Moonshadow (Moonshadow #1)(12)

Demons, the Dark Court of the Daoine Sidhe had been called, although they were not Demonkind.

Changelings. Impure.

Gods’ monsters.

If they were monsters, Nikolas thought, why then so be it. These were the most fierce, loyal warriors he had ever known. He would always choose his great-hearted monsters over life, luxury, and always, always over the corrupt purebloods of Isabeau’s Light Court.

Ashe and Rowan were dhampyres, the strange, rare creature born of a union between a half-breed Fae or Elf and a human undergoing the transformation to Vampyre. Several of the men, Nikolas included, had Wyr blood flowing through their veins. Some had stronger animal natures than others. In the moonshadow’s magic, Cael’s Fae features were covered with the light green skin of a medusa, the pupils of his eyes vertical slits, and Nikolas knew all too well what would be revealed in his features.

The face of a feline beast, part man and part leopard.

They were all Fae yet not fully Fae. They were among the rarest of all the Elder Races. In modern-day slang, they were “triple threats,” creatures with the blood of three different races flowing through their veins. The strongest, most magical—the most tainted.

The Fae of the Light Court called them abomination.

Nikolas called them brothers.

Letting his hands rest at his sides, he turned them so the palms faced the middle of the circle. He began to chant an ancient invocation, calling in a deep voice upon the balanced energies of sun and moon.

Power rose from the earth and the standing stones. One by one, the others joined in. The combined magic in their voices cut through the fabric of this land, reaching out to another.

The figure of a woman appeared. Her transparent form was less distinct than they had achieved through previous callings, but they had so few numbers now available to cast the spell.

The woman was beautiful in the way of the Fae, with angular features and elegantly pointed ears, but instead of having the pale skin and black hair of the Dark Fae, or the golden skin and tawny hair of the Light Fae, she was spotted like a cheetah, her skin speckled with golden freckles.

Large green eyes and high cheekbones contributed to the effect. Her hair was a deep russet color, with streaks of gray at her temples. Laugh lines kissed the skin at the corners of her eyes and mouth, although currently there was no smile on her face. Instead, like the men who called upon her, the woman’s expression was grim and tight.

As the others held the spell strong and steady, Nikolas eased out of the casting. He said, “Annwyn.”

She turned, searching until she caught sight of him. Nikolas knew from experience she wouldn’t be able to see or hear the others in the circle, only him as he stood in the center.

Her expression lit with gladness. “Nikolas. It’s so good to see you.”

“And you,” he told her. “Have you made any more progress in waking Oberon?”

She shook her head, frustration evident. “Not since he fell under the enchantment. I don’t have the healing skills needed. None of our healers know what to do for Oberon. His body is cold as ice. I would think he was dead if it weren’t for the fact that I can feel a spark of his life force buried deep in his body, or the fact that his Power is raging out of control.”

His mouth tightened. Oberon was the strongest of the Dark Court, a weather mage, and their King. If his Power was left to rampage unchecked without his iron will to control it, it wouldn’t matter how hard his knights fought to break through the barriers that blocked the crossover passageways leading back to their lands.

Soon they might not have a home to return to.

“How bad is it?” he asked, dreading to hear the answer.

“The city is completely underwater,” she told him grimly. “And the sea keeps rising. We have evacuated to the highest point on the peninsula at Raven’s Craig, but I don’t know if it will be enough, and we’ve lost critical tracts of farmland. Even if the sea level stops rising, we’ll be facing starvation as our food supplies run out.”

They had lost Lyonesse? The news rippled through the group like a physical blow.

Braden had family in the Other land. His chanting faltered, causing the spell to waver. Nikolas shot him a warning look, and the other knight’s voice steadied.

“Annwyn, how long has it been since we last contacted you?” Nikolas asked.

He always asked when they talked. She replied readily, “A fortnight. And you?”

“Winter solstice,” he told her. “Six months ago.”

She sucked in a breath. “So the time slippage between the two lands remains significant.”

“That is working in our favor right now,” Nikolas said. “Have faith and stay strong. We’re fighting to get home to you.”

He didn’t mention how few of them were left to fight their way home. That, at least, was one blow he could spare her.

She shook her head. “You know my strength lies in combat spells, but I’m doing what I can. We all are.”

“It will be enough. Hold strong.” As he pushed conviction into every word, the spell was beginning to fray around the edges. He told her, “We’ll see you soon.”

Her slanted, green eyes turned fierce. She said, “When you get here, you’d better bring a talented healer with you, or we’ll have to abandon this land and Oberon with it.”

They would lose their home and their King, and Isabeau, Queen of the Light Court, would have won.