Sorcerybound (World's First Wizard Book 2) by Aaron Schneider (best color ereader .TXT) 📗

Another carnivorous snarl issued from Rihyani, but Percy demonstratively leaned a little closer to Milo.

“The worst of this is almost over,” he assured her, his voice like that of a doctor consoling a fussy patient. “Just please, don’t do anything rash.”

Milo’s hand was resting on his cane, and he slowly curled his fingers around the polished stone haft. Keeping his eyes half-lidded, he slid his gaze to Rihyani, who was in a half-crouch. Milo almost didn’t recognize her with her face twisted by rage. He wasn’t sure, but it looked like her teeth had become fangs.

“Your turn’s comin’ next, darlin’,” the cowboy muttered as he busied himself with something Milo couldn’t see. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head about that.”

“Ezekiel Boucher!” the well-dressed man snapped in his first show of temper. “Bad enough I must tolerate your deplorable habits, but you are now putting our operation in jeopardy. Get on with it.”

“Good ol’ Mister Astor, dishing on a man in his moment of consummation, no less!”

“Now, Zeke!”

“Yankee spoilsport.”

Milo slid his eyes over and could just make out the cowboy, Ezekiel, bending the toppled hulk of Beli’s bronze body. The corroded black wounds dotting his bowed muscular back were heartbreakingly numerous. It hadn’t been a clean death, and given what Ezekiel seemed to be doing, even the fallen fey’s death was not without the rending touch of the pitted knife.

Milo turned the cane ever so slightly in his hand, the raptor’s sockets now at the proper angle.

“You’ll pay for this!” Rihyani growled, edging a little closer, every muscle coiling for a spring.

“Madame, this is getting tedious.” Mr. Percy Astor sighed. “I understand this all seems in bad taste, but I must insist your stop threa—”

BURN

Milo’s command sent two darts of burning energy lancing at Percy, but Milo had misjudged the angle. Instead of striking the man in the chest and ending him in an immolating burst, both darts grazed the man’s gun hand and then blasted his shoulder. Superheated by the sorcerous flames, several rounds in the pistol went off at once.

Only luck and the enchanted resilience woven into the black cloak kept Milo from being perforated by the wild eruption of rounds and metal shrapnel that filled the air. The suddenly less well-dressed man was not so lucky, tumbling backward as he held up his mangled hand in a ravaged sleeve. He stared at the ruined flesh and gave a shrill scream even as Milo climbed to his feet.

“Percy!” Ezekiel croaked in genuine concern even as he leapt over Beli’s body, knife in hand.

Milo spun to face the man, but for the second time, a fey beat him to the punch. Like a lioness, Rihyani sprang forward, covering an inhuman distance as she sailed toward Zeke, fingers stretched into ivory sickles. The fiendishly quick scalp hunter slipped to the side of her impaling pounce, but not to be denied, the unleashed contessa raked her talons across his face and shoulder.

Unnaturally dark blood welled up in the wounds, slow and gummy, made more horrible by the crazed grin that stretched across the man’s face. He whipped the knife around as she flew past but only managed to shear through her traveling cloak.

Rihyani landed on all fours and bounded to her feet with liquid grace as she whirled to face Ezekiel’s advance.

“Get Meinir to the car!” she snarled through a mouthful of what most certainly were needle-sharp fangs. “Now, Milo! Please!”

Milo nearly defied the instruction, leveling his cane to blast the monstrous scalp hunter, but in a blink of an eye, he and Rihyani were engaged in a lightning-fast exchange of darting swipes and nimble dodges. There was no way he could be certain he wouldn’t hit her, so with a frustrated growl, he spun and made for the Green Lady lying on the ground behind them.

Even as he bent to scoop her up, no easy feat since she was taller than him, he knew she was dead. Her features were locked in a rictus of agony, but no breath stirred her chest, and the emerald blood on her body had grown thick and tacky. A tremor of rage and frustration threatened to shake him to pieces, but with a brutal effort of will, he shoved it from his mind.

Grunting and huffing, he heaved upward with Meinir draped across his arms, feeling the muscles of his back scream in protest. Righting himself after a misstep almost toppled him and the dead fey, he took off at a jog before a sharp cry made him swing heavily around.

Rihyani was slashing savagely with one hand, but the other hung at her side, pale blood seeping from a gash across her shoulder.

Ezekiel kept clear of the sweeping claws even as he slowly advanced, tossing the knife from hand to hand playfully as he chuckled.

“Three little faeries in one evenin’,” he cooed in a sickeningly tender voice. “Oh, I’m a lucky, lucky boy.”

Milo looked down at Meinir’s limp form, imagining the same agonized death mask on Rihyani’s silver face. A deep, tempestuous rage came over him, and the world shrank to the path that led straight to the back of the scalp hunter’s skull.

Placing Meinir at his feet, he started advancing, cane in both hands like a pick hungry to bite deep. He made it two steps before his tunnel vision exploded with pain as something sharp bit into his calf.

Percy, creeping on his belly unnoticed, had buried an ornate dagger in Milo’s calf and twisted it cruelly even as he glared hatefully up into the magus’ face.

Righteous fury keeping him upright, Milo jerked his leg away, the knife still buried in the meat of his calf, and brought the cane down on Percy’s upturned face. The abused man slumped to the ground bonelessly, a deep gash across his forehead.

Milo might have delivered the fatal stroke then and there, but another cry from Rihyani drew his attention. The contessa, a second slash across her arm now,