Keeper of Storms (The Fallen Fae #3) - Jenna Wolfhart Page 0,124

wood king laughed, his eyes so wild they looked as though they might pop right out of his head.

“You can’t kill me,” Molt said with a sneer. “You are nothing compared to me.”

Lorcan roared and charged toward the king. He raised his sword overhead and brought it down on top of Molt’s skull. Molt darted to the side, but not fast enough. The blade ripped through his shoulder, spraying blood.

Molt screamed and stumbled back, gripping his shoulder. Lorcan smiled and stalked toward him, readying himself for another blow.

“Wait!” Molt shouted. “You can’t kill me!”

“I can,” Lorcan growled, feeling the pulse of the throne’s magic against his skin. It made him feel invincible. “And I will.”

“You’ll be cursed.” Molt released his grip on his shoulder and lifted his own sword once again. Blood poured out of his wound, painting his shadowsteel armor.

“I don’t care about the damn curse,” Lorcan muttered. “And neither do you.”

Molt’s smile stretched across his entire face. “You might not now, but you will. You have no idea just how much you’ll regret spilling my blood.”

Lorcan didn’t care to hear any more of Molt’s pleadings. The wood king was trying to distract him from the fight, likely hoping to recover before the next blow. Lorcan wouldn’t give him the chance.

He swung wide, his blade arcing toward Molt’s gut. The sword slammed hard into the steel. Lorcan shook his head and tried again, this time aiming for Molt’s other arm. Molt danced back, sweat beading on his brow. A pale sheen spread across his face.

Chest heaving, Lorcan raced forward just as Molt’s legs gave out. He threw all his weight behind his blow. The sword made contact, splitting through Molt’s arm. The limb launched through the air, hitting the wall with a sickening crunch.

Molt tumbled to the floor. He held himself up with his good arm, but he’d already lost so much blood. Trembling, he fell forward onto the stones, his tongue eagerly darting out of his mouth to gather droplets of blood leftover from Segonax’s death.

Lorcan brought his sword down on Molt’s head. The sword crunched through bones, twisting Lorcan’s gut into knotted rope. He winced as the weight of his sword crushed the wood king’s head.

“You,” Molt breathed, alive in spite of all of it. His emerald eyes peered up at Lorcan as blood drenched his mottled face. “You are cursed.”

With one last rattling breath, the wood king died.

Lorcan shuddered as a strange magic suddenly swirled across his skin. Dizziness slammed into his skull. His feet slipped beneath him, and the ground rose up to meet his face. The very last thing he saw was Reyna Darragh’s silver eyes flipping open in shock.

She had survived.

48

Reyna

“Lorcan.” She shook his shoulder. His dark eyelashes flared across his blanched cheeks, transforming him into a ghostly version of himself. Tears streamed down her face, plopping heavily onto the blood-stained floor. He’d fought so hard.

In the end, he’d saved them all.

The wood king had shattered into a hundred pieces, his body melting into ash. The only thing left of him now was a pile of soot where he’d once stood. Reyna had only seen the very end of the fight. She had no idea how he’d done it.

All this time, she thought she’d had to carry the burden alone. But they’d taken him down together. She and Lorcan…and the Ruin.

Bending over his still body, she draped the back of her hand against his cheek. His skin burned. Frowning, she brushed his damp hair away from his face. “Lorcan. Please come back to me.”

Suddenly, his eyes flew wide. Great gasps shook his body as he clutched her hand. A terrified hope crashed over her. She curled over him, wrapping her arms around his body, pulling him close to her chest. He latched onto her, the scent of his smoke and steel filling her head.

When she pulled back, he gazed up at her with fear in his eyes. “Is he gone? Is he dead?”

“Yes,” she whispered fiercely. “The wood king is dead. You killed him.”

He sagged in relief before groaning and pushing himself up from the floor. Wincing, he pressed a hand to his head. She held him steady, but he didn’t seem to need her help. Without another word, he strode purposely to Nollaig’s cell and ripped the door open wide. Without using the key.

Interesting, Reyna thought, glancing at the silent throne. Its magic seemed to have come to his aid, after all.

Nollaig stumbled out. She didn’t say a word, and Reyna could