeting, leaving a trail that sent plumes of chalk hovering. His figure diminished as he went further and further, yet the thought of the impending doom that would unleash when he zoomed down would have streamed cold sweat down Clythia’s back, had it not been for the incubating desert.
For a while, no one moved; no one seemed to breathe. They were frozen in place, but when that tiny dot plummeted down, they were lurched back to their senses, darting wherever their feet led them.
“Diseventuate as far as you can see,” Clythia ordered.
A wrist squeezed around her arm, and an easing chill seeped through her skin. She whipped her head around to see Morven glaring down at her. “Onboard, captain.”
Clythia glowered at him. If it had been a better time, when they weren’t being hunted by a winged being, she would have asked the vampire for payment upfront, but sadly, her life and those of her companions were on the balance. She closed her eyes. Before she lost herself to darkness, fingers coiled around her wrist. Modyr and his guards had linked with her.
“Really?” A sorcerer could carry one or thousands without straining their magic. But it should be to each their own; she wasn't a charity means of transportation.
Modyr raised his eyebrows. As if reading her thoughts, he said, “You owe me more than a meal.”
Before Clythia could retort, the hair on her back prickled, and she stared up; the being was gaining on them, spear at the ready, wings fluttering with a whooshing sound.
Her eyes slammed shut. When she opened them, they weren't on the edge of anything. Yes, they had Eventuated to her destination, but her eyes only registered bleached land. Curses rolled off her tongue, each more profane than the last.
“That isn’t good,” Modyr grimaced, rolling the ring on his finger and facing the spot they had left. Clythia whipped her head around.
The being slammed onto the sand with a loud boom, tossing those nearby onto their backs. Then he moved, flinging those who came in his way using the spear's shaft and they flew away like flicked bug. Then he was face to face with Glythia. He rammed his spear in a long thrust, which the Prime dodged with ease. The werewolves who gained their footings were ramming their swords and arrows into the being, but—
“Did the sword just break?” Morven asked in disbelief. “And the arrows are bouncing off—like its skin is made of steel.”
Yet, his skin looked like flesh—a beautiful tan. The thought of his beauty evaporated as the being swung his head, and the flames that were dancing in his eyes darted forth off his eyes and torched the werewolf who had rammed his sword into the being’s leg. The werewolf was blown into white pieces, floating down and becoming one with the sand.
“Where are the humans?” Modyr peered left and right.
Her sorcerers were elsewhere, save for five guards that had Diseventuated following her. The werewolves were in a deep pit they wouldn’t be able to come out alive.
“We should help,” Modyr said with urgency in his tone.
“Speak for yourself,” Clythia retorted as she turned to Eventuate even further. The faerie king grabbed her arm, frowning at her.
“We are in this together,” Modyr said with clenched teeth. “We are in Stormia.”
She yanked her arms free from his painful grip. “If I go back, my companions will go back too; they won’t abandon their queen in a fight,” she said, tilting her chin up, their noses a whisper away from touching. Her gaze fixed on his pitch-black eyes. “My guards and I can fight with steel, but the scholars and servants know only magic. I can’t risk losing more of my people. And before you say it, we aren't going to use magic.”
“Steel doesn’t work on it,” Morven said, shaking his head and burying his palms in his pockets. “This is one of the absolute necessities; you have to use magic.”
“This is but the first of the lions we will face in Stormia,” Clythia clapped back at the vampire. “If I’m going to use—”
“Nothing is going to happen to you,” the vampire huffed. “You are just finding excuses to save your self-inflated ass.”
Clythia flinched but recovered quick. “My guards will face dire consequences. It's not only my life I worry about.”
Modyr turned her chin toward him with a finger, sending Clythia’s heart jittering and easing her frustration for a wink. She was baffled by his intimate gesture and the beauty that awaited her, so much so that she was tongue-tied and unable to call him out on it.
“You can tell your guards to Diseventuate if their safety worries you and the rest are not here to return back for you.” Modyr was right—there was no sign of them, but what if they had walked right into another, even worse trap? Nausea unrelated to the heat flipped in her stomach. “If we can’t work together, we won’t make it out alive alone. We have to help them.”
