Bright Wicked 2: Radiant Fierce (A Twilight Fae Fantasy Romance)

by Everly Frost

  “How many?” he whispers.

  Each hunter’s presence is like a void in my senses. “Thirty scattered out in the woods—approaching rapidly. They’re fanning out so they can circle around us. If we should run, then we need to do it now.”

  “No.” He growls. “These men enjoy the chase as much as the kill.”

  A cold chill travels down my spine. Even if Nathaniel hadn’t warned me about them, the energy around the field and inside the woods is twisted, rotten, and makes my skin prickle.

  I remind myself that I can’t hurt them. But… dark stars… curbing my rage and fight reflexes around these men is going to be difficult.

  Nathaniel draws me to a stop in the clearing. It’s less than twenty paces wide but extends along the edge of the woods. “Don’t draw your weapons, Aura. Remember the Law.”

  Still gripping his dagger, he relaxes his arms and shoulders, but it feels a lot like the moment when he prepared himself for the wolves to attack.

  These men are a different kind of beast.

  I raise myself to my full height, gathering my physical strength. I’ve trained for years to make myself strong in the day, not only at night. It’s why other fae consistently underestimate me. My armor is a defense. It will keep me safe. I just have to remember not to attack.

  The silence stretches, but this time, I sense the hunters breathing.

  Nathaniel side-eyes me before he raises his voice and roars, “Hagan Sever! Come out from the shadows.”

  The air swirls on our left before a man strides from the edge of the trees.

  I stop myself before I take a step back.

  He’s the same height as Nathaniel and just as well-muscled, his bare chest broad and inked with runes that I can’t decipher. I have no doubt they’re connected to dark magic. Two thick, rope-like scars twist and intersect across the right side of his ribcage while a wolf’s head sits on his right shoulder from which a pale gray pelt descends down his back, partially concealing his right arm.

  He’s wearing black pants and carrying a row of daggers around his waist, but it’s his face that really draws my attention: a strong forehead, high cheekbones, and lips drawn into a merciless line. He looks slightly older than Nathaniel, but maybe only by a few years. His black hair is cut close to his scalp on either side while the top is braided down the back.

  Dangerous intelligence meets my gaze when I look in his tawny brown eyes.

  “Nathaniel,” he says, switching his focus away from me as he draws to a stop a mere few paces away from us. His hand rests on his dagger’s hilt. “It would have been better for you if you’d stayed gone.”

  Nathaniel doesn’t miss a beat. “Be careful, Hagan. You don’t want to take me on.”

  Hagan lifts his fingers from his dagger, splaying them carefully before he extends both of his arms out at his sides. “You’re right, Nathaniel. We never had any trouble, you and I. But… I can’t say the same for them.”

  One by one, thirty men appear out of the woods, rising from their hiding places concealed behind trees, some even swinging from the branches above us. Many of them carry bows and arrows while the others hold daggers, hunting knives, and axes. Most have scars across their bare chests. All of them wear pelts of different colors and furs—fox, bear, wolf. None of the other men reaches Nathaniel or Hagan’s height or build, but the intense hunger in their eyes makes me shudder.

  One draws closer to Hagan—a slightly younger man, maybe my age—with a completely shaved head and a dirty blond beard. He wears a pelt with two wolves’ heads—one sitting on each of his shoulders. Their skulls are smaller than fully grown, which makes me think they weren’t much older than cubs when he killed them. I can’t see the back of his pelt, but I assume it’s sewn together down the middle. Anger rises inside me. Nathaniel told me that killing more than one wolf is dishonorable. The way this younger man smiles at me tells me “honor” isn’t in his vocabulary.

  The others take up position around us, those with daggers standing closer than those with bows and arrows.

  Nathaniel is deceptively relaxed as he watches them maneuver into position. “Judging from the number of you… you’re here for me,” he says to Hagan.

  Hagan gives a single nod. “We’ve been ordered to bring you to the King. Dead or alive.”

  “Why?” Nathaniel’s demand is short and sharp, so sharp that it makes the nearest men flinch. “I am the King’s Shield. Attacking me is treason.”

