Hope flared. Anise licked her lips and glanced at the witch. There was no way Anise could reach for the sword without the witch noticing. She would blast her with magic before Anise’s fingers closed around the hilt. She had to trick her. She had to take a hit and fall within the range. The sword wasn’t far, only a few feet to her right.
She steeled her resolve, hardened her gut, and growled before climbing to her feet, charging ahead but veering right. The witch threw out another hand of hard power. It knocked Anise senseless, and true to expectations, her body went flying backward again. The solid floor connected with Anise’s shoulder. She cried out in pain, but went sliding backward, right within reach of the sword.
“When will you learn, little she-wolf?” the witch snarled.
Anise clutched her middle and feigned crawling away. Her body almost shielded her from view. As she reached for the giant sword, she had a moment of clarity. Caraway had been right. She didn’t need the ability to shift. She was perfect the way she was. The very thing she’d cursed as lacking in her body was now the thing saving her life. It was all about perspective. No mana meant that when her fingers curled around the hilt of the magic-killing sword, she felt nothing but the overwhelming urge to protect what was hers.
She came to her feet, snarling and baring her teeth. Moving the sword to hold in two hands, she charged the dais using the sword as a shield. The witch tried to throw magic at Anise, but the sword cut it in half. The witch tried to send ice through the ground, like she had Caraway, but he’d been taken by surprise. Anise didn’t make the same mistake. She sliced and cut her way until she made it to the dais and launched up, taking the steps in two giant leaps. She aimed the tip of the sword straight forward and kept running as though carrying a lance. It pierced the witch through the heart, pinning her to her ice throne. Blood welled from the witch’s mouth and she tried to scream. Only a gurgle came out.
“I’ll learn when you’re dead,” Anise said and twisted the blade deep.
The witch’s last gaze was at the fae she’d first encased in the ice, and it was a look of longing and regret. The pain froze in her expression as the light left her eyes, and Anise knew she’d made the right decision. If she’d accepted the bargain, Anise would have lived a life as lonely as the witch’s. What were two hundred years if it was spent alone?
Sniffing, she wiped her nose on her sleeve, then yanked the sword out of the witch. The witch’s body slumped down the throne and tumbled to the ground. Then Anise set to chipping away Caraway’s tomb, praying to the Well that he would survive. It took long, drawn-out minutes, but she chipped enough for Caraway to break through. His big, powerful body exploded through the ice and he staggered to his knees with big, ragged breaths.
“Car,” she said and fell to the ground with him.
He lifted his frost-covered chin and met her eyes. “You did it,” he rasped. “I knew you would.”
She sniffed and tried not to smile, but the pure adoration in his eyes warmed her heart.
She joked, “I guess having no mana counts for something right?”
The grin that split his blue lips was contagious. He cupped her jaw and brushed a trembling thumb along her skin. “Anise, you have something, or else you’d have aged at a human rate.”
She blinked. “But I felt nothing when I touched the sword.”
“The Well works in mysterious ways, and I can’t explain it, but it’s true. You have enough of the Well inside that you are fae. We can live here in Elphyne where the land flourishes. You don’t have to manipulate the magic to appreciate it. As long as we’re together, isn’t that enough?”
She looked deep into his eyes. “Are we together?”
Worry flared in his gaze. “I hope so. I mean, I want to… don’t you? That kiss… um.”
His ears reddened and his cheeks reddened in a blush.
Well-damn, it was the most adorable thing she’d ever seen, and it gave her the courage to say, “I want to be more than together. I want to be mated with you.”
Chapter 9
The sweetest words had come out of Anise’s mouth, but Caraway couldn’t give her the answer she needed. Not only was the cold in his system taking over, but he didn’t know if mating was in his future as a Guardian.
He shivered uncontrollably. Concern replaced the light in Anise’s eyes.
“We have to get you somewhere warm,” she said.
He nodded. “P-Portal stone in my p-pocket-t.”
She dug into his pants pocket and drew out a smooth stone that she placed in his cold, shaking fingers. He gave the frozen museum a scathing once-over—there had been no evidence that the witch had been working with the humans, but Caraway hadn’t really had time to conduct a thorough investigation and those gargoyles definitely weren’t natural.
Now he’d been here, he could create his own portal stone back. All he needed was something native to the place.
“I need to c-collect some s-snow,” he said. “F-for a portal stone.”
Anise nodded and rifled around her bag for her waterskin. She emptied it and scooped some snow in. It would do.
He activated the portal, right there inside the hall. The transference of energy ripped a hole in space and time. He held out a hand to Anise. Before she took it, she collected her dagger from the throne and gave the dead witch one last look. Caraway thought he saw pity in her eyes and wondered what had transpired while he’d been frozen.
Then Anise took his hand and together they walked through the portal. They arrived not at the Order, as he’d thought, but on the snow-dusted sandy banks of a sacred lake near Rush’s cabin. Rush and Clarke had lived here for two years while they raised their newborn away from society.
The sun dipped beyond the horizon, and darkness loomed.
Caraway searched in his pockets for the other portal stone, the one that would take them back to the Order, but Anise stopped him.
“Look,” she said and pointed to the wooden cabin set near some trees.
Smoke curled from the chimney.
“It’s Rush’s c-cabin,” he explained, still stuttering from the cold. “Before I left the Order, Clarke s-sent me a portal stone that came here.”
Anise grinned. “Gotta love that psychic human. Wish all of them were like her. It’s getting dark and the cabin looks warm. Let’s make camp for the night.”
He gave her a quizzical look.
Anise elaborated. “Where there’s smoke, there’s fire. Come on. Let’s get you warmed up.”
She took his cold hand and pulled him toward the cabin. On the porch, they kicked the snow from their boots and then entered the one-room cabin. Inside was a bed, a kitchen counter, and a crackling fireplace with two small fire sprites dancing on a log to keep it smoldering. One male, one female. They paused upon Caraway’s and Anise’s entry and squeaked at the intrusion.
Caraway showed them the spent portal stone. “C-Clarke invited us.”
The sprites—glowing red and orange figures made of flames—stared and then resumed their dancing, ignoring Anise and Caraway.
But the heat... it was divine.
Caraway shuffled closer to the fireplace and crouched low. He held his palms out and let the warmth suffuse his body, vaguely aware of Anise’s bustling behind him in the kitchen. When she brought a ceramic pot filled with soup over to the fire, he realized she’d been cooking and a few minutes had gone by.