Elves Invasion

83

She saw Breakfast. He swung his ax and blinked the sweat and soot from his eyes. He saw a flash overhead and paused to look up. The Hive was flying away.

Again, she saw Isaac. Alaric raced past him. He was running toward the main gate of Bower City—and to the pyre that was still ablaze on the ramparts.

Brick dropped the arm he’d raised to cover his face against the oncoming fireball, and found himself on top of the Governor’s Villa, standing next to the speaking stone.

He allowed himself one moment of utter confusion before he wrangled his wits back in order. Ivan, he thought, and raced down the stairs of the villa, through the maze of passages, and into the lab.

Brick found Ivan, still furiously making pesticide as fast as he could, and pulled him away from the vats.

“It’s over,” Brick told his old friend. “The Queen is dead.”

Ivan’s eyes drifted off to the side, the barest hint of a smile turning up the corners of his lips. His face suddenly darkened.

“Grace,” he whispered. “Is she—?”

“Still on the pyre,” Brick answered before Ivan could finish asking. The two of them turned immediately and ran through the city to the wall.

Ava heard the hissing and tasted the wet smoke before she realized what was happening. Bucket after bucket of water was being shuttled to her and dumped over the last flames. Her pyre extinguished, Ava cut off the loop of power flowing between her and her claimed. She could hear voices all around as her claimed dug to get her out of the remnants of her colossal pyre.

Relief gushed through her, thick and sweet as honey, but a mountain of burnt and half-collapsed logs both surrounded and covered her.

“Hold on, Ava. I’m almost to you,” Isaac said, his voice sounding muffled and far away.

“I’m here,” she called out.

Water started dripping down through the collapsed tinder above her, black and greasy with charcoal. She heard the thunking of an ax as Isaac got closer and closer to her, and felt the half-joyful, half-frightened thrill thumping inside him.

It’s over. We won, he kept whispering inside his mind, repeating it over and over, trying to convince himself it was true.

“There she is—I see her!” he shouted to the crew behind him. Ava saw Isaac throw aside his ax and start wrenching logs away with his hands.

Ava pulled her chains free from the crumbling stake, and reached up to him as he threw the last log aside and gathered her to him.

“We did it,” he whispered, his voice breaking.

“We really did,” she replied, smiling through tears as she clutched at him.

She couldn’t seem to get close enough to him as they kissed and held each other. She pressed herself against him, laughing and crying and babbling all at once. They held each other in the center of the scorched pile while the rest of the timber crew cleared a path, wanting nothing but to stay exactly where they were.

Brick and Ivan passed teams of rebels still combing the streets for swarms, their expressions cautiously hopeful that the battle was over. Bodies were already being collected and taken off the streets on stretchers. The injured were rushed to healers, who had set up triage centers every few blocks. Brick noticed that not everyone getting help was a citizen. The restricted zone must have emptied into the city proper at some point during the battle, and Brick held out hope that his family had made it across.

When they reached the wall they found that the stairs that zigzagged up to the top were cleared of the Warrior Sisters who usually guarded them. Brick and Ivan took the stairs two at time. When they reached the top they heard voices. Someone had beaten them to Grace.

Grace’s pyre steamed under her knees. She crouched atop the pile of doused logs, facing an Outlander with a fierce face. He threw the empty bucket he was holding aside and strode toward her.

“Grace Bendingtree. I am Alaric Windrider, sachem of the last tribe. I find you guilty of g******e,” he declared.

Grace shifted on her knees, her shackles jingling softly. “Aren’t I supposed to get a trial first?” she asked, smiling.

“No trial,” he said. He pulled a knife out of his belt and her smiling face fell.

“Sachem? What are you going to do with that?” Brick interrupted, edging his way forward uncertainly.

As Brick frantically combed his mind for some kind of argument to present to Alaric, a small swarm of Warrior Sisters flew toward them and landed on the battlement. Alaric faced them, dropping into a fighting crouch and brandishing the long knife in his hand. Brick felt Ivan push him back, protecting him, but the Warrior Sisters weren’t looking at any of them. They went directly to Grace.

Grace looked at her former claimed uncertainly as they stalked toward her. “Wait,” she said, holding out a tentative hand. “No—”

Before Ivan, Brick, or Alaric could make a move, the Warrior Sisters snatched Grace up by her arms and legs, flew her past the edge, and let her go.

She screamed the whole way down. When she finally struck the ground and went still, the Warrior Sisters flew away.

“Grace is dead,” Ava said as she and Isaac scrambled out from the extinguished pyre. Clouds of steam still rose around them, filling the air with fog. Fatigue was taking Ava over, and turning her legs to jelly.

“Alaric?” he asked. Ava shook her head and showed him what Brick had just shown her.

“The Hive did it,” he said, surprised.

