Dark Isle(19)

“I know,” was his reply. Then, “Steady, Quinn. Let them come to us.”

“Pick me up, Quinn,” Cora commanded.

Scooping her up, she settled on my shoulders.

The three hunters moved towards us, some unspoken signal telling them it was time to attack.

“We each take one, settle back into a half moon,” Aednat said, cracking her knuckles. The sight startled me, seeming so out of character for the petite Banshee.

“Half moon?” I asked.

Pointing with his sword, Luke indicated to his right. “We spread out and try to keep them apart. We’ll have a better chance.”

The first hunter engaged Aednat with a wicked twirling whip that cracked through the air, snapping close to Aednat’s eyes. Aednat danced to the left, dodging the blows; then she launched an attack of her own, her movement drawing my attention. She slammed the points of her fingers deep into the throat of her attacker. The larger Banshee choked and gagged, her glamour falling away for a split second, showing the skull of a half-rotted corpse underneath.

Instinctively, I stumbled back from the gruesome sight. “Watch your feet, Quinn,” Cora warned. “I mean it, watch your—!”

Too late, I tried to check my progress, but I fell backwards over a downed tree. One of the hunters was on me immediately, her sharp fingernails inches from my face.

“Queen wants to talk to you, Chosen one,” the Banshee said as she leaned over the log. A face like a rat’s protruded from the cowl around her head. The teeth jutting forward were yellow and stained and her eyes were a faded pink that glittered with intent.

That is very, very bad, Quinn. As if Cora needed to explain that to me.

Before I could do or say anything, Cora struck, her body shooting forward and her fangs burying deep into the Banshee’s cheek.

“Get up, Quinn. Run!” Cora shouted to me, her words shaking me. With a mad scramble, I made it to my feet and turned my back. The Banshee behind me was howling. I glanced over my shoulder to see furry brown claws grip Cora’s writhing, striking body and fling her at a tree, her coils hitting hard and sliding to the ground with a dull thud. Horror, then rage, whipped through me.

“Oh, hell no,” I said, spinning lightly on my right heel to face the Banshee. “Come on then bitch, let’s see what you’ve really got.”

The Banshee rushed me, tackling me to the ground. I got an arm between our bodies, but her gnashing yellow teeth were only millimetres from my face and her dirty, crusted claws scrabbled for purchase in my sides. With a scream I snapped my dagger up with my free hand, driving it under her arm. The Banshee let out a wail, her breath fetid and hot as she cried out. In that moment I thought I had her; I let my guard down.

She took advantage of the moment; raised her head up with alarming speed, and snapped it towards my face. I managed to jerk my head out of her way, but her blunt incisors bit hard into my shoulder, my collarbone creaking under the pressure she exerted. For a moment, the pain brought me to the edge of consciousness, her teeth grinding over my bones, blood seeping down into my shirt and the mossy ground.

The Banshee sat up, her body a heavy weight on my chest, my blood trickling down her chin and into the furry brown pelt.

“You taste good—like honey,” she said, the tip of her black tongue snaked out gathering up the drops of my blood on her face.

Concentrating on my good arm, I envisioned the fire that Bres had taught me to hold. Blue flames flickered at my fingertips and then shot forward, catching the Banshee in the chest. She rolled away from me, slamming her body into the ground in an attempt to put the fire out.

Shaking, I stood up, my right arm hanging limply at my side. The Banshee curled up at my feet, whimpering, her fur charred and gone, the skin blackened and oozing with blisters.

“Please, no more,” she whispered, lifting one hand up, the tips of her claws still stained with mine and Cora’s blood.

The thought of the damage she’d done to Cora threatened to make me into a person I didn’t want to be. The hand that held my dagger quivered with the desire to bury it into her chest.

“Tell your Queen, that if she attacks us again, we will finish what she has started,” I said, pointing my dagger at her. The Banshee curled away from me.

“Yes. I will tell her.”

A nod and I turned away, heading to where Cora lay so still at the base of the tree. My heart was hammering. What if she was more than hurt? What if . . . ? I couldn’t even finish the thought.

“Quinn!” Luke cried out and I spun to see the rat-faced Banshee rushing me.

There was no time to think, only act.

I threw my dagger, propelling it with a bolt of fire from my hands. A streak of blue and silver shot from me, like an arrow, and ripped straight through the Banshee’s heart.