Other than his enormous size, Micah was as Lucien had described in the Libri Mysteria. He was covered in hair all over his body, patches thicker on his back, chest, and thighs. Not only had his feet turned cloven, but his lower half was clearly animal, shaped like a goat with reversed knee joints. His arms were muscular, hanging slightly lower than a human’s, and he had a long, whip-like tail coming out just above his buttocks that had a triangular-shaped end.
It was his face, though, that made him a monster. His hair was black, shaggy, and matted. There was little skin showing through the fur except around his eyes and his nose, which was mashed in. His lower jaw jutted with yellow fangs curved upward at the corners, and saliva dripped from one corner of his mouth. The horns on his head sprouted from just behind his temple, but rather than curving upward, they flared out to the side and curved slightly downward.
Sure, he was big, but Carrick knew he wasn’t invincible just because of his size. While it was unknown if his powers had grown along with his frame, they had brought sufficient might to this realm to handle him.
Micah advanced toward Pyke, his shaggy head tipped to the side. While his face was partially turned away from where Carrick stood, he could only assume his expression would be one of curiosity and wonder.
He supposed it could be rage, but he thought not as Micah’s ambling was slow and steady… almost hesitant.
When Micah was a good twenty yards from the cave entrance, Carrick made ready to jump down, knowing Lucien would follow. Their superhuman prowess would ensure they’d land soft as feathers and not draw Micah’s attention.
But before Carrick could take a step off the ledge, Lucien once again grabbed his arm and his attention. With a sharp nod down toward Micah, Lucien growled. “Look at his hand.”
Carrick’s gaze moved away from his brother and down to the beast. His heart sank.
He was holding the chalice, which looked almost like a toy in his meaty grip.
“Fuck,” Carrick muttered. “Change of plans.”
“Let’s ambush him,” Lucien suggested in a low voice.
“I’ll go first,” Carrick whispered in response. “I’ll aim for that arm to get him to drop the chalice. You grab it and run like hell.”
Lucien’s expression turned hard with determination. “I’m not one to run, but, in this instance, I’m with you.”
“Let’s do it then.” Carrick prepared once again to make the jump, but before he did, movement caught his eye. Pyke was walking toward Micah.
“What the fuck is he doing?” Lucien grumbled in exasperation. “He’s going to get himself killed.”
Carrick thought the same thing, but he wasn’t surprised. Pyke might be shallow and self-centered, but when he committed to a battle, he committed all the way.
He was absolutely not a coward.
“Is that really you, Charmeine?” Micah asked, his voice deep but also warped in a way that gave it a staccato sort of beat to his words.
“It’s my spirit,” Pyke replied, his voice coming across the distance clearly but with a ghostly sort of quality he had put to it. Carrick was impressed, even more so when Pyke said, “I managed to collect enough magic to project myself out. So we could talk, Micah.”
The great beast’s head tipped the other way. “You want to talk?”
His tone wasn’t angry, merely incredulous. Not as if he couldn’t believe she was standing in front of him, but rather that she merely wanted to talk after all these millennia.
“I’m lonely,” Pyke said in a forlorn voice. “I want you to release me.”
Carrick had to admit… that was more brilliant than he would have thought Pyke able to come up with on the fly. If he could convince Micah to release Charmeine, that would increase their chances of saving her life.
Micah didn’t reply, merely tipped his head the other way. Carrick wondered if his intellect had devolved along with his form.
Pyke’s gaze moved to the chalice, then back up to Micah’s face. “Put the cup down. Come walk with me, and we’ll talk.”
Carrick held his breath, wondering what Micah would do. After being alone for so long, this had to be jarring for the beast to take in.
Micah’s head dipped, lifting his hand to study the chalice. Carrick could see the red of the Blood Stone, and he was amazed by its brightness against the black of the cup. As if it glowed from within, and he figured it might be the real Charmeine inside doing that.
Head lifting to look back at Pyke, Micah once again asked. “Is that really you, Charmeine?”
And this time, there was no wonder or curiosity in his tone. Carrick tensed as he heard the skepticism.
