by the darkness that formed his clothing. The sound was muffled but the reaction of those near the shooter—including shouts of “Gun!”—alerted the rest of the crowd, which drew back like the tide. Azrael frowned down at the man who had fired the gun—now standing in the center of an open space that was rapidly widening.
It went from magical wonder to utter mayhem in seconds. Humans screamed and tried to flee, creating a deadly undulation in the mass. People fell and were trampled, some went tumbling into the moat, and others were simply carried along by the herd.
I shouted and leaned over the railing, reaching out in futile horror. But it wasn't so futile. The waters in the moat rose at my will, depositing people back on the land before the vicious creatures in the moat could hurt them, while earth lifted people who had fallen, raising them on stoned pedestals. I gaped from my hands to the humans as a golden glow retreated into my fingers. Azrael was right—we were both connected to the fey magic now. He wasn't the only one who could control it.
The people I saved stared up at me in wonder as stone sank back into the earth and the water receded into the moat. The fleeing crowd stuttered to a stop at the edges of the clearing, looking back at the trampled grass, studded with fallen signs but not fallen people. Then they realized that the man who had caused all of the fuss stood frozen, staring up at the Faerie God as if hypnotized.
“You like to hunt, do you?” Azrael asked him. “Perhaps you need a new perspective.”
Azrael's eyes started to glow. The man screamed suddenly and dropped his weapon. He fell onto all-fours and convulsed. The sound of tearing fabric came as his body bulged and lengthened. Fur sprouted over his skin and antlers sprung from his sleek head. Golden antlers and white fur. At last, the burol lifted its head, met Azrael's stare, and bounded off into the forest. The crowd of humans watched him go with slack, wide-eyed expressions.
“Azrael,” I whispered in horror, “what have you done?”
“Shown the hunter what it's like to be the hunted.”
The helicopters, now within fifty feet of us, were not carrying reporters. They held military men and women who didn't like faerie gods changing their fellow humans into white stags, even if those humans might deserve it. They opened fire on us and the humans below fled for good this time, screaming in terror.
Chapter Forty-Three
Neither Azrael nor I needed Darkness to protect us but it did. The shadows clothing us absorbed every bullet that hit them, feeding off the dark emotions that fueled the attacks and getting stronger with every second. The bullets that hit my bare skin pinged away harmlessly. Still, it was startling to be the focus of such an assault, and I gaped at the soldiers in shock. They gaped back, just as shocked at my continued survival.
Then one ambitious young man aimed a missile launcher at us.
Azrael's eyes narrowed at the man just as he fired. Shadows formed a wall in front of the castle, disintegrating the missile as it hit and then fading away. The soldiers shouted, hiding their fear with anger. They launched everything they had at us and as they did, a horrible rumbling came from below.
Tanks moved over the land, crushing smaller trees to make a path for the vehicles behind them. Humvees carrying soldiers and trucks hauling heavy artillery rumbled forward. I gasped as the magic recoiled inside me as if in pain, and Azrael gripped the crenelations of the wall furiously, his claws scraping the stone. He dismissed the helicopters as insignificant and instead fastened his glowing stare on the ground troops closing in and the damage they were doing.
“Azrael!” I grabbed his arm. “Don't hurt them, please! Just protect us. Don't hurt them!”
“We offer to save them and this is their response?” Azrael snarled and jerked out of my grip. He shouted in a voice that reverberated through the air and carried over the chaos, “I offer you peace and you attack me? You fools! You savages! Now, you shall feel my wrath and all will see what happens to those who strike against me!”
Azrael thrust out his hand and closed it into a fist so tight that he pierced his palm with his claws. Blood dripped into the moat and the water churned as the beasts fed on it—and grew even more beastly.