The forest around them roared with a crackling, spitting fire. There was no doubt in her mind that he had more he could throw at her. She needed to strike now, while she still could. She’d take him down with her or die trying.
Becka charged Woden, impaling him with the thick brass poker in the gut. The impact of her hit drove them both to the ground, she on her knees beside him. Recovering, she twisted the poker in deeper.
He groaned, and then laughed at her again. “I admire your efforts, futile as they may be.” He didn’t look like he was dying. Instead he chanted something, moving his fingers in the air between them. A healing incantation? Something worse?
What else could she do? She had to think of something to offset Woden’s seemingly innumerable powers. The horror Woden had unleashed upon Becka shook her to her core. She had to fight back. Although she despised violence, he had proven his willingness to harm, and perhaps even kill her, to meet his goals. Becka clenched her teeth, resolved to survive. She could see a therapist later.
In a moment of inspiration, Becka ripped the poker out of his stomach, throwing it to the side. Even as the hole began to reknit itself closed, she overcame her reflexive disgust and shoved not just one but two fingers of her right hand up into the narrowing hole.
He screamed out in pain, the blood from his wound once again gushing out, now pouring over her hand like a river. The hole wasn’t continuing to knit shut. Simultaneously, Becka’s head exploded in pain as her nulling power burned through his magic. She’d managed to prevent his healing with simply her touch.
Encouraged, Becka sought out the wound in his chest and shoved fingers from her left hand into it. He rewarded her with a scream.
“I don’t have a lick of training yet, but I think I’m getting a notion on how my powers work. What do you think?”
He uttered an incantation under his breath, but nothing appeared to happen. He shook his head and had the gall to smile up at her. “You are everything I hoped you would be.” He coughed up blood, his pallor shifting into a lighter tone. “Absolutely magnificent. The Maker’s Shadow will be so pleased.”
“You’ll never get a chance to tell her.”
He laughed weakly, coughing up more blood. “She already knows. Or will. When I do not return, she will know I failed due to underestimating your powers.”
Becka’s heart sank. “It didn’t have to be me. It could have been someone else. Quinn? Or the shifters?”
“No, they could not overpower me. Besides, do you think I am the only devotee of the Shadow here this weekend? The Maker will find out and we will never cease in our efforts to gain your powers as our own, especially now that you have proven yourself so valuable.”
When his blood stopped flowing, Woden finally ceased breathing. The pain in her head subsided, only then did Becka know he was dead. She pulled her hands out of his flesh, the sickening sensation curdling her stomach. Becka wiped her hands off on his clothes, aware of the shaking sensation traveling from her hands up her arms.
She’d avenged Tesse, but if what he said was true, the fight with the Shadow was nowhere near over.
Becka stood up. Which way was the manor, or the cabin, for that matter? She couldn’t recognize and markers in the forest in its current singed state.
“Help!” Becka screamed her heart out. “Anyone?”
She heard a howl in the distance, and figuring it was the shifter guards, limped in that general direction. The fire had abated somewhat, unable to take on a strong foothold in the otherwise healthy forest.
A series of groans led her to discover Quinn and two shifter guards laid out flat, his skin charred and blackened while the wolves fur was badly singed. All appeared unconscious.
“Quinn!” she yelled, dropping to his side.
At first he didn’t respond, so she shook him and was rewarded with a weak groan. “Do you have to be so loud?” Quinn grumbled, his voice a whisper. “There’s no way I can rest with this racket.”
“No sleeping! You need to stay awake.”
“I’m trying,” he rasped. “I already used my phone to call for help, but we’re some distance from the manor. Are you okay?
”I’ve got a divot out of my leg and am down a few pints, but I’ll make it. Can I do anything to help you?”
Quinn shook his head. “Just make sure they find us. That fire wave moved through here like a whip. I’ve never felt anything like it before. Felt like it seared the air itself. We barely saw it coming.”
“That was Woden’s doing.”
“Woden?” he asked.
“Otherwise known as Lord Lagan of House Holly.”
“I’d wondered about him, he seemed overly interested in you.” Quinn snapped, and then blushed. “I do not mean to imply that kind of interesting, I mean, of course you’re that kind of interesting,” he stammered.
“You don’t say?” she asked, grateful for his humor in this dark moment.
“Anyway, where is he now?” Quinn then tried to sit up, but she placed a gentle hand on his chest.
“He’s dead.” Tears rolled down her face. The horror of what she’d had to do to stop Woden would no doubt keep her up at night for a while.
His expression was pained. “That’s good. You sure you’re alright?”
The irony of Quinn, flat out with charred skin, asking her if she was okay wasn’t lost on her. She heard the sounds of yelling in the distance. Becka screamed for help again.
“What the hell, Quinn? If you’d suspected Lagan, why not make the first move?”
“Although we have not made it public, the Enforcers have been trying to infiltrate the shadow-dwellers in an attempt to solve a series of murders over the past few generations. I have been developing my connection with this contact for years.
