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He leapt high into the air, then twisted around so that the soles of his thick black boots were aimed straight at my face. I swore and dove sideways, hitting the rough patch of ground between the pavement and the wall hard enough to tear skin from my hands. Pain slithered through me, but I ignored it and scrambled upright. The air whispered with movement, and without thought, I twisted around, lashing out with a booted foot, hitting the stranger hard enough to knock him off-balance. Before he regained it, I lunged forward, grabbed his wrist, and growled, “Stay still and make no sound until I command otherwise. Understood?”

That last bit was rhetorical. All pixie women—no matter what the size, be they full height or half—were blessed with the so-called six gifts of womanhood: beauty, a gentle voice, sweet words, wisdom, needlework, and chastity. While the women in our particular branch of the pixie tree had successfully avoided most of them, we did have a variation of “sweet words” and could enforce our will on all others—except elves, for reasons unknown—with a mere touch.

As the man froze, the wind whispered of more movement.

I turned and saw a thick metal bar with a wicked, pointed hook at its end coming straight at my face. I swore again and flung air between us, catching the crowbar inches away and forcing it straight back at my assailant. It smashed it into his forehead and split it wide open. He dropped like a stone to the ground and didn’t move. I scrambled over and pressed two fingers against his neck.

Alive, thank gods.

While the pixie curse thing never applied in cases of self-defense, I really didn’t want the weight of any more deaths on my conscience. There was more than enough already.

I thrust to my feet and moved on. The orb was now the size of a basketball, with snake-like tendrils of fire flicking back and forth across its surface. The heat it emitted was now so fierce it vaporized the sleet long before it could hit the ground.

At any moment now, it would be unleashed, and the destruction would envelop us all.

I didn’t question the certainty. I just ran toward it.

Beyond the orb came flickers of movement—Cynwrig, fighting three men. Another two lay unmoving on the ground near his feet.

Seven men to protect one.

Or, perhaps, seven men to protect the intention of one.

But what was that intention? Who was their target? I doubted it was Cynwrig—the hood of his coat had fallen away during the fight, so if he’d been their mark, he’d probably already be dead.

Besides, the orb appeared to be aimed at the building rather than the man, so it was either another resident, or maybe even... The thought died as something—someone—cannoned into my back and sent me sprawling to the ground. My breath left in a whoosh, but before I could react, a heavy weight dropped onto my back and a hand wrapped around the back of my neck, holding me down, holding me still. A pinprick of pain flared briefly—a needle being inserted, perhaps—and I tried to shift, move, with little success. I reached for the wind, but before I could unleash her, two knives tore into my shoulder and a heated wave of agony swamped me.

Only it wasn’t knives.

It was teeth.

It hurt—gods how it hurt—but I bit back my scream and reclaimed my grip on the wind, wrapping it around the shifter’s body in a desperate attempt to remove him. But his teeth were lodged deep in my skin, and as the wind ripped him away, it tore my shoulder apart. Warmth flooded my back and side, and my arm went numb. It didn’t matter. Nothing did right now, except preventing the chaos about to be unleashed.

Because the orb was now screaming, and it was an ungodly sound of utter fury.

I gulped back bile, flung my attacker at the wall hard enough to knock him out, then struggled to my feet and raced on toward the arch.

Only to hit—and bounce off—some sort of block.

The stranger wasn’t just using a shadow shield. He had some sort of magical perimeter boundary set up.

Fuck.

My knives could have shredded such a barrier, of course, but I hadn’t thought to bring them with me. And while I could call them to hand, that took concentration and energy, and right now mine was flowing away as fast as the blood pouring down my back. I sucked in a deep breath that did little against the gathering wash of weakness, then caught the wind and once more flung it forward.

Not at the orb, nor even the man who hid behind his barriers, but at the nearest streetlight. It bent like butter against the wind’s force, its light spearing into the arch, ripping the shadows away from the figure there.

It was an elf. A red-haired, dark-skinned elf holding a stone that glowed with an unnatural fiery light.

Just for a second, our gazes met. The recognition that stirred through his eyes echoed through me, though I didn’t for the life of me know why his features seemed so familiar.

He smiled, gave me a polite nod, and then unleashed hell.

Straight at Cynwrig’s building.

Chapter

Two