“They had the most reason to hate her, I suppose,” Ava replied. She narrowed her eyes at Isaac. “You knew Alaric ran up there to kill her, didn’t you?” she asked.

“Yes.” Isaac met Ava’s eyes and held them. “And I was going to let him.” Ava nodded, accepting it, and pulled his arm even tighter against her body. The subject was closed.

Isaac helped Ava out of the blackened crater, but she wouldn’t let him carry her. No matter how much it hurt, she was going to walk away from this. As she minced through her claimed on her blackened feet, Ava passed Breakfast, still hefting his ax, his other arm draped over Joyce’s shoulder. Joyce stood next to a lion, her hand resting casually on her new stone kin’s back. Tristan grinned at Ava and Isaac and she grinned back. Beside Tristan, Caleb stood with Alpha. She noticed that they had exchanged knives and raised an eyebrow at him. Caleb shrugged to show he was as surprised as she was at this new alliance. Mary and Riley were there, scattered among the painted braves who still guarded Juliet. Ava even caught a glimpse of her mother, wandering among the stumps of the hacked-down trees. Samantha looked sad, as if she were mourning someone.

Ava leaned on Isaac’s arm, limping her way across the battlefield. She met Leto in the middle.

“We took the field, Lady,” he said, grimacing in pain from his broken leg.

“We did, Captain,” Ava replied gravely, surveying the heavy losses Walltop had incurred.

“Stay where you are,” Isaac told Leto. “We’ll send a stretcher.”

“There are few injured,” Leto said, despite his condition. “The Warrior Sisters don’t stop until either they’re dead, or their opponent is.”

“Thank you, Captain,” Ava said.

“Lady,” he replied, bowing awkwardly from his prone position as Ava passed.

Ava released Isaac’s arm and walked across the battlefield on her own. She summoned healers to the battlefield to tend to the wounded. She called to them in mindspeak, and then jumped them directly to those who needed help.

Her feet, always the first to burn on the pyre, screamed at her with every step. Blood dripped down her hands and off the tips of her fingers from the raw skin under her jingling shackles. Her crown dug into her scalp, heavy and sharp, and she lifted her chin under its weight.

Ava stood in front of the gates of Bower City, her coven—both human and Woven—arrayed behind her. At her feet was the split corpse of the witch she had conquered.

“Open the gates!” Ava called out over Grace Bendingtree’s dead body.

The heavy doors opened. Brick stood on the other side with Alaric to his left, Ivan to his right, and Mala standing behind them. Mala’s mouth was smiling but her eyes were glowering.

“The city is yours,” Brick said, relieved.

Ava walked through the gates and stumbled to her knees.

“Please, Agent Simms. There’s no need for that,” Ava Proctor said, gesturing casually to the g*n.

She looked different. She was dressed in a spidery-black gown and her fiery-red curls were arranged carefully around what appeared to be a tiara made of some kind of twisted black metal. It was studded with white gems and Simms would bet anything they were real. Next to her sat Isaac Fall. He was dressed differently, more like a man than a teenager, in a crisp linen shirt and perfectly tailored jacket that hugged him with such devotion it appeared to be in love with him. Not that Simms could blame it. There was something about his eyes and the way he looked into people, never just at them, that was embarrassingly alluring.

“I’m Picnic, and these are my brothers, Zuro and Max,” he said.

I glanced over at Big Guy. Zuro? What kind of name was that? And they really didn’t look like brothers…

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Picnic,” I said, holding back my questions.

“Just Picnic. Thanks again for the food.”

Zuro stood.

“I’ll walk you out to your car,” he said, his voice low and rumbly. Jeff’s eyes opened wide, and he jerked his head, then stilled. Picnic smirked at me knowingly.

“Take your time, we can wait,” he said to Zuro, reaching down and pulling my keys out of his pocket, tossing them to me. I walked out into the warm sun of the late-summer evening, Zuro following me. He snagged my hand, leading me to the table. My heart raced with every step. I had no idea what was about to happen, but part of me really wanted him to touch me.

Maybe.

Probably not.

Shit.

Zuro tucked his hands under my arms, popping me up onto the table. Then he slid them down my sides, wedging them between my legs and pushing my knees gently apart. He stepped between them and leaned into me.

I’m pretty sure I came close to stroking out.

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” I said, glancing back at the house, heart hammering. Jeff wouldn’t like it. Zuro was dangerous. I could smell it on him. Seriously. Under the delicious scent of leather, light sweat and man was a pungent strain of pure trouble. “I mean, everyone is waiting for you, right? I can just go, let’s just forget this, okay?”

He didn’t say anything, just studying me with that cool, expressionless face of his.

“That how you gonna play it, sweet butt?”

“I’m not your sweet butt,” I snapped, narrowing my eyes. I hated getting called things like that. Windyard did it all the time. Why did they keep calling me that?

To hell with him and to hell with Windyard too.

Men.