Scet slammed into the ragged wolf, forcing it a step back. Even in his bear form, he was losing this battle.
The wolf rose, as if nothing had happened, and charged.
Scet slid to the side and managed to get out of the creature's range, but only just.
What was he doing here?
Another trap snapped at his heal as he dodged. Another near miss, avoided only because some vague instinct told him to move left and not right.
Such an advantage should have put him in victory. The wolf before him had been pierced through twice already, and nearly decapitated once. None of the traps had held long enough for Scet to finish the job, though, and it had become a dance of advance and avoid. And this was no ordinary creature. This one, one of the eight Quatori Adda had spoken of, he was certain, pushed waves of shadow at him. He had been slammed to the ground more times during this battle than he cared to count.
He took the brief moment that the wolf stumbled past him to glance at the temple again. She still hadn't emerged. Adda. He had known, somehow, when she had gone in, some sense, or awareness of her he shouldn't have had.
His mate. For that's what she was, and she was in the temple somewhere. He shouldn't have left her. He should have marked her and started the bond. He would at least know if she was alive if he had. To hell with asking. To hell with honor. She was his. She had admitted as much when they had shared each other.
Now, he feared he wouldn't get the chance, and the knowledge that this was somehow a repeat of history didn't help. Alikeye-Baroth had lost his mate, before she was claimed. Scet was starting to fear that he was doomed to the same fate as his past life, as the old Alpha had insisted.
The distraction cost him, his opponent barreled toward him, the wolf's mouth sagged open, the result of a broken, or dislocated jaw. It didn't prevent the Shifter from loosing a horrifying snarl as he ran. Droplets of water flew from his passage, but whatever Quatori possessed the Shifter, it focused solely on him, a deep hatred flashing from the yellow-brown eyes.
He had no time to maneuver out of the way, instead he raised a massive paw and swiped, hard.
The blow knocked the wolf's head to the side, keeping the sharp and dangerous teeth from ripping his flesh, but the weight of the creature's body and momentum smashed into him full force. He stumbled backward to prevent losing his footing altogether.
That, too, was a mistake. He knew it as soon as his foot touched the soft mud at the bottom of the swamp. Hard metal pressed against the pad of his left hind foot, another of the pikes, set to spring up and impale those who trespassed. Alikeye-Baroth obviously had more enemies than friends. Or, Scet resisted the urge to glance toward the temple, and the orb, once more, maybe he just knew what he was hiding.
Fortunately for him, it wasn't the trigger his foot had set down upon, but the tip of the propulsion system the pike hid inside. How his former self had managed to design such a thing that would last through the centuries, or even beneath the swamp at all without filling with mud and grime, he couldn't understand. He did his best, as he stepped backward, to rub the layer of swamp sediment from the metal, keeping a firm idea of the trigger's location: slightly in front and to the right...now if he could just encourage the wolf in that direction.
He rose up on his hind feet, putting a bit of space between them, and swiped again at the creature.
The wolf was too fast, it dodged his paw and charged back in, teeth inches from his side.
Scet crashed back down, ignoring the water that sprayed up and pelted his chin and chest. He turned quickly, facing the wolf, not allowing it at his back. They had missed the trap altogether and now worked their way into deeper water.
A wall of shadow blasted him from the side, at the same time the wolf leapt, aiming for his throat.
Rage flared along his veins. He was losing.
He stumbled, his feet slipping against the swamp slime. Then he fell, black water rising above his head. Sharp pressure tore against his shoulder before he managed to roll, losing his attacker in the fray.
He stood rapidly, scrambling up and dashing to the right, anything to give him a moment. Worry and fear climbed into his throat and he risked a glance at his shoulder. No blood. Thank the Six the skin hadn't broken.
He huffed his relief and took his bearings. There had to be some way to turn this battle in his favor.
