“No. You arrogant son of a bitch.”
The look of shock on his face is enough to make me want to laugh. His mouth hangs open, his eyes widen, and his face turns a shade of purple as if he’s choking on his own tongue. Judging by his reaction, I doubt anyone has told him no in his life. I smile to reinforce my stance and encourage him to choke. A girl can hope, right?
His entire body tenses as he leans back. The sword rises through the air, and Ifeelit more than I see it. The thing vibrates as it moves. A low thrum like the purring of a cat. It makes my skin crawl with the wrongness of it, and it seems like I almost hear it whispering as the point rises to the sky. I can’t stop myself from leaning away.
“I’m going to kill you,” he says. “Slow. You’ll beg for death.”
“Blah, blah, insert stupid bad guy speech here,” I snark.
My mouth is running despite the terror filling my heart and my nerves screaming to run. If I’m going down, at least I’ll do it standing up for what I believe.
More time. I need more time.
The small trickle of power flowing into my guts coalesces. Reaching for it I raise my hands and hold them in front of myself. The Dark Fae arches an eyebrow as a wry smile takes shape on his lips. I can’t grasp enough power, and I know it, but this isn’t a matter of winning. Every moment I live is a moment longer that hope exists. Once the guns fire, it’s over.
My hands warm, then glow with a soft light. I concentrate, trying to pull more power from wherever it is that magic comes but get nothing. The tiny trickle sputters and, as it does, sparks fall from my hands.
“Cute,” the lord says. “But suffice it to say I am not impressed.” Bile rises in my throat as the wry smile turns down into a frown. “Enough of this. I’ve better things to do.”
His lips parts and I’m certain that this is it. The weight of the moment is a fist to my chest. He’s about to give the order to fire and there’s nothing I can do. I didn’t win. I can’t stop him. All these people are going to die. Despair unfolds like a flower blossoming in my chest and spreading through me physically and mentally.
“No—” I shout but I’m cut off.
“Alaqhon,” a new voice yells, echoing off the stone walls surrounding us, and everything changes.
The guns shift up and the lord takes a step back as the people behind me cheer. Guns rattle and click, but the sound isn’t from the hunters; it’s from behind me. Confused I glance over my shoulder and see the crowd is looking up so I follow their gaze.
Along the edge of the cliff is a line of men in kilts. Rough men led by a redheaded giant of a man. At least from this angle he looks like he must be seven feet tall and as broad as a table with a huge barrel chest. He has a sword in one hand and a pistol in the other that is pointed right at the lord I’ve been verbally sparring.
“Alaqhon,” the lord says without a hint of fear or dismay in his voice.
“Aye, Nicholas,” the giant man says. “Fine to see you on this day.”
“All right, Quinn,” Nicholas says softly, shifting his attention to me. “I’ll give you this day, but we’ll see each other soon enough.”
“I’m counting the seconds.”
“You do that, for when we meet again, I assure you that seconds will become an eternity.”
He turns his back and walks nonchalantly over to his horse. He grabs the reins, swings onto its back, then looks up at Alaqhon. He raises the dark sword to his forehead then slices it down before sliding it into a sheath on the side of the horse.
“Run along, Nicholas,” Alaqhon says. “We’ve no time for the likes of you today.”
“Another day then,” he says and the horse bounds through the line of his men who dive aside to avoid being trampled.
The hunters back away, keeping their guns moving from the top of the cliff to those trapped at its base. No one on my side makes a sound. I don’t even dare to breathe. The moment is tentative and if anything goes wrong, there will be no turning back.
When the last of the hunters disappear into the swirling mist sighs of relief come from everyone, including myself. Taking a deep breath, I let it out slowly, but the tension of the encounter doesn’t fully ease. The others mill about, picking up dropped belongings and checking on each other.
One boy, maybe eight years old, is staring in my direction with wide eyes. His dirty face is cute with a shock of brown hair that sticks out wildly. When I return his gaze, he shudders and turns quickly away. Great, another person to testify that I’m a witch.
There’s nothing I can do about it now. I scan the cliff above us. The giant Alaqhon directs his men. His booming voice fills the box canyon. He’s not the one I’m looking for though. I search the men but it’s hard to see. The sun is behind them and casts dark shadow on their faces. Still, I’ll know Duncan if I see him, even if only in profile.
He must be here. I came back for him. I chose and that’s what they all kept telling me. I’m the Destroyer because I will choose and my choices matter. I chose Duncan and now I’ve landed back here too late to stop the massacring of the MacGregor clan, but I can’t be too late to save Duncan. I can’t be. Life can’t possibly be that unfair. Can it?
Three men walk to the edge carrying a thick rope between them. As the first man walks to the edge of the cliff my heart leaps. Shoulder length brown hair, the build is right, it could be… but then he leans over the edge and looks down, letting me see his face clearly, and my heart sinks. It’s not Duncan. I clench my hands into fist and squeeze my eyes shut.
He’s okay. He’s okay. He’s okay.