Before Pyke could answer, Micah bellowed, “Is it really you?”
The roar of his voice was so loud, Pyke actually stumbled back a few feet and more pieces of rock fell upon Carrick and Lucien.
It was a decidedly quick move. Far too quick for Pyke to react.
Micah thrust his arm forward, aiming the chalice and, more importantly, the Blood Stone right at Pyke. For a brief moment, Carrick was terrified it would kill Pyke, but whatever magic Micah threw his way did nothing more than melt his glamour away until there was nothing left but the body of a man.
Again, Micah roared, this time in fury at being fooled, and pulled his arm back—the intent he was going to thrust it toward Pyke and unleash his power clear.
“Shit,” Carrick cursed, leaping from the ledge straight at Micah.
Because of his strength, the push off from the ledge, and his superior agility enabled him to come down right on Micah’s right shoulder. Carrick used his momentum to wrap his arms around Micah’s thick bicep, his trajectory pulling Micah off-balance. The minute his feet hit the sand, Carrick did a half squat, then spun, twirling Micah a hundred and eighty degrees to disorient him. Rather than releasing him, he let the circle of his arms that were wrapped around Micah’s bicep slide down the length of his appendage. With a mighty heave, he yanked the chalice free from the beast’s hand.
Micah whirled on Carrick, bellowing in fury, and caught him in the chest with a vicious backhand. Carrick felt his sternum crack as well as several ribs when he was launched into the air. He came down hard on his back, but kept his grip on the chalice intact, drawing it in close to him as he jumped from the ground.
Advancing on Carrick, Micah’s eyes were red with fury, and his fingertips sparked with what looked like arcs of blue electricity. He made it no more than three steps before Carrick saw Lucien flying through the air, having made his leap from the edge of the mountain. He came down hard with his heavy boots catching the back of Micah’s right leg, which buckled and toppled the beast like a house of cards.
He was slow to get up, but not because he was hurt.
But because his gaze was riveted on Lucien, who had rolled and righted himself gracefully in between Micah and Carrick.
“Lucien,” Micah growled, a long stream of saliva sliding out of the corner of his mouth.
Carrick knew he had but the briefest second to react, because Lucien’s greatest fear was that Micah would go for Charmeine first. He pulled forth in his mind the image of the rip in the veil half a mile down the deadened beach and prepared to bend distance there when the chalice in his hand started vibrating.
The stone started to glow, going from red to white in the blink of an eye. The light was blinding and Carrick had to shield his eyes, but it was abruptly gone.
When he opened his eyes and blinked the spots away, he was stunned to see Charmeine—the real one and not Pyke—standing beside him.
Lucien turned slowly, perhaps sensing his love had been released. Carrick’s gaze flicked to Micah, whose chest was heaving with fury.
“Lucien?” Charmeine said, her voice filled with wonder and relief and joy and every good feeling she must have at seeing her long-lost love.
“Charmeine,” he replied, voice cracking with emotion.
She flew the few short paces to him and then she was in his arms. Lucien kissed he
r hard.
Carrick’s heart warmed and he experienced a surge of joy for his brother, but it was short-lived as Charmeine tore away from the kiss. Her body stiffened and her back arched so severely, Lucien unwrapped his arms from around her and held her gently by the waist. When she let out an agonized scream of pain, Carrick’s eyes shifted to Micah, who held his arm out and aimed at Charmeine, his fist closed tightly as if he were holding something within it.
No, not holding.
Squeezing.
Squeezing Charmeine’s body with his magic.
Charmeine writhed in pain while Lucien watched helplessly. She screamed again. Carrick watched Micah’s expression, which was so hate-filled he wasn’t shocked when Charmeine went suddenly silent. Falling limp, Lucien caught her, cradled her, and lowered her gently to the ground as he fell to his knees. A small trickle of black blood—a nod to her fae heritage and not a darkness within her—slipped from the corner of her mouth.
Then, as all Light Fae do when they die, Charmeine burst apart in a shower of glowing white sparks, some carried off quickly by the wind and others falling to the ground where they extinguished.
