as Irian said, lunging full-on, but pausing to deliver an arm-numbing blow to Tainan’s face, taking him to the ground and straddling him as the man went down. Aryn dropped his sword, normally a sin he’d never allow himself. But he needed to feel the man’s blood on his hands as he died.
Drawing a dagger from the sheath in his boot, he pushed it into Tainan’s chest. As the dagger pierced the man’s heart, shock and denial pierced Tainan’s dying eyes. “May the demon you enslaved find you in the afterlife, pig fucker.”
Irian’s translucent form appeared at Aryn’s side and knelt. Tainan’s body jerked as Irian touched his hand to the man’s brow—sigils appeared as if branded into his flesh.
“He will now,” Irian said. “Tyriel gave us his name. And now you are marked. Enjoy your suffering, worm. You earned it.”
Tainan’s weak scream ended as Aryn savagely twisted the dagger, shredding his evil heart.
As he rose, thick blood bubbled up through Tainan’s mouth.
“Now, we must hurry,” Irian said, resting a ghostly hand on Aryn’s shoulder. “The magics may fall without him here to maintain them.”
Chapter 16
Jaren lifted her broken body in his arms, his throat tightening.
Ah, sweet. I failed you, didn’t I?
If he had kept his promise, his bond sooner, but he had thought he had time.
She might yet die with bitterness between them.
Their last words had been in anger and while she battled a demon, Jaren stood by with a woman-child in his arms. He’d just watched, too enraged, frustrated with her, with her arrogance, her insight…with the very things she’d been right about, the very situation that had brought them to where they’d been.
That she’d not needed his help did not matter.
It mattered that he had not offered. Even now, she bore the demon’s silver mark on her breast, the insult of it a line down her torso and her normally strong, limber frame now thin to the point of frailty. That silver brand had gone gray and her thick black hair was brittle and dull.
Her heart was failing her.
If he’d sought out the sorcerer as soon as he’d delivered the mortal-fae to his lord in Averne, would he have found him? Could he have prevented all of this?
The guilt all but choked him and it would haunt him the rest of his very long life, not knowing the answer.
If she died…
“No,” he whispered, the word nearly lost to the silent night.
As he carried Tyriel out into the clean-smelling night air, he rested his chin on her hair and clenched his jaw against the grief that rose up in his chest.
He’d think only of saving her, because thoughts in beings as strong as the fae had power.
He’d think of saving and doing the work needed to accomplish that—and that work must start now.
The metal at her waist, her wrists, her ankles weakened her. It would have killed Jaren, or another full-blood. If they could get those off, get her onto clean earth to buy them time…he felt a big warm nose nuzzling his arm.
“My lady…help her…” Kilidare’s wild, too intelligent voice murmured into his mind, another thread of chaos in the whirlwind of his thoughts.
The house behind him was starting to fall into the earth. Aryn had destroyed Tainan. And much magic had been woven into that house. The entire demesne would fall now that its master was dead. Lifting tired eyes to the elvish stallion he said softly, “I will try. But I am no healer, Kilidare.”
The stallion pawed the ground and tossed his great head.
“Kilidare help her. Kilidare heal.”
Jaren stared at the elvish steed blankly.
“You.”
Kilidare stamped a large, powerful foot. “Kilidare.”
Within Jaren, understanding and hope began to burn. Without another word, he went to work.
He donned a pair of thin leather gloves and pulled a pair of lock picks from his belt before he went to work on the iron. Within moments, he tossed the damnable stuff to the side, away from Tyriel and himself, then spread out his cloak on the ground, the elvin-spun wool thin enough to let her soak in the earth’s energy, but still a warm protection from the chill of the ground.
Carefully, the steed settled down and Jaren helped moved Tyriel into the cradle of Kilidare’s warm, still overly shaggy hide.
Immediately, the pulse of healing magic filled the air.
“I’ll be stuffed,” he muttered, shock rippling through him. “You’re an animus.”
Kilidare gave Jaren a decidedly smug look. “Kilidare heal.”
The animus—an animal spirit imbued with powerful protective instincts and select magical abilities…like healing—were