She ripped the bottom of her shirt away, doing her best to bandage his wing. To her surprise, the feathers were warm. Instead of being soft and pliant, the colorful feathers were rigid and sharper than any blade she’d ever come across. “I would try to heal you, but my powers are unpredictable at the best of times. I’m afraid I’ll do more harm than good.”
Once she’d finished bandaging him, Morgan stood, took two steps away, then turned back, feeling responsible for the odd bird. “Listen, you won’t survive if I leave you here, but I need to go back and rescue the guy I was with. He tried to save me, so I have to at least try to do the same for him.”
The bird hopped toward her, obviously coming to a decision, and damned if she knew what it wanted. When he squawked again, she bent, holding out her hand, and nearly fell on her ass when he jumped into her palm.
She glanced around, searching for a place to stash him, but there was only one place where she could guarantee his safety…with her. Morgan hesitated for a second, then winced and shoved the bird down the front of her camisole. “Sorry. I know it’s not optimal, but I’m out of time.”
She didn’t wait for a protest, but took off running, ignoring his annoyed chirp.
The bird squirmed until he came to rest at the back of her shirt, next to the little stone gargoyle dog, the soft brush of its small body almost comforting. The bird’s talons sank into her spine. She hissed out a breath, but thankfully the sharp, blade-like wings remained sheathed. Heat radiated from the creature like a furnace.
As she burst into the clearing, her blade clenched tightly in her grip, she saw the warden was holding his own—as much as one man could against a dozen soldiers. It was an awe-inspiring sight. The elves were machines, efficient, using no wasted motions.
She thought Kincade and Atlas were the best fighters she’d ever seen, their styles like fire and ice, and captivating to watch.
She was wrong.
The warden moved like a storm, all violence and strength.
He had the grace of a big cat, his reactions instinctual, his movements so liquid, so practiced, he was hypnotizing to watch. She’d never seen anyone flight the way he did, as if he knew where the attack was coming from even before his opponent moved. He took a blow every now and then, but only because there were more of them. At any given time, half a dozen elves were laid out on the ground.
But the damned things were like zombie gophers, stubbornly popping back up despite being beaten and covered with blood.
She didn’t see any wounds on the warden, and doubted any of the blood on him was his.
Then he saw her and scowled.
The distraction cost him, and he took a nasty blow to the back of his head, so hard he staggered.
Morgan jumped into the fray, bringing up her weapons, covering him as he straightened.
Without speaking, they went back to back, studying the elves as they surrounded them.
“I thought I told you to leave.” The reprimand was nothing more than a growl, like he had difficulty forming the words.
“And let you have all the fun?”
None of the elves made a move to attack, so Morgan raised a brow and put as much snootiness into her voice as possible. “What do you want?”
“While you are not our intended prey, you are not authorized to be on this land.” The way he said prey raised her hackles. Arrogance oozed from the one who spoke, the elf clearly the leader of the group. “Who are you? Why are you here?”
“I am the war—”
“His name is Ward.” Morgan didn’t let him finish his sentence, every instinct warning her to keep him quiet. Morgan hesitated, then gambled on their lives. “Look, we don’t want to be here any more than you want us here. The Academy came under attack, and we were forcefully sent through a portal.”
A number of the elves relaxed infinitesimally, the movement so slight, she almost missed it.
“You’ve seen more of us.” She nearly sagged in relief, but didn’t let down her guard. She didn’t trust them not to stab her in the back as soon as she turned. “How many others came through?”
The leader narrowed his eyes slightly, which surprised her, since his kind very rarely showed any kind of emotion. She didn’t know how Atlas survived as long as he had living among such people. While they might be beautiful, they were a bunch of cold fish…or maybe just emotionally stunted.
Atlas was different. His emotions showed through his eyes, not like these men. Their souls, what was left of them, were dead. The elf in charge was clearly annoyed at being questioned by what he saw as nothing more than a pest who was beneath his notice.
Pompous ass!
She wanted to demand an answer, but she couldn’t risk them showing more interest in her and perhaps discovering her true identity. If they learned about her heritage, she didn’t have enough training to protect herself, much less anyone else, and she refused to be used as a pawn.
Never again.
“It’s getting dark. We have no choice but head back and return after daybreak. Cuff them. We’ll bring them back with us.” He turned away, as if he expected them to obediently hold out their wrists and surrender.
Yeah, not happening.
Ward tensed at her back, the air around him becoming charged as he readied for battle, clearly thinking the same.
“If you want to see the others who came through the portal, you’ll do as I say.” The imperial tone pissed her off, but the nearly overwhelming relief at knowing the others were okay loosened the tightness in her chest.
She hesitated for a moment longer, then slowly held out her arms, hoping none of them noticed her weapons had vanished.
Ward growled at her capitulation, then reluctantly dropped his pilfered weapons and followed her lead. A few of the elves retrieved their weapons, giving Ward the stink eye, the others watching him warily.
In seconds, she and Ward were in cuffs and being hustled through the forest.
The elves were on edge, and that made her nervous.
“Why not just kill us?” She couldn’t help asking the question. They didn’t spare her and Ward out of the kindness of their hearts. They wanted something for helping them.
No one responded.
Not that she expected them to answer.
“I hope you know what you’re doing.” Ward trudged next to her, clearly not pleased with the turn of events. He flexed his arms, fidgeting with his cuffs until his wrists were so chafed they bled.
“What’s wrong?” She reached out, grabbing his arm, and he went dead still.
For a second, she didn’t think he was going to answer, but when he glanced at her, his eyes were so bleak her throat ached. “The cuffs are magic-resistant.”
Morgan wasn’t like most people. Magic was new to her, her powers having been locked away for most of her life. But she knew what it felt like to be defenseless, helpless against others. With a furtive look at their guards, she slid her hand down his arm, ignoring the way his muscles jumped under her touch, the way the magic in him surged toward her, and dragged her fingers down until they came to rest against the manacles.
Magic hummed in the metal, the cuffs cooling under her touch, almost like the magic was trying to hide. Morgan concentrated on the metal, sorted through each particle, gritting her teeth as the magic began to fight back, springing forward to nip at her fingertips like fangs from a snake. Slowly, the spell began to shatter, red, sparkling dust drifting down from the cuffs, and she grunted in pain as the last of the magic dissipated.
The process took seconds.
By the time she pulled her hand away and dropped back a step, her fingertips felt like she’d stuck them into molten lava.
She’d always had the ability to repel magic, but it hurt like a bitch when she tried to break a spell performed by others.
Only after she finished did she notice Ward’s unnatural stillness. He didn’t look at any of the guards. He didn’t look at the cuffs. No, all his attention was focused on her, glaring at her like she’d just tried to slit his throat.
“What?” she snapped at him, not appreciating being made to feel like a freak.
“You foolish girl.” He shook his head, his eyes swirling with the void. “You must never do that again.”
Of course he would scold her.