Lucien bowed his head but a moment, but when he lifted it and turned slowly to look over his shoulder at Micah, Carrick was actually frightened by his expression.
It wasn’t angry, hurt, or even shocked.
It was devoid of everything, which was why Carrick was startled when Lucien came to his feet and flew at Micah. Despite the size difference, he caught the beast with his shoulder just at the waist and they both went flying several yards before hurtling to the ground, not twenty yards from the Crimson River.
It struck Carrick very quickly that Micah’s powers had become so immense he was able to kill Charmeine, a Light Fae, without the use of iron. As far as he knew, the only fae with that power were Nimeyah, her husband Callidan, and their children, Deandra and Pyke. But just because Pyke had the power to do what Micah just did, did not mean he was immune to it being done to him.
“Go,” Carrick shouted at Pyke, who was watching Lucien sitting on Micah’s chest and punching him repeatedly in his monstrous face. Pyke jerked, looked at Carrick, and understood the missive.
He nodded and bent distance, disappearing. Carrick knew Pyke would go back to the rip and start urging the others through. Just as he knew Titus would be exiting, too. They had planned if Micah showed powers that could annihilate immortal creatures, Titus would become responsible for making sure Finley was protected. Carrick could only assume—and hope to fuck—that he was with her now.
The heat from the lava river caused sweat to pour from Lucien’s face, but his expression was dead despite the unsavory conditions as he continued to pummel the beast. Micah roared in fury at the assault Lucien was relentlessly hammering down on him. With a mighty heave, he used both fists to punch Lucien in the chest. The force was enough to throw Lucien off and he tumbled across the black beach before coming to his knees.
Glancing down at the chalice in his hand, Carrick was startled to see the Blood Stone was still red, but the color of the large center facet had deepened so immensely it looked almost black.
He had the chalice and the Blood Stone in his hand. He could feel the power they still held, which was just as deep as when Charmeine was inside the gem. Pulling her out and killing her had not weakened either the stone or the chalice.
Lucien came to his feet, as did Micah.
Demi-god versus Dark Fae monster.
Chests heaving, determination in both their eyes.
They’d gotten closer to the Crimson River, and Micah threw it a wary glance as he attempted to circle on Lucien.
Put him closer to the river.
Lucien wouldn’t give the ground though, and flew at Micah. Micah responded, lunging toward Lucien with such speed, Carrick barely could register it. Both used their preternatural powers to pummel each other in a blinding blur.
Another glance at the chalice and Carrick was torn. He knew Lucien would want him to escape while Micah was otherwise pre-occupied. It would ensure everyone but Lucien’s safety.
But looking back at the whirling, speeding creatures trying to kill each other, Carrick knew he couldn’t go. While he’d stack Lucien’s physical power up against Micah’s—even though Micah was so much taller and wider—Carrick was afraid of the magic Micah now possessed. Seeing him obliterate Charmeine with nothing but his mind and a squeeze of his hand had Carrick worried.
It really wasn’t a choice at all.
He’d stay and watch. He wouldn’t interfere if Lucien wanted to kill Micah with his bare hands. But he would be ready to lend his magic if Micah decided to pull on his twisted powers.
The punches were so fast that the sounds of fists connecting to flesh sounded like the rat-a-tat-tat of a machine gun firing.
Then their punches slowed abruptly, not because of exhaustion but because Lucien was going with power versus speed. He caught Micah in an uppercut so forceful that Carrick heard his jaw break.
Another punch, this one to Micah’s abdomen, was so powerful that black blood sprayed from Micah’s mouth, ensuring there was some major internal damage just done.
Micah bent at the waist in pain. Lucien brought his knee up viciously, connecting with Micah’s chin. The already broken lower jaw swung grotesquely to the side, and the creature’s roar of pain hurt Carrick’s ears.
Lucien spared a moment to look at his brother, shock on his face to see him standing there. It was clear he had thought Carrick should have taken the opportunity to escape with the Blood Stone.