They should help the werewolves, or what was left of them. Glythia, the werewolf who had stabbed her lover, and two other werewolves were the only ones alive. It must have been during their arguments that the rest were turned to ash. Glythia’s mouth was moving as he and the being circled one another. Then the three werewolves turned to their wolf form and scattered in the direction of where Modyr, Morven, and she were standing.
Clythia and the Prime obviously didn’t see eye to eye on many things, but at that moment, her gut lurched at what he would feel losing the most on this journey. For werewolves, one life mattered—hell, they forced others to feel their grief too. This, however, was next-level torture, seeing his companions fighting one second, and turning to dust the next.
This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.
Clythia ordered her guards to Diseventuate. There was concern in their eyes, but they obeyed and vanished into thin air.
The three rulers reappeared at the heart of the battle.
“This dick is fighting you as if it held a grudge against you for millennia.” Modyr raised his palm and vines coiled around the being’s calf, those fiery eyes zeroed in on the faerie, fire rode in a straight line and soot stained where he was standing before he rolled out of the way.
Glythia’s breath was short, he was drenched in sweat, muscle memory taking over as his axe rammed against the spear, transforming to his wolf form was becoming laborious.
Clythia tossed a ball of lightning to slam into the being’s face; on any flesh, the sizzling lightning would have barreled through, leaving the sting of burnt skin and scorched bones, but whatever this being’s skin was made of, it was immune to any attack.
The being veered to face her, flames in his eyes dancing higher up his lids before the oranges shoot down where she was standing moments ago; she had evaded the flames, but the heat of it lanced her skin.
Until their muscles trembled, and their knees shook, they distracted the being in turns, not giving it chance to target one prey for long. The heat of the dessert was like a boulder pressing down at Clythia, soothing her to bend the knee and give in. The wings would have helped if it wasn't for the owner constant
“Do you really have to kill us?” Morven panted, the only sign he was as ragged as them all. His smooth exterior hadn’t broken a sweat; it was cold as marble—a perk of a vampire. “Can’t we negotiate or something? We came for answers.”
“If I wanted to kill you, I would have done so already. But the Sovereign wants you alive.” A thousand growls reverberated in her as the being’s mouth moved.
“Then why are we fighting to stay alive?” Clythia seethed, acrobating with ease, scorched spots trailing from behind. "She fucked up the agreement."
“I was attacking the werewolf,” the being’s eyes darted to Clythia; she flinched, “He is trouble. No one asked you to come to his aid.”
Why was Glythia trouble? It didn’t make sense. He had claimed his ancestors had a close relationship with the Sovereign. Unless he did something to rile the Sovereign.
“Is there something we should know?” Modyr gritted out in a moment of reprieve thanks to the being’s immediate target: the vampire.
“I don’t know what he’s talking about,” the Prime said in a huffed growl.
“We can’t keep dancing around forever,” Morven grunted, nocking an arrow at the being. “If you want us alive, stop this now.”
“You are trespassers; you have to be punished.” The being swung his spear in a long thrust, the tip buried in Glythia’s bulging arm, blood gushed out of the glistening brown skin. The Prime grunted in pain and staggered backwards.
“You are going to kill him,” Morven hissed. His eyes roved from the being's frame to the Prime. “What do you want from us?”
The being loosed its fighting stance and eyed them casually as though he wasn’t pestering them and destroying the majority of the werewolves for what felt like eternity.
“Don't get between me and Glythia and I will let you live. You know I have been toying with you." The being paused as if letting his message to sink in before he continued. "If I wanted to kill you I would have done so already. But the Sovereign has other plans and I obey my master.”
When his flaming eyes raked on them and landed on Clythia the hair on her skin rose, her insides were ready to flick out of the way if embers spurted forth but they never did.
“Then why didn’t you start with that first? If you want a pet, you should have said so,” Clythia said in a false brovado.
