The Abyss (Fae's Captive #7) - Lily Archer Page 0,28

front! Magic wielders, form a circle around the unicorns and the wagon.”

“What? Shouldn’t the magical ones go do some easy damage?” I absentmindedly stroke Iridiel to dull my worry. Gareth takes the lead, his sword high and his body taut. Thick muscles and his mane of dark hair—he is lickable. Spires, that male can light a fire in me even in times of ridiculous danger. Like now, with the ground rattling from heavy troll feet.

“Trolls are immune to magic,” Iridiel answers.

“Really?”

“Don’t they teach you changelings anything?”

“Well, no.” I lean forward, trying to see through the gloom. “Slaves aren’t allowed to read, and there’s no school unless you count sewing lessons or learning in the kitchen.”

“And they say I’m a beast.” He snorts, but I can feel a tremor rush through him.

“We’re safe.” I pat him. “Gareth is going to go on a murder spree. You’ll see.”

“Good, maybe that’ll get rid of some of his sexual frustration.”

“He’s not the only frustrated one.” I can almost make out figures through the trees, and the sound of tearing branches rips through the thudding sounds.

“I know. You two should definitely fuck. I’ll watch. Maybe join in a little. We’ll have a good time.”

“Ugh, unicorns.” I keep running my fingers through his off-limits mane, though. His filthy talk can’t hide his fear, and petting him helps assuage some of my own.

“Forward!” Gareth cries and takes off at a run.

“Running with a sword. Huh. Seems dangerous.” Iridiel can’t seem to stand still, his hooves stamping.

“Calm down.” I feel it, too, though my fear is more of a worry for Gareth.

He and the warriors disappear into the night, and shortly after the sounds of battle erupt. Roars that have me covering my ears shake the nearby trees, and the sound of cracking branches multiplies.

The mare whinnies and starts backing up. “They’re going to kill us and eat us.”

“Whoa.” I reach out and touch her flank. “Whoa, sweetheart. We’re safe. We’re fine. Steady on.”

“Yarinna, love.” Iridiel nips her backside with his teeth. “Calm down.”

“I can’t.” She backs up some more despite my petting and Iridiel’s soothing words. “I don’t want to die.”

“Come here, love. Give me some horn.”

“Now?” Despite her skeptical tone, she pauses. “Like, right now?”

“Go on, let me stroke it.”

“Whoa, hey, no.” I smack Iridiel, but it’s too late.

Yarinna moves closer and strokes her horn against his. Her nicker is positively pornographic, and I have to look away.

“Ahh, that’s it, faster now.”

“Can I just … I’m just going to go.” I throw a leg over Iridiel’s side, but he whinnies and backs away from the mare. “No. I’m not giving up those waterberries. You stay put.”

“I’m not going to sit here and watch you two do—well, whatever it is you’re doing.”

The battle intensifies, metal clanging and shouts hurtling through the trees. At least the two unicorns doing a hornjob was distracting, because now I’m turning into a nervous knot. Is Gareth all right? Is he hurt? Does he need help? I wish I had some sort of powers, a fae gift of healing or fighting. But I’m only a changeling.

“Let go of the mane, doll.”

I release Iridiel’s silky strands that I’d been clutching. “Sorry.”

At least he’s stopped “comforting” the mare. She’s calmer now, though she keeps close by.

“Maybe we should go check—”

“Shh.” Iridiel stills, his entire body going rigid.

The battle still rages, so I’m not sure what he’s hearing. I strain my ears to find it, though. He sniffs the air, opening his mouth to taste it, then eases closer to the wagon.

“What is it?” I whisper as I stare into the darkness.

“Someone’s here,” he says loud enough for the magic wielders around us to hear. “Be on your guard.”

He keeps moving us further inside the protective circle, and I lean down close to him, my senses searching for any hint of what’s to come. Before I can see a thing, one of the slaves flies into the darkness, his scream abruptly severed. Then, from the gloom, a huge white hand appears, its nails black and twisted, and the arm attached to it marked with scars.

“Troll!” The mare bolts.

But I’m no longer looking at the troll, I’m looking at the fae on its back as he orders it to destroy us all.

Lord Zatran.

13

Gareth

Troll blood runs down my face and coats the air with a foul stench as I slice through the biggest one. Fear ripples through the bond, and I turn, my feral racing to the surface as I leap through the bits of troll and