“Who is he?” Cush and his soul asked at the same time.
“He is the deceiver. The stealer. The defector of his own kind. Tarron of the dark elves. He has attempted to escape with us but the holder of these lands will not allow it. She controls all that happens here. Her will is supreme. She wishes you to destroy Tarron, but I do not know what her desire is once that is done. Be careful, mate.”
Cush felt her slipping away from him and he wanted to call out to her to stop. He wanted to order her to stay with him where she belonged, but he knew that Elora needed her soul with her to keep from slipping further into the spell Tarron had bargained for. So, reluctantly, he let her go. As soon as he no longer felt her presence, his soul urged him to wake up. He didn’t mention that he hadn’t needed the prompting. He was already shaking off the sleep.
Cush’s eyes popped open to find Oakley staring at him with hawk-like eyes. His gaze was steady and determined, as though he was an equation that Oakley was trying to figure out.
“Did you take something, like some elf enlightenment pipe?” the human asked.
Cush stood up more quickly than Oakley could track and he heard him gasp. He forgot sometimes that humans, even half elves like Oakley who hadn’t been exposed to them, had never seen just how different their species were.
“Elora is in this very swamp,” he said ignoring the question he’d been asked. “I’ve spoken with her soul.”
“Okay, that’s not weird or anything,” Oakley muttered as he stood up to his feet and brushed his clothes off.
Cush turned in a slow circle with his eyes closed. He was desperately seeking for the bond that predestined her as his Chosen. He reached for her pain, knowing she was feeling the separation just as badly as he was. Oakley started to speak again but Cush’s hand shot up stopping him before he could even speak the first word.
Her scent hit him like a freight train and he fought the impulse to fall to his knees in thanks to the Forest Lords. He did shoot up a thank you but then turned and grabbed Oakley’s arm.
“You’re going to have to attempt to keep up,” he growled as he began running in the direction of his Chosen. Her scent was no longer the only thing he could sense. He was beginning to feel her. The further they ran, the more he realized that the Voodoo queen had to have something to do with him being able to sense Elora. She was not nearly as close as his senses were telling him.
Cush kept looking back to make sure Oakley was at least still in view. He had known that there was no way he could keep pace with Cush but then he was doing better than a full human. He figured he must be getting some help from his dark elf blood. On and on he ran, somehow finding the exact spots to place his feet so that he remained on land in the marshy surroundings. He heard a curse behind him and started to slow but then Oakley yelled, “I’m good. Keep going. I’m right behind you. Okay, well not righ …”
Oakley’s voice faded as Cush pushed on. As he ran he asked the Forest Lords to show Oakley the way to his location so that he would not end up lost, and he would trust that they had heard him and would answer.
Just as he was rounding a huge tree that plunged deep into the water, he saw them. They were still a good ways off, but Cush’s superior elven eyesight had no difficulty spotting them. Tarron was sitting on the ground with Elora’s head in his lap. He was stroking her hair as though he had a right to touch her.
“Be smart, warrior. Fools rush in and rarely come out.” The Voodoo queen’s voice reverberated in his head and though her advice was good, he didn’t like that she could get in his mind.
She was right. He had to be smart. Though he was seeing red because another male had his hands on his Chosen, he could not just bulldoze his way to their location and expect to defeat Tarron without hurting Elora. She was right in his line of fire and he wouldn’t risk hurting her.
Cush ran through every battle plan he’d ever put together, weighing each outcome with the probable success. Of course, in those battle plans he had a complete army behind him. About that time he heard Oakley panting as he came up behind him. So, all he had was Oakley. That’s about as helpful as having wet matches when you need to start a fire.
“Why. Are. We stopping?” Oakley asked stopping to pant in between his words.
Cush pointed in the direction of Elora and Tarron. Oakley squinted his eyes and after several seconds he said, “Ahh, okay, now I see them. So again why are we stopping? Why aren’t we kicking ass and taking names?”
“First of all, we already know their names and second we need a plan.”