Glythia was too occupied in stopping the bleeding that she couldn’t tell if he winced from her words or from the pain only, but it must have been the former because the startlement splashed on Modyr and Morven indicated she had stepped out of line.
They could squabble and hate each other all they wanted when they were out of the continent brimming with unsavory surprises. But in here, they were a team and, albeit agreeing to the idea, old habits of self-preservation kicked in.
“I am not going to die for him,” Clythia pointed at the werewolf. Modyr opened his mouth, but she beat him to it. “I know we are a team. But not at the cost of my ass. I think I have done enough by overusing my magic. You are welcome.”
Clythia was being genuine. She would have continued fighting if forfeiting her life wasn’t on the table. Moreover, she could feel her magic leaking away, dangerously close to a droplet of it. If she kept on fighting for fifteen more minutes, she wouldn’t be able to Diseventuate even if she wanted to.
“What are you going to do with him?” Morven asked, ignoring her.
“Do you wish to know?” The being gave him a look that suggested the knowledge was a practical one that offered death.
Clythia thought Morven had the good sense to back down and leave the werewolf behind, but he seemed unwavered, cocking his smooth chin up and staring at the being with the will of steel.
“During the Shadow’s era, vampires and werewolves were allies. For the bond of our ancestors—” Morven’s chin jerked towards the grunting werewolf. “—I would fight by his side.”
Clythia scoffed. “How heroic.”
“You won’t stand a chance,” the being said, his tan fingers fidgeting on the shaft of the spear.
“You aren’t going to kill him either,” Modyr shrugged. “Let’s propose a better solution. Take us to the Sovereign and she will dole out our punishments as she sees fit.” The being was quiet; he was assessing the proposition, thus the faerie continued. “You have already punished and exhausted us. We have to know why the Sovereign abandoned us; she owes us that much.”
“You should have turned back when you had the chance,” the being shrugged, but given his sheer size and the clank of his armor, they balked before realizing the action for what it was.
“You didn’t give us any chance,” Clythia retorted, regretting it immediately as those flames gazed at her.
“Follow me,” the being said and turned, moving forward to the north the human king pointed.
The faerie king summoned a yarrow to wrap around the Prime’s bleeding arm. “It won’t completely heal it, but it will stop the bleeding for now.”
“Thanks,” Glythia nodded at him.
“How did you do it?”
Clythia was about to jump out of her skin before she saw Morven hissing at her side.
“I thought I took your speed,” she glared at him, the vampire’s face was expressionless.
True, she had taken his speed, but not his agility or lack of footsteps as though he was a floating feather. Perhaps she should have taken that; why hadn’t she thought of it first in the bargain?
When the vampire didn’t dignify her remark with a response, she asked, “How did I do what?”
Thankfully, the being’s wings were sprawled wide, giving them shade from the sun that roamed free in her full glory.
“Attain your magic,” his voice was low, probably out of earshot from the faerie and the werewolf; besides, there was a wide berth between them.
“It’s none of your business,” Clythia wiped her wet palms on her dress.
“Oh, I think it is,” Morven said. “I know you are not the religious sort, yet I saw you pray before stepping out of the cave and whatever prayer it was, it worked.”
“Good,” Clythia shrugged. Morven was onto something, yet she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of knowing that, hence she clad herself with expressionless face.
“Good?” Morven huffed. “No, there is nothing good about that. You chose the coward’s way out. Instead of confessing your remorse or just leaving your magic behind, you sought out a third option that wasn’t on the table.” Clythia’s eyes were set ahead. “On anyone’s table, but yours. Tiyus.”
Clythia’s heart did a twirl, lurched down her stomach before getting back to its position. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”
“I might not see trouble when it’s under my nose sometimes,” Clythia had said something similar to him once. “But when I do see, I am always right,” Morven wheezed her to face him. Their eyes locked. “And you, Witch Queen, are trouble.”
“Then stop me,” Clythia said, not with rage but with a plea in her tone. Confusion marred the vampire’s face. “Kill me. Because if you don't, may the gods have mercy on you all.”