CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

"I warned you." My sword sings from the scabbard as I advance upon the ogre. Rage pulsing through me and washing the world red. "I told you if you threatened my bride again, I'd end you."

His mace whistles through the air, aimed right at my head.

I lift both arms to meet it in a block that vibrates through my whole body. We stand locked together, muscles straining. Damned huge ogres.

"Orc dog," he taunts, his breath foul. "She will be my sky gift, not yours."

Behind me, Storm and the kelpie clash with a resounding thump.

We break apart, and I keep my focus on my foe. He makes another large swipe with the mace.

I dance sideways, cutting it so close I feel the wind of his weapon's passage. Then I step close and slash across his chest, opening a gash from hip to opposite shoulder. It runs parallel to the cut I gave him the first time we fought. "There, ogre filth. Now you have a matching set."

As he roars, behind me Mist yowls. Is something wrong with Taylor?

I cast a quick glance over my shoulder, relieved that she lies on the mossy ground, still fine.

Pain slams into my shoulder, punching my entire body sideways. Instead of fighting the movement, I go with it. All those falls I've been doing with Taylor come back to me, and I turn my momentum into a roll and snap back up to my feet.

The ogre runs toward me, mace lifted high overhead. His eyes widen as he realizes he's wide open and I'm not as helpless as he expected me to be.

I launch forward in a perfect lunge, blade pointed directly at his heart. It slides straight in, burying a foot deep.

He drops the mace and clutches at my sword, doing nothing but slicing his own hands. With a liquid gurgle, he drops to his knees, black blood blooming from his lips.

I spin us just enough that Taylor can see. "You will never hurt her ever again. She is mine."

His hands give one last futile flutter before falling limp at his side.

I kick him off my sword and flick it to the side to remove the worst of the blood. A grin of triumph splits my face as I turn to her, and her answering smile shines with pride. I've never felt more powerful, more filled with purpose. I've protected my bride, my love.

A gourd drops from the sky, exploding right in front of Taylor in an orange cloud laced with deep-red speckles.

Mist, crouched in a pounce position, leaps. She sails just ahead of the cloud, her paws hitting the ground for a split second before she launches again, this time landing well away from the deathsleep.

Taylor's still in there, and I jolt forward, only to force myself to stop. The deathsleep can't hurt her, and knocking myself unconscious will be of no help to my bride.

"Taylor, are you okay?"

Nothing answers me but the grating squawks of a sluagh. A flock of the red-beaked birds flies just overhead.

"Taylor!"

A huge gust of wind rushes past me, blowing the deathsleep away as if Alarria wants to help my moon bound. She lies motionless on the ground.

No!I run. Falling to my knees, I drop my sword and gather her into my arms. I press my cheek to her lips until I feel the feather of her breath tickle across my skin. She's alive!

"Taylor, wake up!" I press desperate kisses to her face. Is this because she used too much magic again? Then why didn't she pass out as soon as she did it? No. This must have something to do with the deathsleep. I know it.

The sluagh flock spirals down through the air in a flutter of wings like leaves caught in a mini-tornado. The birds get closer and closer together until it seems they must bash against each other. But instead, they merge to form a shadowy figure draped in a hooded cloak.

Its evil red eyes gleam as it takes in Taylor's limp form draped across my arms. "Good. We were hoping this would work."

"What did you do to her?" I snarl from between clenched teeth.

"A little adjustment to the deathsleep formula. These new humans are magic wielders, and the deathsleep coma is magical in nature."

"So she's in a regular deathsleep coma," I say, relief rushing through me—we have the antidote.

"Maybe. Maybe not." Its dark skin crawls as the impression of wings and feathers constantly stirs below the surface, as if it can barely contain all the souls it's stolen over the years. "She's still a human instead of fae."

Ice shivers through me. "What do you mean?"

"The deathsleep might not preserve her like it does a fae. She may wither instead." It shrugs a shoulder. "It would be preferable, even. These new human witches bring too much trouble to Alarria."

"You mean these human witches bring trouble for you," Storm says.

The soul stealer gnashes a mouthful of sharp teeth at us. "You did not think we'd let such a threat go unchecked, did you? These witches will not stop our plans."

"Plans?" Storm stomps at the ground. "You do not control Alarria."

The sluagh only smiles in a baring of wicked teeth.

Desperation claws at me, and I cling to any answer I can find. "It doesn't matter. We have the deathsleep antidote now."

"You have the antidote that works on fae," it says. "Who knows if it will work on a human?"

Mist appears in mid-lunge, one huge paw already swiping at the soul stealer.

It lets out an angry shriek and leaps upward, breaking into dozens of black birds that dart up into the sky, their raucous caws sounding like laughter.

Mist's paws thump into the ground where it stood. She lets out an angry snarl and shreds the bird she caught. It dissolves into nothingness, and her green eyes glare at the remaining birds as they fly ever farther away. Then she trots over to sniff at Taylor. "I couldn't stop the gourd."

"No one could have," Storm says.

I shove my sword into the scabbard and leap to my feet, cradling my bride to me. Once seated on Storm's back, I pause.

We stand on the border of orc lands. To the left waits Elmswood Keep and King Aldronn and all the promise of a glorious future as one of the king's guard. To the right stands Moon Blade Village, the place I swore never to return to unless in triumph. It also holds my sister, Gerna, the master herbalist I trust most in all the world. Yet the king will have excellent healers and herbalists, too.

Everything in my entire life tells me to turn left, to take the violet trifolia straight to the king and pray his people can heal Taylor. My father's voice cuts through my mind. "Do something to make me proud."

My every dream lies to the left.

Taylor's face looks so unnatural like this, all the personality and enthusiasm hidden beneath the deathsleep coma. Pain stabs my heart like a dagger. I love her more than anything. All the glory and accolades in the world will be the empty shells of worthless baubles without her.

I clutch my bride to me and point in the only direction I can go.

I point right, toward home.

The rest of that day and the next is a blur, my world shrunk to little more than Taylor's wan face. Is the deathsleep holding her in perfect suspension as it should? Or is she dying, slipping away from me before I even get to tell her how I feel? Before I can tell her how important she is to me?

Storm runs as he's never run before, and Mist becomes a fleeting shadow at our side, there for one moment then gone the next, having to duck in and out of the shadow roads to keep up.

Every time we stop for the unicorn to drink or eat a few hurried mouthfuls of food, I try to ply my moon bound with water. I'm no healer, but I've been around Gerna enough to know hydration is one of the most important needs of a body.

But the water dribbles from Taylor's lips. I can't tell if she swallows any.

Mist pokes at me with verbal jabs until I drink some water and eat a tasteless mouthful of travel rations. "You won't do her any good if you fall out of the saddle, you big lummox."

When I tell her she's also not eating, she just sniffs and turns up her nose. "Who says I'm not?"

She lies. I know it. Our fast pace gives her no time to hunt. We don't even stop at night, Storm calling upon every bit of his unicorn healing ability to soldier on.

The only consolation is every time we stop, he touches Taylor with his horn, and it never works. His magic never tries to heal her, so she's not on death's door yet.

I cling to that hope just as hard as I cling to her body as we travel onward through the endless forest.

"Stay with me," I whisper into the soft tickle of her messy hair. "You can't leave me, my love. Stay with me, please."