On that cryptic note, Viran raced away, shouting orders to his troops. The organized rank and file was fracturing as soldiers broke from the column to engage individual demons.
Before Roxanne could head for Valerion, Fletcher pushed her aside. He whipped his pre-strung bow and an arrow from his quiver. Nocking the arrow to the string, he aimed and loosed at yet another daemonion who’d come too close for comfort.
“I can also handle myself,” Roxanne snapped. She hated that her heart was jumping like a jackrabbit and that she—despite her gifts—hadn’t reacted to the incoming threat.
“I know you can,” Fletcher snapped back. “That’s not the point. We protect each other. This is war.”
She pursed her lips, chastened. He was right. Everything she’d faced over the past two years was child’s play
