Her Immortal Mate (Brides of the Vrakken #3)

3. Eike

3

EIKE

W e make it two more days without an attack. It's as close to peace as I've known in a while.

But it couldn't last.

The scent of something like pine mingles with woodsmoke as I stride between the canvas tents. My wings flex against the predawn chill, their metallic sheen catching the light from scattered campfires.

A scout bursts through the tree line, wings folded tight against his back. "Dark elf battalion approaching from the north! At least two hundred strong!"

"Alert the Commanders." I grab my sword belt. "Get everyone in defensive positions."

The camp erupts into organized chaos. Warriors pour from their tents, weapons ready. I scan the terrain - dense forest to our east and west, clearing to the north, steep ridge behind us. Perfect.

"Form three ranks!" My voice carries across the camp. "Archers on the ridge. First rank, shields up. Second rank, spears ready. Third rank, keep those wings spread - we're using them as cover."

A young vrakken lieutenant appears at my side. "Sir, that's not our usual formation-"

"Their magic can't hit what they can't see." I motion to the ridge. "Get those archers in position. Staggered formation, twenty degrees apart. Maximum coverage."

Purple fire erupts through the trees. The dark elves emerge like shadows, their elegant armor gleaming. They move in perfect unison, hands weaving spells.

"Hold!" I bark as our warriors shift nervously. "Wait for my signal."

The enemy advances. Three hundred yards. Two hundred. Their magic crackles, ready to strike.

"Archers! Target their spellcasters first. Aim for the hands."

A hundred black-fletched arrows arc through the air. They're imbued with magic, some sent on fire or to explode or to always follow their target. The dark elves' perfect formation wavers as several of their mages fall.

I suggested this so we didn't drain our magic so quickly. The sun does it for half our camp anyway. No sense in wasting what we don't need to.

"First rank, shields up!" Both physical and magic pours out to create a barrier. "Second rank, spears between the shields. Third rank, wings out - now!"

Our warriors' wings snap open, creating a wall of living armor behind the shield wall. The dark elves' magic splashes harmlessly against our defenses.

"Push forward! Keep those wings locked! Archers, maintain suppressing fire!"

Our formation moves as one, forcing the dark elves to retreat or be crushed against the tree line. Their elegant fighting style crumbles against our disciplined advance.

"They're breaking!" someone shouts.

"Keep formation," I command. "Don't let them regroup."

Through the chaos of battle, a flash of midnight-blue hair catches my eye. Nyx, the First stands at the edge of the clearing, her wings spread wide. Something's off. Her usual fluid grace seems strained, her movements jerky.

"Press the advantage!" I shout to my warriors before breaking formation.

Purple flames erupt from a dark elf mage. She deflects them, but her counter-attack lacks its usual devastating precision. Her wings tremble with the effort.

I dispatch two dark elves blocking my path. "My lady-"

"Focus on the battle, Commander." Her voice carries its familiar steel, but sweat beads on her pale forehead. The markings on her skin pulse erratically, their glow dimming.

A dark elf breaks through our lines, sword raised. I move to intercept, but Nyx waves me off. She meets his blade with her own, their weapons clashing in a shower of sparks. Her parry is slow - too slow. The elf's blade slices her arm.

This isn't right. I've seen the First take on entire battalions without breaking stride. Now she's struggling with a single opponent?

"My lady, fall back. Let me-"

"I said focus on your warriors, Commander." She bares her fangs, but there's strain in her face. The wound on her arm isn't healing as it should.

The dark elf presses his advantage. Nyx stumbles, catching herself against a tree. Her wings droop, the tips brushing the ground. The swirling silver in her black eyes dims, flickering like a dying flame.

To hell with protocol. I surge forward, driving my blade through the elf's chest. As he falls, I catch Nyx's arm.

"You're unwell."

"Your observational skills are remarkable as always, Commander." She tries to pull away, but her legs buckle. "This is... temporary. A mere inconvenience."

Her skin feels cold, even for a vrakken. The markings that usually shimmer like starlight have faded to dull gray lines.

"When did this start?"

"That's not your concern." She straightens, but I can feel her trembling. "The battle isn't over. Return to your post."

A shout pierces through the clash of steel. My head snaps toward the medical tents where Mae works with the wounded. Dark elf soldiers have broken through our eastern flank, their violet magic crackling as they advance on the healers' position.

