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twenty-five

A Clash of Blades

C rimson trailed Heather out the tavern doors. She blinked repeatedly, trying to get her sight to adjust to the light. The sun was further back than she thought. Which meant it was now late afternoon. She really needed to return to the bookstore. Surely Aster and Rhoden were looking for her.

No sooner had she lifted her hand to shield herself from the sun’s assault she was enveloped by a long shadow. She stopped short, practically bouncing off a stone wall of a chest. She raised her eyes, expecting a tall male. But her gaze ascended… up and up … and up.

At last, her eyes widened as they met the face of a superiorly tall…

faerie? But he lacked the build of one. Made up of bulky muscle, versus lithe strength.

The stranger exceeded Crimson’s height, whose head barely cusped the male’s mid chest. She stumbled back, Crimson’s arm the only reason she didn’t meet mud.

The male had a towering, pointy, cherry red hat. Adding three feet to his already excessive height. The male crossed his thickly muscled arms and scowled wordlessly down at Heather.

“It’s all right, old fellow. Heather is friend not foe, even though she’s drenched in that insidious green dust.” Crimson’s ring clad hand clapped the male’s upper arm.

He was as thick and solidly built as a tree trunk.

The stranger glared down at Heather as she was frozen in place, dismissing her instantaneously with a grunt, before walking around her into the tavern.

“Was that a giant?” she leaned into Crimson’s solid arm, as he led her toward the square.

“He’s no giant. He’s a gnome, ye can tell by the pointy hat.” He informed her as if it were common knowledge.

She opened her mouth to pose another question, but in the next heartbeat, he was no longer attached to her arm.

A green blur, lightning fast, had shoved him backward in the mud and Crimson was fighting it off.

Heather turned about, shocked to realize Skye had tackled Crimson.

The two were now grappling on the ground.

Mud flung every which way, as did their fists. Skye had Crimson by the throat. Hearing the commotion, the tavern patrons flooded out the entrance, forming a ring around the males, cheering on the sparring match taking place outside rather than the one within the mushroom alehouse.

“Skye! Halt! Both of you!” she shouted over the crush. Rhoden and Tarragon appeared at her sides, gently pulling her further from the brawl. “Tarragon, stop them! Crimson didn’t mean me harm. He was showing me the Mushlunds.”

The tavern crowd cried out in victory simultaneously, celebrating a particularly nasty punch Crimson landed on Skye.

One that drew blood, his rings made contact and scratched his cheek bone.

Heather winced and closed her eyes. So, there was more to the males’ fashion choice of the jewelry, she surmised. Another weapon in an invisible arsenal.

She struggled to break free of the two restraining her and intervene. But they held fast to her forearms. “Make them stop. This is a simple misunderstanding,” she cried. She thrashed against their strong grips.

“Crimson halt!” her voice cracked as she yelled out.

“If ye step in between two males when their temperatures are flaring, you’ll be the one to suffer the damage.

” Tarragon chastised. “Many thanks for this mess, by the way.” He narrowed his deep blue eyes at her.

“I was well on my flight to the human lands when Skye summoned me back to aid in his search for ye.”

Heather unknowingly did a completely faerie thing. She growled at Tarragon. Irritated over his insinuation this altercation was her fault. Clearly, males of all species were stubborn as mules.

“This fight is a long time coming. Let them get it out of their blood.” Rhoden shrugged off the violent scene.

The crowd was now deafening. She could barely hear him shout in her ear.

She sagged in defeat. Crimson was giving it as good as he got.

Fists, wings, mud. All flew more swiftly than the wind could carry them.

Red and green pixie glow joined the fray as their power collided in the air and tangled with the pouring rain.

“Crimson insulted Skye by usurping his bride. We’ve searched everywhere for ye. He’s ill with worry. He holds himself accountable for his future wife’s safety, as any good heart bonded would. If I were a lovesick fool, I’d beat Crimson to a bloody pulp if I were in Skye’s boots.” growled Tarragon.

Rhoden leaned past Heather’s form, looking at Tarragon pointedly. “Wouldn’t ye have to own a heart to do so?”

Tarragon lifted a dark brow at the other male, “I said ‘if,’ didn’t I?”

“Always so serious, this one.” Rhoden grumbled under his breath. Heather had to agree with his friend’s assessment. Heather was fairly sure that she had not seen a smile grace the male’s lips since she made his acquaintance.

Tarragon deadpanned, “I wish ye were too.”

Rhoden swiped his free hand above them, his yellow pixie glow alight like sunshine through a citrine crystal. The rain no longer struck, the magick creating a barrier between them and the weather.

“Crimson insulted Skye’s ability to protect ye.

It made him appear unworthy. Good thing that the mating mark shone true, regardless of it being a weak beacon.

” Rhoden pushed his dripping blond locks from his face.

“Must be faded.” She took advantage and used his temporary distraction as an opportunity to wriggle free of his grasp, but the struggle was in vain. His grip on her forearm was viselike.

Did he mean the faint kiss mark on her wrist?

“It’s not that serious. A mere fist fight.

” He shrugged his shoulders. “If they were welding blades, it’d be of concern.

” Rhoden said. The two males were causing plenty of damage with their bare hands, she thought.

Crimson shoved Skye backwards, Skye growled at him and tore his rapier free from its guard.

Heather looked up at Rhoden in a panic. The male winced.

Crimson swiped his mushroom hat from his head and held it out before his torso, using it as a shield. She saw him draw the deadly blade that she had hoped to never be at the pointy end of and fought her captive’s hold with renewed strength. Nothing good would come to them squaring off with weapons.

“Halt! Skye, Halt!” She was screaming now, her voice growing hoarse.

She couldn't bear to watch what damage they’d inflict on one another.

She wished Aster was present. What state would the female be in if her own kin killed or maimed the male she was taken with?

Or vice versa, for that matter. Surely, any feelings Aster had toward Crimson would turn to hate if he hurt her eldest brother.

Rapier and dagger collided with a clang.

Skye had an obvious advantage, with a long sword not requiring the intimacy of a knife.

She briefly squeezed her eyes shut, but then couldn’t handle not knowing what was happening, so she promptly reopened them.

Skye gained ground, kicking Crimson right in the chest, foot meeting mushroom shield square in the middle.

Successfully knocking Crimson into a mud puddle.

Skye held the blade against the male’s throat as the former glared at him.

Skye’s wings flared out wide with a rush of air.

With a voice as cold as ice, Skye snarled, bearing is canines in warning, “This female is under the protection of the royal family. If anyone harms her, you’ll suffer the consequences.”

Heather reared back in Tarragon and Rhoden’s hold as if her back had been struck by a whip. She had suspected that Skye’s family was of high esteem, that perhaps they were nobles, but… royalty?