  Hagan returns Nathaniel’s glare. “You crossed the border into Bright, Nathaniel. Only traitors do that. The King has stripped you of your position.”

  Nathaniel freezes beside me, his fist clenching around his weapon.

  Hagan reaches for his dagger.

  This time, he doesn’t appear afraid to use it. “You are no longer the King’s Shield.”

  Chapter 15

  Nathaniel is a tower of rage beside me, anger bleeding into his expression.

  His emotions aren’t directed at me, but even so, intense guilt rises inside me. He never would have crossed the border into Bright if I hadn’t invoked the Law of Champions. My thoughts become frenzied. If the King has declared Nathaniel a traitor, what does that mean for the Law? What does that mean for the fight between us?

  A sudden, strange wash of relief rushes through me. Maybe he won’t be the one I have to fight… Or better, maybe the Law is now broken somehow…

  One glance at Nathaniel’s face tells me my relief is unfounded. I’m not sure why yet, but I sense everything just got a thousand times worse.

  Drawing myself to my full height, I cast a dismissive glance at Hagan. “That may be so, but you were foolish to bring so few men to capture both of us.”

  His eyes quickly narrow at me, his gaze passing over my armor and face. My golden mark will be plain for everyone to see, but my hair is still jet black. I’m sure he would have sized me up before he even stepped from the trees, but now he’s making a show of looking me up and down.

  The younger man wearing the two wolf skins snarls at me, but he doesn’t speak up. It’s clear that Hagan is the leader, although the younger man edges forward in a way that indicates he wants that position.

  “I wasn’t expecting Nathaniel to have company,” Hagan says. “Let alone a woman wearing the armor of a Warrior of Luciana.”

  The way the men focus on me tells me they all know what Hagan means. Nathaniel said that his mother trained them. She would have known each and every one of these hunters, along with their weaknesses. If only I could acquire her knowledge right now.

  Hagan continues to glower at me. “You don’t look like much of a problem. Luciana chose wrong with you. You’re not much more than a wisp of a woman. All of those weapons are going to topple you at any moment.”

  I tilt my head, carefully stepping closer to Nathaniel, demonstrating that my balance is just fine. “Appearances may be deceiving.”

  Hagan purses his lips as he studies my face, his gaze following the golden lines of Nathaniel’s family name.

  With a long exhale, he shakes his head. “Ah, but appearances are everything.” He glares at Nathaniel. “You should not have made your feelings for her so plain by marking her, Nathaniel. Now the hunters will want to hurt her.”

  The man next to Hagan seems unable to keep his thoughts to himself anymore.

  “Whore of Luciana,” he spits at me. “You will scream when I gut you.”

  To my surprise, Hagan twitches, a hard frown descending as he side-eyes the other man before wiping his own expression clean.

  Beside me, Nathaniel quickly recovers, his lips pressing into a hard line before he raises his voice to a shout. “Any man who lays a hand on this woman had better be prepared to take his last breath.” He points at the younger man. “That includes you, Tanner Snare.”

  The tension around us rises a thousand degrees, but Tanner throws his head back with a laugh.

  “Why so possessive of your whore, Nathaniel?” he asks. “We’ll take our turns layin
g more than a hand on her and you’ll do nothing more than watch.”

  I’m sure I’m supposed to be afraid, but I’ve faced down worse than Tanner—Imatra’s entire Day Guard and the fire they control that could have burned me to ash, just for starters.

  I let Tanner’s threats wash over me while I assess his stature. He’s well-muscled beneath the pelt he wears, but the wolf skin serves to make him look larger than he is. I’ll have to watch out for his speed more than his weight.

  When I don’t respond, his laughter turns to a glare and the silence around us intensifies.

  A breath of wind stirs at the back of my neck. The man closest to my right licks his lips. The one next to him drags his dagger back and forth across the air in slow, illustrative moves as if he’s practicing gutting me. None of the men have focused anywhere other than my face, breasts, or pelvis. At the same time, several of them have edged closer while we talked, while others have quietly attached arrows to their bows.

