A Love Untamed (Feral Warriors #7)(59)

She had to kill this thing and kill it fast.

The beast charged, but he was more nimble than she’d anticipated. Pain tore through her side and she looked down to find her tunic torn, blood flowing freely. Dammit! She stumbled away from the beast as he circled around to come at her again. Despite the pulse thundering in her ears, she remained perfectly still as the monster charged her. Ready . . . waiting . . .

At the last minute, she spun out of his reach, striking him, hamstringing him. So much blood.

As he went down, he swung his head. She leaped back, but not quite fast enough, her attention stolen for one moment too many. One of those spearlike horns tore through her thigh, flinging her up and over him, into the snow.

The wind knocked out of her, she struggled to her feet, sinking, as her injured leg buckled, watching with disbelief as the beast charged her again, already healed.

Melisande pulled her sword, willing her thigh to knit more quickly. But the beast was nearly upon her. She was out of time.

Fox clung to a thick root protruding from the side of the pit about three feet from the lip. Amazingly, he’d been able to snag it as the four of them tumbled in, keeping the warriors from pulling him down to the watery bottom some twenty feet below. If he fell, there would be no escape. As it was, escape was problematic. He eyed the lip of the hole just out of reach. So close and yet so far.

And he had to get out, dammit. He had to get to Melisande.

He burrowed his fingers into the dirt wall, down by his knee, seeking another root that might act as a foothold. If he could step higher, he could, pray to the goddess, make his way out. When he’d first fallen, and first caught himself, he’d feared the painted savages would attack him from below, but between falling in and hitting the water, they’d disappeared.

He’d listened to the sounds of battle, desperate to reach Melisande and cover her back. But moments ago, the forest above had gone silent. She hadn’t answered when he’d called. And now he was wracked with fear because there was no good answer. Either she’d been taken by those savages, or she’d slipped, alone, into the next world.

Or she was dead.

His heart clenched, his control slipping as a vicious roar built deep inside him. He clamped down on it, struggling to keep his wits about him. He’d do Melisande no good if he fell into this pit.

Finally, he found what he was looking for, a loop of good-sized root still firmly woven into the ground. Stepping on it gingerly, he held on tight to the first root and pushed himself up. Careful, he thought. Go slow. He could not afford to fall. In both worlds, now, the attackers had fought not to kill him, not even to catch him, per se. No, they’d wanted him caught in the traps. First the vines. Then this pit. And in both cases, the moment he was trapped, his opponents had walked away. Or disappeared.

All evidence pointed to the Mage wanting him taken alive. And he could only assume it was because of whatever it was that Inir had done to the fox animal spirit after he’d killed Sly.

But the Mage didn’t want Melisande. The labyrinth wanted her dead.

Goddess, he had to reach her.

He shivered, then wondered what useless bit of untruth his gut was about to offer him this time.

Drop.

Bloody hell. His gut was bent on getting him captured. Why? Had it really turned against him, or was it trying to give him exactly what he wanted . . . a way to find Kara? While he’d never in a million years expected to be the one among them to accomplish that feat, he couldn’t deny the satisfaction he’d derive from doing so. The validation. And his gut would know it. But, while getting captured by the Mage might be a way to reach her, there had to be a better way than becoming a Mage captive himself.

If he were to be captured, Melisande would stand no chance.

No. He wasn’t giving up and letting himself be caught. Not in a million years.

Painstakingly slowly, Fox dug one foothold then handhold after another until, finally, he was able to pull himself up and out of the pit.

Sweat ran down his back and chest as he searched for signs of Melisande. She wasn’t dead. At least he didn’t think so. Phylicia had quickly turned to dust after she died. The pain that went through him at the thought that Melisande could already be gone, all trace of her existence wiped from the Earth, was excruciating. She was still alive. He had to believe that.

Maybe she’d fallen into one of the pits and been knocked unconscious. Perhaps that’s why she hadn’t answered his call.

“Mel!” Still no answer. He began making his way carefully between the pits, peering into each, searching for sign of her. The last thing he wanted to do was to slide into the next world with her still trapped in this one.

But with his next step, snow covered his booted foot, and he knew it was done. He’d left the island. At the same time, he heard the roar of a beast and whirled to see Melisande flying through the air over the strangest creature he’d ever seen—a beastie with six sharp swords for horns. A monster who was about to kill Melisande.

Chapter Fourteen

In a running leap, Fox shifted into his animal, four feet able to traverse the snowy field better than his human two as he raced to save Melisande. Even as he ran, the six-horned beastie turned and began to charge her as she struggled, bloodied, to her feet. She pulled her blade, but though her leg appeared to be healing, it wasn’t happening fast enough. Goddess, she wasn’t going to be able to move out of the way in time.