Behind him, the wolf snarled its outrage, the noise almost lost by the pounding of his own heart. He turned to the left, avoiding a spot instinct told him would be both dangerous and painful.
Kiskan hung from her spear, which was impaled in the creature's side.
The wolf twisted unnaturally, trying to dislodge her. Shadows tore around its form, but each blast designed to hit Kiskan pushed at the wolf, as well.
It offered Scet a brief reprieve, but the wolf wasn't dead, or even dying; they were still at an impasse.
The swamp was filling; more of the enemy than he'd had a chance to count. It didn't matter their number, it was far more than the numbers of the pack.
Suddenly, Kiskan let out a string of curses.
What was the woman thinking? A trained warrior should know better.
He looked at her, she was still dangling from the wolf's side, which, he supposed was reason enough to curse, but she was looking toward the temple.
He glanced back. The creatures had made headway through the swamp and had reached the temple, the pack...his pack…now engaged in various battles trying to stem the attack.
But it wasn't the battle that had her invoking the Gods.
A dome of brilliant light lifted from the center of the temple. Flashes ran across it like lightening, of a sort. It rose, and then it expanded, shooting outwards faster than anyone had time to react. It blasted past him and then it was gone, racing outward into the forest.
Stillness followed.
Scet's heart crashed against his ribs. What in the six realms just happened?
The wolf fell. Kiskan landed on top of it and scrambled to distance herself, releasing her spear.
He couldn't miss the opportunity. He pounced, digging his strong front claws into the creature's neck and slicing. Rending muscle and bone. Only when the beast was fully headless did he step back and allow himself to assess the situation.
The wolf hadn't fought his attack, not even a twitch. It was dead before it fell to the swamp.
Scet looked around himself.
The other creatures, too, were lifeless, his warriors standing above them in confusion.
It was the weapon…the orb…it had to be.
Who had wielded it?
He shook his head, fear driving into his chest. He knew the answer.
Adda.
***
Adda huddled against her knees. There was no light, only the swell of darkness, and that comforted her.
She couldn't feel him.
He was gone. Truly gone. She knew because her side itched, the skin knitting together where she had torn it, her Shifter healing restored.
And she mourned.
When she chose to destroy the orb she had made her decision, that she would give her life rather than open a portal to the dark realm. Yet here she sat, whole, everything she had wanted. So why did victory feel so horrible?
She replayed Nex's final moments, how, right up until the end, he'd protected her from his pain.
He wasn't evil.
She had begun to suspect, but now she was certain. And the knowledge changed her. He had left her with something, too. Or her experience with him had.
The shadows nudged her. She could still feel them easily, their current, and they told her someone was coming.
Let them come. She couldn't rise. Not yet.
“Bring the light in here,” Scet's voice filled the space. It was little comfort when flickering light followed it, a makeshift torch of bundled rotted swamp wood, carried by Kiskan. She watched from the corner she had found to huddle in.
Watched the horrified expression as his eyes found Illaise's crumpled form surrounded by her life-blood. Watched as he took in the shattered crystalline pieces of the orb itself and then searched the room, tipping his head and scenting the air deeply.
Then he found her. His eyes widened, and emotions raced across his features.
Still she sat. She knew her eyes were swollen from crying. She must look terrible, like a demon herself.
“Adda,” he crooned, walking toward her, but with a wariness that told her she was correct in her assumptions of her state. “Adda, it's over. It is all okay now.”
She tried to answer him, to somehow convey all that had happened, all that was gained...and lost. Instead, she found, to her dismay, that she burst into tears once more, not just any tears, but the soul wrenching cry of someone who had lost deeply.
Assured that she hadn't turned into the Quatori that he feared, Scet strode to her, gathering her in his arms. “Shhh,” he crooned again, and he rocked her, rocked until her sobs subsided and there was nothing left to cry out.
“You are free?” he whispered at last.
Adda nodded and, with the motion, the tension in him dissolved.
“Come, my love, it is time to go home.”