“You’re the only one dying tonight.” With a snarl, Elena dived at her.
She anticipated the action and kicked, nailing the underside of Blue Dress’s chin. As the female toppled, spitting blood, Viori attacked, getting downright nasty.
* * *
WHAT WILL I be forced to contend with today?
The stonemen? Trees? Something made of dirt, brambles or cloth? Micah had dealt with each creature at some point.
At last, his newest challengers stepped from a thick white fog, forming a line of aggression roughly a hundred feet away. He frowned. Trees. The very trees that had once guarded Vee—he recognized those menacing expressions. They clearly wanted her back.
Vee had only assumed she’d killed them, as suspected.
There were eighteen in total, each blooming with a veritable feast of delicacies. Fruits and nuts he hadn’t sampled since finding his sleeping beauty.
Whispers of shock and awe rose from his men. Most had never seen so much goodness in one place, there for the plucking.
“Norok,” he called, sheathing his sword, and holding out an empty hand.
His second didn’t have to guess at his meaning. An axe whooshed through her air, and Micah caught its hilt.
A rough, gravelly voice rang out. “Give. Mother. Back. Now.”
Oh yes. They’d come for Viori. Though the speaker clearly didn’t know the meaning of the word mother. Unless... No. No! But when had the trees learned to speak? None had done so the last time they faced off. Nor had any of the other belua he’d battled in the centuries since.
“Why don’t you try to take her from me?” he challenged with relish.
Fury electrified the atmosphere a split second before a tree swung a thick branch in his direction. The movement was so swift, Micah almost couldn’t track it. Almost. Fruit flew across the distance, and he ducked. Except, the missiles weren’t aimed at him but at his men. Apples, pears, plums and lemons slammed into soldiers like cannonballs, exploding upon contact. Victims dropped amid grunts of shock and groans of pain.
Other trees wasted no time, launching fruit as well. Nuts joined the mix, the hard shells splintering, slicing through flesh and muscle as easily as butter. But again, the missiles circumvented Micah entirely. But why avoid hurting him when he presented the only true threat?
The ground quaked harder and harder. Soldiers wobbled, struggling to stay upright. Even Micah fought to maintain his balance. Cracks spread through the dirt, the earth seeming to split apart... Sharp roots shot from the openings. Cries rang out as his men toppled, releasing their torches. Flames spread over the ground but failed to stop the invasion.
These belua had new tricks, too. Noted.
Growls brewed in Micah’s chest. He was no longer a fifteen-year-old boy without resources or hope. Waste time exchanging more threats? Show the trees the same mercy they displayed toward him? No. He flittered as he swung the axe, landing directly in front of the speaker. The blade whistled as it descended; the torch in his other hand wasn’t far behind.
The tree had quicker-than-expected reflexes and blocked. Metal sliced through bark, removing a branch, nothing more. Flames jumped from the torch to the foliage, swiftly spreading, but only charred the outer shell. The fight tolled on.
Micah attacked with more vigor, but no matter what he did, no trees struck at him. Why? Whenever he approached, they reared back, pulling their blows. None of this made sense. No matter. He had no such problem making contact.
A blur of motion at his left caught his attention. He spun, ready to block the coming attack, expecting another branch. The threat did not aim for him, and it didn’t come from a tree. Two cats positioned themselves before Micah, hissing and swiping at the trees. And the trees backed up.
Wait. These weren’t cats. They appeared to be made of sand.
A horrifying realization struck him. More belua!
He geared to attack when a soldier tripped and fell at his feet; the sandcats launched into action, clawing the fae’s face. “No,” Micah bellowed, and the cats ceased, prowling backward.
What...? Why...? He didn’t understand.
As a tree swung a branch at the fallen warrior, Micah returned his attention to the battle and blocked the blow with the axe, saving the male’s life. And what a battle it was.
The enemy continued to strike. His army did an excellent job of hacking, blocking, dodging and torching, using their greatest strength to their advantage—the vastness of their numbers. And yet, the trees refused to depart. With their fruit gone, they fought with unending savagery, seemingly mindless as they brandished those razored branches. Scraping. Slicing. Stabbing. Killing. It wasn’t long before the fae numbers began to dwindle. Limbs flew. Heads, too.
Micah launched into action, sprinting for a specific foe, losing sight of the sandcats. Along the way, he dropped his torch and picked up another fallen axe. Leaping...
He hacked through bark so swiftly, the tree couldn’t heal fast enough. Could only scream in pain, fueling his aggression. He fought harder, moved at a speedier clip, a familiar haze overtaking him. The thrill of breaking his opponents before ending them. Yes, yes. Destroy the threat. Prove you are master here. Unconquerable.