  These men are like the pack of wolves.

  The two leaders are drawing our attention while the pack is preparing to strike from the sides.

  Nathaniel leans toward me while he keeps Hagan clearly in his sights. “Remember: Evade and defend. Do not attack. Make no mistake, Aura: The Law still stands. The only difference is that my place in it has become volatile.”

  “Did you hear me, Nathaniel?” Tanner screams, his face red with rage. “We’ll make your whore beg for mercy!”

  Nathaniel rolls his shoulders and stretches his neck from side to side. “You can beg first.”

  From the corner of my eye, I sense the shift in the posture of three men standing side by side, each one holding an arrow taut to his bow. Their fingers flex and release.

  The arrows are perfectly aimed at Nathaniel’s chest.

  Not today.

  I’m already in position. I lunge toward Nathaniel, turning my shoulder as I press against his torso to cover his body as fully as I can with my own.

  I don’t have time to brace for the pain.

  An angry scream roars out of me as the arrows hit my back.

  My armor can’t be pierced by human weaponry. Only the exposed parts of my body are vulnerable: my throat, face, head, and hands. The arrows bury in the outer layer of my suit, the impact jarring through me and knocking Nathaniel off-balance.

  He corrects himself before he falls, his arms whipping around my waist, and his eyes shooting wide as he registers the attack.

  “Evade and defend.” I gasp.

  He plucks one of the arrows from my armor, his glare at the men hot enough to burn them as his big fist closes around the wooden stem. Darkness grows in his expression, anger twisting his lips as he snaps the arrow between his strong fingers. At the same time, the remaining arrows drop from my back and clatter to the ground.

  The inertia around us breaks.

  Nathaniel spins to a man swinging an axe at him. I whirl to deflect the downward cut of a dagger held by the man who was air-gutting me moments ago and has now leaped at me.

  The hunter drops to the side as I deflect a second blow, but another hunter is ready to take his place—this one holding a blade in each hand. At the same time, two more come at me on my right-hand side. I dart and evade, using my armored arms—even my legs—to block the slashes they aim at my vital organs.

  The huntsmen are as trained and coordinated in their attack as the Queen’s guards. As much as I can trust my armor to protect me, repeated blows in the same spot will eventually cut through. The men target my heart, my lower back, and my stomach. Not to mention my throat, which is exposed. All I can do is take the blows to my body and desperately try to avoid the blows to my neck.

  I can’t return a damn strike.

  As I duck and roll, Nathaniel flickers in and out of my view. He sends a man sprawling with blood streaming from his nose. Another man meets Nathaniel’s fist and it sounds like a rock against the man’s temple. As the hunter falls, Nathaniel’s blade flashes. The blood gushing from the man’s throat as he drops at Nathaniel’s feet tells me the hunter won’t be getting up again.

  Nathaniel steps over him to deflect the next attack. He’s already disarmed multiple men and grips a hunter’s axe along with his own dagger. I don’t have time to count the bodies, but they’re piling up around him along the path. Some appear unconscious, but most are dead.

  So far, Hagan and Tanner have stayed out of the fight, but they’re watching carefully. Tanner gives a signal with his hand, but I’m not sure what it means. I’ve lost count of the hunters and their attacks.

  Darting away from another man, I sense, too late, the arrows flying toward my back.

  Too many of them. I’ve acted as a shield at Nathaniel’s back and the hunters are trying to bring me down.

  Pain shoots through my back ribs as the projectiles hit me all at once. The barrage forces me onto my knees on the path. I swallow a deep scream, knowing that it will distract Nathaniel.

  I’m too far away for him to help me.

  I fight the pain, trying to scramble to my feet, but the butt of a dagger flies at me from the side.

  Tanner has finally stepped into the fight, his arm swinging hard and fast as the heavy wooden handle hits my temple and knocks me sideways into the dirt.

  By some miracle, it doesn’t break my skin. At least, Tanner hasn’t dropped dead, so I can only assume I’m not bleeding. Otherwise, the Law would have acted to kill Tanner on the spot.

