98. Veyka

Chaos erupted.

The terrestrial fae of Annwyn were a warrior race. But they had never met this enemy before. The shifters took to their beast forms, claws and fangs and wings joining the melee. Weapons began to swing—Barkke's wicked mace, massive axes and long spears.

But none of it was enough.

The succubus kept on coming. Without the amorite blades to take them down, the terrestrials were at a disadvantage. They kept fighting, defending the weaker among them. But the succubus did not tire.

That black bile poured from their mouths and eyes and nostrils, coating the terrestrials who fought back. Their jaws closed around arms and throats, thick red blood coating the flagstones of the great hall.

In a second, I saw what a battlefield would look like.

This, but worse. An enemy who could go on indefinitely. Who were immune to magic. Who had nothing to lose.

Arran was right.

We needed weapons that could actually bring them down.

The pressure of that realization nearly suffocated me.

I let Arran choose his own angle of attack, pressing one of my swirled amorite daggers into his hand. His battle axe would be useless. I was in and out of the void in less than a second, my own dagger ready. They were the only weapon we had, my rapiers in the bedroom upstairs. I did not waste the time it would take to retrieve them, even as quick as it would be through the void. I would not leave my subjects alone to die, even for a second.

A black blur lunged for me—I ducked, came up beneath it and drove my blade straight into its heart. Or what was left of it. If that black bile that spilled from the succubus' orifices was the soul of the male leaking away, I did not know what remained of his heart.

But the succubus went down, and stayed there.

I muttered a prayer to the Ancestors and kept swinging.

Stab, kick, lunge.

I was made for this. Trained for it. Whenever one of them got too close, I fell back into the void and reappeared on their other side. Still, it was taking too long. I could only fight one at a time, Arran another, which left the rest to feast on the terrestrial revelers.

Eight, I counted as they went down. There were eight of them.

And I knew their faces.

The males that had refused the amorite.

Guilt burned in my throat, as toxic as the black bile coating my wrists. I had failed them. I should have fought Arran harder—fought for my subjects. My fault.

No.

This was not my fault.

The succubus were coming for my kingdom. They could not have it.

Then comes a queen in the age of uncertainty, when shadows cast doubt upon the realm. Born under a double moon and marked by a radiant star, a faerie queen shall rise to command the depths of the voids of darkness.

The words of the Void Prophecy echoed in my mind as I brought down one succubus and then another.

The succubus had come, in a time of upheaval for Annwyn, after the death of Arthur and my mating with Arran. And I had risen to command the void. It was not a coincidence that these things happened together. It was not my fault they had come.

I had been given this power so I could stop them.

So I would use it.

I sheathed my dagger. Too slow, taking them out one at a time. Not when I could grab one with each hand.

I'd been born fast. All fae were blessed with deadly speed. But I had spent twenty-five years of my life without a single flicker of power in my veins. I'd trained myself to be even faster, even deadlier. A weapon to defend myself. Now, I used that weapon to defend those I loved.

My fingers closed around one throat. A second later, I grabbed an arm, slick with black bile. I dug in my nails and took them with me into the void.

But I did not emerge at a different location in Eilean Gayl. Or Annwyn. Or the human realm.

I brought those monsters back to where they belonged—in hell.