It was that moment spared, only long enough for the brothers’ eyes to connect, that gave Micah an opportunity. Carrick barely saw it coming, but he saw enough to know magic was being used. Micah’s right arm lit up, a blinding white light from shoulder to fist. He charged at Lucien, broken jaw swinging but not seeming to affect Micah’s determination.
Just as Lucien looked his way, Micah swung a powerful uppercut and caught Lucien under the chin. Carrick would forever remember the moment as it seemed to happen in slow motion.
Lucien was lifted off his feet, propelled upward into the air by not only the punch but also the magic that powered it. Ten, fifteen, twenty feet upward, and then he was sailing away from Micah.
Toward the Crimson River.
Carrick was horrified as Lucien’s head turned, looked down below him, and he started flailing his arms and legs as if it could stop his trajectory. Carrick raised his hand, powered his magic, and prepared to pluck his brother out of the air.
Something slammed into him, an invisible freight train, and he went hurtling several feet, knowing Micah had hit him with magic. When he slammed into the ground, the chalice came free and tumbled several feet away. He ignored it, instead jumping to his feet to save his brother.
But when he turned that way, Lucien was splashing into the river.
For a moment, Carrick thought it would be okay. Lucien didn’t sink but rather seemed to bob on the surface, his chest and head above the molten fire. He didn’t catch fire or burn, just bobbed there.
His gaze went to Carrick, and their eyes locked.
Carrick saw it clearly on his brother’s face.
He was relieved.
It was then that he sank below the surface of the Crimson River and disappeared.
Micah turned Carrick’s way, and Carrick wasted no time. His brother was gone, but the chalice was within reach.
Lunging for the magical cup and gemstone attached to it, Carrick saw from the corner of his eye that Micah was rushing him. Carrick pushed from the ground hard, dove for the cup, and nabbed it from the blackened sand. As he did, he envisioned the rip in the veil, saw it open, and saw everyone on the Earth realm side looking back at the dark island expectantly.
Yanking hard, he pulled it toward him with a swiftness he’d never accomplished before. He rolled to his feet right as the rip came to a stop right before his face, and he once again made a dive to get through as quickly as he cou
ld.
And it was as he was diving through the rip, eyes locked on Finley, whose own flared with surprise as he tumbled through to the forest floor, that he became aware something was holding onto his leg.
Micah had come along for the ride.
“The chalice,” Micah roared as he jumped to his feet. He stomped over to a pine tree near the edge of the clearing. “Give me the chalice.”
Without hesitation, Titus and Pyke rushed to Carrick’s side to lend their strength and magic. Carrick was relieved to see Boral and Zaid herding Finley to the opposite side of the clearing.
It was startling to see Micah uproot a thirty-foot pine tree with absolutely no effort and swing it hard toward Carrick, but it was Titus who rushed forth to meet the onslaught with his battle-ax held low to the ground. Although human, Titus had a tattoo that was imbued with magic from Semper Terra that he pulled on to fortify his body and the ax. As the middle of the pine tree barreled at him, he swung his ax in an upward arc, cleaving the thick trunk in two.
The top half went hurtling, and Carrick turned to watch in horror as it started to come down on Finley. He prepared to flash to her, but instead was amazed to see Boral and Zaid push her down to her knees and wrap their bodies over her for protection.
Even more amazing was that up through their huddled mass, a filmy shield erupted—clearly Finley’s magic—and it covered them as the top part of the tree crashed down. It bounced harmlessly against the shield before it rolled away.
Carrick was certain they were safe, and he could only hope they stayed under the shield.
Whirling back on Micah, who tossed the other half of the tree away furiously, Carrick had a sharp image of his brother sinking into the Crimson River. He welcomed the rush of fury through his body that he had not allowed himself to feel before.
It overwhelmed him for a moment, but then he centered it. Micah started to rush, bellowing curses, and Carrick conjured a spear with a large iron tip. It appeared in his right hand and he cocked his arm back, holding securely to the Blood Stone chalice in the other.
The spear flew swiftly from his grasp, straight at Micah, and, with utter precision, pierced his breastbone covering his heart. The minute iron touched the heart or brain, a fae should die.
A Battle of Blood and Stone Page 17