Luna's Heir

Blade B lood exploded onto my face. Wincing, I jerked my head to the side, but it was too late. A hue of oily crimson covered the world, and a metallic tang churned the primordial gloom of my stomach. I swore, wiping at my eyes with the back of my arm, and spat it out—staining the snow next to the gurgling werewolf. With a thump, he collapsed to the ground. My breathing slowed as I watched his life force flushing from him in torrents, spreading through the white bed beneath him like a plague. The Outsider’s bright-blue gaze was wide and already unseeing, staring up at the moonless night in disbelief, yet his large hands kept fumbling and slipping uselessly at his gaping neck. Within mere seconds, the male stilled, drowning in his blood. I remembered a time when the scene would have sent me running for the nearest shrub to retch and heave behind until my soul tired and felt less likely to renounce me. But that was a whole other lifetime ago. Ten cycles had passed in a blur, and my father was still missing, presumed dead, since my sixteenth cycle—when everything changed. With practiced dispassion, I lithely flicked one of my curved twin swords to the side. The quick movement made the blade hiss, sending more rivulets of ruby scattering across the tainted ice, which was already melting into the forest floor beneath. A month into Spring in northern Maine, it was about time for the biting wind to be replaced by one of lush amity. A predatory figure was facing me. Amid the clashing of blades, snarls of fury, and the reek of gore thick in the air, Archer smiled at me in that infuriating way he always did when he was about to say or do something that was sure to goad a reaction from me. “I don’t know whether I should sing a ballad in your name or straight up piss my boxers right now,” my lifelong friend said, making a show of giving me a guarded head-to-toe glance. “I think it will go something like—” “Spear, charging your six,” I warned lazily, waiting until the last moment. As expected, the rogue struck Archer in the back with the tip of his spear. It would have gone right through his spine if he’d been any other werewolf not Blessed with enhanced resilience. With a growl, more from irritation at being interrupted than of anger or pain, the large dark-skinned male spun around and struck his confounded assailant with the edged end of his carbon bow. Unconscious on impact, he crashed maladroitly to the ground, while Archer’s arrow remained perfectly notched and ready to fly through it all. With a fierce grin, and something like approval glinting in his silver eyes, he turned back to me. “Could have warned me sooner, Commander,” he said, sneering at the last word. My instincts tingled at the imperceptible flurrying of disturbed snow behind me. Combined with the vengeful look and widening smile Archer threw over my shoulder, I readied my Goddess-given speed and strength right before I said, “Where would the fun in that be?” It felt like I was dancing. An unleashing gyrate of blades as I blocked a broadsword above my head mid-twirl, then glided to the side, parrying another double-edged flash of silver to my left almost nicking my ear open, and concluded the routine with one final spin of cuts. The result was two rogues grunting and falling to their knees. The beefy female and tall male had a mixture of pain, shock, and confusion contorting their faces. I’d come to expect these sorts of reactions from the Outsiders. They had no idea what it was like facing a Paladin. A Gifted werewolf. Not until it was too late. Put through unspeakable trials and honed into lethal weapons since we could walk, bound by the Oath, we were Palatine City’s elite warriors. They didn’t stand a chance. “He’s strong, he’s quick—oh, yes, Blade’s a fearsome sword-swinging prick,” Archer sang, turning to give the male with the spear a kick to the belly, who was aware again but not yet back to his senses it seemed as he tried and failed again to stab it through Archer’s legs this time. The Paladin’s deep voice kept ringing out over the chaos of battle raging around us without losing a beat. “World-ending is his wrath, but it’s the murderous calm demeanor that should make you quiver, oh, for sure, Blade is a purebred killer—” A fist-sized rock came flying in from nowhere, hitting Archer smack on the ear. As he stumbled slightly, I knew only one other werewolf Blessed with strength who could have caused it, not to mention dared to. The familiar giggle drew my eyes to the saccharine smile stretching her full mouth, dominated by whiskey-colored eyes alight with a wicked gleam that would send lesser wolves running with their tails tucked between their legs. Chuckling at the sight of Archer reeling and poutily rubbing at the side of his head, I ducked and spun, cutting down another overeager rogue who thought he could catch me unawares, while I tried to keep my attention on the drama about to unfold—ready to jump in if needed. “Dexter!” Archer growled, his brow furrowed indignantly as he watched the female sauntering over to him. Outsiders fell in her wake as she went, her movements limned with feline grace as she wielded her katana with expert ease. “I had a really good one going this time, and you ruined it.”