  I land on my side, fighting every instinct in my body that wants to hit back. I need to hit back. In any other fight, I would kick Tanner’s legs out from under him and slit his throat.

  I roll to the side before he can stomp on my chest.

  Leaping to my feet, I attempt to dart to the side, but his boot connects with my already bruised back ribs, cracking across my torso and propelling me face-first into the dirt.

  Tanner drops onto me and pins me down where I lie on my stomach, the sides of his pelt falling around me. Driving the air further out of my lungs as he straddles my torso, he digs his grimy fingers into my hair and yanks my head to the side so I’m facing away from Nathaniel.

  I can’t see the fight anymore, and I can’t throw Tanner off me without risking that he’ll get hurt. He could merely graze his hands on the path and it would be my fault.

  I’ve never prayed so hard that I would bleed. If a human spills a drop of my blood, their punishment is immediate death under the Law of Champions.

  Surely, one of the arrows pierced my armor. Surely, my cheek is scraping on the rough path. Surely… the blow to my temple cracked open my skin.

  Let me bleed.

  Let him die.

  Tanner leans over me, his lips close to my cheek. “People say that Luciana’s warriors will be beautiful,” he says, pressing so hard on my cheek that it feels like my cheekbone is going to pop. “You’re the ugliest whore I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

  Now that I can’t see Nathaniel, I don’t know what’s happening. All I have to work with are thuds, shouts, and the clashing of steel. But as long as I hear all of that, I know that Nathaniel is still fighting.

  Hagan is the only hunter in my view. He remains at the edge of the path exactly where he was when he first spoke to us. He hasn’t joined the fight against Nathaniel and I’m surprised to find that I am the subject of his attention.

  Hagan’s eyebrows are drawn down in an intense stare, his big hand twitching across the handle of his dagger while a muscle ticks in his jaw. He’s threatened to draw his weapon multiple times, but so far, he’s restrained himself. I’m not sure what’s going to happen when he finally joins the fight.

  I also don’t know what has caused him to feel so much anger right now—or whether that’s his usual face. Probably, since he hasn’t stopped glowering since he appeared.

  Tanner tightens his hold on my hair, pulling my head back so far that I arch away from the ground. He may be a vile stink of a man, but his assessment of my looks is accurate. I am neither beau
tiful nor striking.

  Whimpers of pain escape my lips.

  Refusing to scream, I thump my fist into the dirt at my side, focusing on the pain in my hand instead. I have to find a way out of this. Some way to free myself that doesn’t involve hurting him…

  Tanner’s lips drag across my cheek. “Why aren’t you fighting me, ugly whore?”

  “Be grateful that I’m not,” I grind out between my gritted teeth.

  His knee presses against the small of my back, making me moan as he compresses my stomach. I can’t stop the tears slipping down my cheeks. Thumping my fist into the dirt again is the only rebellious move I can make.

  “Get on with it or get off me!” I scream, unable to suppress my pain any longer.

  Tanner finally lets go of my hair to grab my arms, pulling them behind my back and tying a coarse material around my wrists—some sort of rope.

  “On your knees,” he orders me, dragging me around so that I’m facing in Nathaniel’s direction again.

  I catch a brief glimpse of the aftermath of the fighting, gasping at all the bodies lying along the path, but I don’t see Nathaniel. Tanner shoves his boot against my lower back and drags my arms up and out behind me. He pulls my limbs so far back that I’m forced to double over my knees.

  I curl up tightly, my view filling with the dusty ground. A completely submissive pose.

  “Nathaniel!” Tanner shouts from above and behind me. “How does your whore like to—”

  There’s a sudden pause.

  The tension in the rope increases as if Tanner jolted.

  “Fuck,” he whispers.

  Footsteps thud toward us and a roar fills the air.

  It’s Nathaniel’s voice, approaching at a rapid pace. He sounds more violently angry than I’ve ever heard him, but he isn’t forming words—only a shout that strikes through me as if his voice is a dagger inside my chest.

  Pain sparks deep inside me, somewhere inside my ribcage, spreading through my body in a tumble of fear and dread.