"Third rank, shore up that line!" I bark, but my warriors are spread too thin.

Mae darts between cots, helping injured vrakken to their feet. Her copper hair glints in the strengthening dawn light as she guides them toward the ridge. My chest tightens. She's too exposed.

"Get those patients out!" Her voice carries across the field. "Anyone who can walk, help those who can't!"

A dark elf raises his hands, purple flames gathering at his fingertips. I launch myself forward, wings propelling me across the battlefield. The spell releases just as I tackle Mae behind a supply cart. Magic scorches the ground where she stood moments before.

"I had that under control." She pushes against my chest.

"Clearly." Blood trickles from a cut on her cheek. My fangs lengthen at the scent, protective rage surging through me.

"The patients-"

"Are being evacuated." I risk a glance over the cart. More elves pour through the gap in our lines. "Stay behind me."

"Like hell. I have wounded to tend to."

A spell hits our cover, splintering wood. I pull Mae closer, shielding her with my wings. "The wounded won't matter if you're dead."

"Lieutenant!" I call to another vrakken. "Take half the reserve force and seal that breach. The rest with me - we're protecting the medical area."

Mae squeezes my arm. "There's a cache of healing potions in the main tent. We can't let them get those."

My warriors form up around us. "Clear a path to that tent. Nothing gets through!"

We advance in tight formation. My sword finds dark elf flesh as spells crash against our defenses. Mae stays close, darting out only to drag injured soldiers to safety. Each time she leaves my reach, my muscles coil tighter.

A dark elf breaks through, blade swinging for her throat. They've taken to targeting humans, which I will say is smart. It's how we replenish our ranks, after all.

I catch his sword with mine, metal shrieking. "Touch her and die." I drive my knee into his stomach and finish him with a brutal slash.

Mae darts to another fallen warrior, her hands steady as she applies pressure to his wound. My fingers tighten around my sword hilt as the soldier grabs her wrist, delirious from blood loss.

"Easy." She pries his fingers loose. "I need to clean this before-"

A blast of magic shatters the ground beside us. I pull her behind me, wings spread wide. "Work faster."

"Maybe if someone stopped hovering-"

"Maybe if you'd stay in one spot-"

"There are people dying, Eike."

I don't point out we don't die. Though I guess being reduced to a shriveled body and a thoughtless mind was worse. That's what would happen to the wounded left in the sun — or stolen by the elves.

The wounded soldier moans. My jaw clenches as Mae returns to him, her gentle touches making my skin crawl. It's irrational. She's a healer. This is her job. But my fangs still lengthen when she leans close to examine his injuries.

"Commander." An elder vrakken materializes beside me, her wings a deep obsidian. "Interesting defensive strategy."

I grunt, dispatching another dark elf trying to breach our perimeter. "It's working."

"Indeed." Her knowing smile sets my teeth on edge. "Though perhaps your attention is... divided?"

Mae's voice cuts through the chaos. "I need bandages from the supply tent!"

"I'll cover you." I move to follow, but the elder's wing blocks my path.

"Allow me to secure the perimeter. Your... healer clearly requires escort."

I bare my fangs but can't argue. We sprint between pockets of fighting, Mae's movements matching mine as if we've trained together for years. She ducks when I swing, steps where I step. It's like a deadly dance, and she keeps perfect time.

"Left!" She shoves me aside as magic crackles past. I spin, taking out the attacker while she grabs supplies.

"Behind you!" I call. She drops, rolling under a blade as I drive my sword through the elf's back.

The elder watches from above, amusement clear in her eyes. Other vrakken pause in their fighting, gazes drawn to our synchronized defense.

"Got everything?" I ask as Mae stuffs bandages in her bag.

"Almost." She reaches for a shelf of potions. Another soldier calls out in pain. "Go. I know you're twitching every time I touch someone else."

"I'm not-"

"Please. Your fangs are showing."

"Then hurry up," I snap.

This time, she does. I manage to keep her protected until I can get her to the medical area being set up in the back of the camp, and by then, most of the fighting is dying down.

Wanting to unleash some of the restlessness in me, I dive into the remaining dark elves. I slice and stab through their bodies until adrenaline sings through me, and I finally don't see a single gray-skinned bastard moving anymore.

But the second I turn to see Mae touching another vrakken, that same anger roars in me.

Yeah. I'm fucked.