Into the Fire (The Unseelie Court Book 4), Gwen Rivers [read full novel .TXT] 📗

The siege would continue indefinitely.

Unless we do something to stop it, the man’s voice whispers in his head.

The wolf hesitates. It’s not his nature to muck about in the affairs of men or fey. They are different, complicating things that should be simple.

We can’t cross without them. His other self reminds him. We need their help to reach her.

The wolf stares at the throng of animated dead and paces in a circle. You could transform, he tells the man. We need not engage the dead.

But the man refuses. My magic can’t get us through that shield. They have to lower it from within. And without Nic there to put it back in place, their city will fall.

The wolf growls. This is taking too much time, all these strategies and tactics. He needs to do something, to be somewhere else. With her.

What can kill the dead? he asks the man.

Fire. The man answers promptly.

The wolf’s eyes glitter. Then you do your part and I will do mine.

He begins to run. As a unit, they charge down the hill for the ranks of the dead. From the city beyond, a cry arises. One of the fey spots him. Even with the barrier in place, he can scent them and the earth magic that emanates off of them. As well as fear. He knows what it must look like, a lone wolf heading to his doom. Many beings crowd the limbs of trees to watch the army of the dead tear him to pieces.

A gust of wind ripples through his fur. The man’s spark ignites. Flames lick out from his coat and the breeze carries stray sparks from him down to the dead.

Some of the newer dead wouldn’t go up so easily.

These have been out in the elements for a time. They are dry flesh, quickly losing moisture that living beings need to sustain themselves. His embers in the tight space catch like wildfire, with that breath of wind spreading it throughout their ranks. The dead start to smoke and then flames lick hungrily up, an unending appetite. The scraps of skin and brittle bones catch like well-seasoned wood, one into the next and into the next. It doesn’t stop them or slow them. They surge forward as they burn. He approaches the first line and then turns right before the flaming dead fey can reach him. He will snake through the entire dead army, spreading the discord, the chaos.

They don’t scream, don’t make a sound. Feel no pain. It’s part of what makes them so unstoppable. The only sound is the roar of his wildfire the pop of sizzling marrow. Bones char and the smell of roasting meat is thick in the air.

Tongues of flames lick out from his unburnt skin until they caress the dead.

“It’s Aiden!” a familiar voice calls. An image floats to his mind. The man carries names but the wolf holds her face close to his heart. The young nymph girl is pack.

“Taj, lower the shield!” A female calls, this one older.

“Are you sure?” An unfamiliar voice asks her.

His wolf ears pick up the deep cadence even over the roar of the burning dead.

“Yes,” his young ally says. “Mother, we have to help him.”

“Hunt, to me!” The older female voice is accustomed to command. “Prepare for battle.”

No, the man thinks. A protracted battle is the last thing they need. Too much confusion and the man worries that some of his allies will fall. He can’t pull the flames back or risk the dead escaping the inferno.

The wolf turns again and blazes a path straight through the reaching limbs of the dead. Skeletal hands grab for him but he dodges and weaves their grasping clutches. The fire burns hotter. He is immune to the heat. The fey behind the shield of wind are not. If the fire reaches inside the city, all the fey within might die.

Including the one he needs.

“He’s coming this way!” The mature woman calls.

A wall of bodies stand in his way, several of them armed with swords and spears. He dodges most, but some penetrate the fire and slice into his skin. He snaps and yanks, writhing with all his fury to make enough space to surge through. The fire inside him burns hotter still, the need to defeat this deathless foe prompting him to dig deeper, to burn them all to ash. The intensity of his split soul—part man and part beast—fuels the flames, encouraging the blaze to burn hotter and brighter than before. A river of fire, a moat surrounding the last stronghold of living fey.

A sizzling line of demarcation between life and death.

The dead began to crumble. The air is so thick with ash it chokes him. The smoke sends plumes up into the sky, a signal fire for any who may be left to read it.

Swallowing, he turns and surveys the carnage. Everywhere the bodies are burning, some still upright, others decaying to the point of no return. His massive pyre is a testament to the destruction of which he is capable.

Inside him, the man’s heart is heavy.

Victory, but at what cost?

The land is burnt. Nothing will grow. What was once a thick forest of dense trees and fertile soil, is only a plain of death.

But the wolf has no time for regrets. He turns and faces the city, seeking an ally.

“Lower the air shield,” the woman with the commanding voice says.

“But we are defenseless without it.” Another voice cries. Male this time with a high-pitch whine.

The woman snarls, “He just saved us from the immediate threat. We can’t stay here forever or we’ll starve. Lower. The bloody. Shield.”

A moment later, a gust of wind blows out from the city. Icy wind carries his mate’s scent. He breathes in deep as it sweeps over him like her gentle caress, taking the last of the flames with it.

“Aiden?” A young girl with pointed ears approaches him. Her eyes are bright. “Are you all right?”

Give over. The man whispers to him.