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Torin glanced behind as Milos and Antonio morphed to invisibility, one on each side of Larkspur and Miguel.
A wail of agony, which could only mean death, forced him to spin, crouched in battle stance, sword high. He studied the snow amid rising gusts which blew from the mountains.
“Here they come,” Gage snarled, stepping forward as Russian and French forces hiding to the side, joined them with swords high.
From the gusting white haze, the African Iridescents now in full view marched toward them, tentatively awkward with snow crunching under foot.
Torin surveyed the wall of muscled bodies and his heart hammered his chest.
A gentle roar began to echo from within the African forces, building to a heightened frenzy. Suddenly, the Africans stampeded, rolling toward them like an ebony flood.
“Ready yourselves!” Torin shouted, sword poised, crouched at the knee. To his side Gage swung his sword as the African forces slammed into them with a resounding impact. Heads rolled with trails of blood, the wails of death resounding.
Torin swung with a mighty growl, decapitating two. With the forces upon them, he and Gage growled simultaneously then pressed their bloodstained bodies back to back defensively. With glistening muscles, they fought, swing, parry, evade, duck, the heinous clash of steel blades echoing the majestic peaks. The snow intensified, visualization hampered, the icy ground stained crimson red.
An ear-splitting blast, that of a foghorn drew all eyes. The sound continued as Iridescents, minus a few bloody clashes, backed into a defensive formation. Garret emerged, his dark skin contrasted by white flakes that fell rhythmically. Shirtless, despite the frigid temperatures, he looked like a beast with his lips curled and a sword in hand. He halted short of the fire circle, nefarious eyes scanning the carnage. “This is between you and me, Antonio,” he shouted. “Release my consort!” he growled. Now!”
“I don’t think so,” Antonio replied while morphing from invisibility, his voice remarkably calm. He took a step, walking closer to the inner edge of the fire circle, flames riveting off his long silver blade. “You want her Garret…then come get her, else we’ll feed on her till there’s nothing left but a shriveled corpse.”
From behind Garret, an Iridescent emerged, Anna tight to his chest. Garret snatched her viciously and pulled her tight, spooning her body, a blade to her neck. “Release her now or this bitch dies.”
Antonio laughed. “You can’t kill her, you need her to save Zaroc.”
“The hell I do. I have a doctor who claims he can use a dialysis machine and wash Frankie, Lisa and sweet little Donja’s blood. I should get enough antigen-free blood from Lisa and Frankie to infuse Donja,” he laughed hysterically, “she’s younger and should bear a child with ease. This one,” he said tightening the blade to Anna’s neck, “despite numerous attempts, is still not pregnant.”
Antonio felt his blood boil but he fought for control. “It won’t work!” he snapped, hoping Garret bought his guise, for truth be known, he was suddenly plagued by doubt.
“Ahhh, but it will, little man,” Garret chuckled, “and as we speak, one hundred Affiliates are swarming Hampton Manor which I’m sure will be no battle at all, since you brought the brunt of your army here.”
“Wrong again,” Antonio grinned, “they will be met by five hundred. You lose, Garret.”
Garret glowered with half open eyes. “We’ll see, but I can assure you, I’ll have that Chippewa bitch, one way or another.”
Torin lunged forward but Gage grabbed him, holding him back.
Garret laughed. “Temper, temper, but I can see why. That Donja’s tasty.”
“You’re dead, Garret!” Torin snarled and behind Garret’s massive frame, he spied Zaroc emerging from the falling snow. He walked within two feet of Garret, his head high, sniffing. “Miguel, are you harmed?” Zaroc shouted.
Milos morphed from invisibility and yanked Miguel off the ground, his feet dangling. He licked at his face then laughed. “I fed on your bitch-boy, Zaroc, and I gotta tell you, he’s sweet. I can’t wait to explore the rest of him.”
“Let him go,” Zaroc roared, stepping forward. “You don’t want to piss me off!”
“No, but I do intend to piss in his tight ass,” Milos laughed. “Is he any good, Zaroc, is he worth a hard on?”
Zaroc took a step forward, fist clinched with his jaw held tightly, eyes locked on Milos.
That’s it, come for him. Milos thought.
Garret inched up beside him. “Don’t let him bait you, son, that faggot is not worth it.”
“Don’t call him that,” Zaroc growled.
“Cocksuckers are a dime a dozen. Forget that piece of shit!”
Zaroc’s face hardened, his jaw twitching. Suddenly he turned on Garret and swung, catching him off guard, the blow forcing the dagger to slice Anna’s throat. She gasped, clutching her neck as she and Garret fell with white powder rising above them.
Like a bolt of lightning, Torin penetrated the falling snow. He scooped Anna into his arms then backed away as Garret snatched a sword from an Affiliate and tromped toward him. Torin slipped in the snow, cradling Anna’s body.