Oakley scoffed. “I’ve got a plan. We kill the bad guy and rescue the damsel.”
Cush turned his head to look back at the human. “No offense, but your plan is not a very good one.”
“Fine, then you tell me what your plan is, oh mighty elf soldier.”
He turned back to look at his mate and the dark elf. As he continued to watch the moron touch Elora, he formulated something that he wouldn’t necessarily say was a plan, but it was what they had.
“You’re going to walk up and act surprised to see your sister. This will distract Tarron. Then I will make my move. And it’s elf warrior.”
Oakley raised his hand. “Question, what is going to be my reason for just happening to be in a swamp, let alone a swamp where my sister just happens to be? And who cares―warrior, soldier― they both fight in battles.”
“You can tell him that you made Trik tell you what happened to your sister and you took off on your own in hopes of finding her. And it matters because in my time we were called warriors.” Cush shrugged his large shoulders as if it should have been obvious.
Oakley stood staring in the direction that Cush had indicated that his sister and Tarron were resting. After several minutes, he finally turned back to the warrior. “Okay, fine. We’ll do it your way. But if anything goes wrong and the whole thing falls apart, I’m totally blaming your warrior posterior.”
Cush’s brow rose at the remark. “Posterior?”
“It’s all I had,” Oakley admitted.
“I suppose we all have to work with what our Creator gave us,” Cush chuckled as he slapped Oakley on the shoulder. “Now, let’s get closer and then we will split up. You will go right and come around to their front. I will go left and come up behind them.”
“Just make sure Elora and I are out of your line of fire. I don’t feel like getting some elf taser to the face.”
Cush pushed his Chosen’s brother forward. “Then don’t give me a reason to use my power on you.”
They continued forward in silence with Oakley shadowing Cush’s every step. When he was finally able to see his sister and Tarron, Cush heard him mutter under his breath.
“Why is he touching her like that? And why is she letting him? The Elora I know would be going ape shit on him,” Oakley said as he glared daggers at the dark elf.
“She’s under some sort of spell. It’s dark magic and Tarron bargained for it. It will not be easily broken.” Cush knew the kind of magic that could screw with the bond of a Chosen and her mate. And as bad as he hated to admit it, that kind of magic was powerful.
Oakley dropped his arms to his side and shook out his hands. Then he rolled his head from side to side and raised and dropped his shoulders. He looked at Cush and narrowed his eyes. “I’m ready.”
“Perhaps you would like to stretch or do a warm up before battle?”
“Ha, ha,” Oakley retorted dryly. “Let’s just do this.”
Cush pointed in the direction he wanted Oakley to go and then watched as he moved as quietly as he could around to the furthest side of the place Tarron had camped out. Once Oakley was in position to move forward, Cush took off quickly and quietly around to the left. He stopped once he was directly behind the two. He was about fifty feet away and he could still hear Elora’s breathing. His fists clenched together as he fought his natural instinct to charge in and take her. Instead he made a silent motion to Oakley to indicate he was ready for him to make his
move. Now Cush just had to hope that Tarron wouldn’t kill the human on sight.
Oakley saw the hand motion from Cush and took several deep breaths. “It’s go time, Oak,” he muttered to himself. He couldn’t deny that he was scared. What idiot wouldn’t be when going up against a deranged dark elf? But he felt courage rise up inside of him when he thought of his sister. He looked through the trees and moss that kept him from being seen and saw her prone form. She looked so helpless. Elora, who was usually so bold and courageous, was lying in the arms of her enemy as if she wanted to be there.
Oakley wanted to shout at her to get up, but according to the elf warrior, she wouldn’t respond to that because she was under some sort of magic. He would have thought that Elora being half dark elf might have given her some sort of protection against other dark magic, but apparently that’s not how it works in real life. Only in the movies does magic have such laws. In real life it was more unpredictable and complicated.
Oakley’s eyes snapped up when he saw Cush make the motion again, and he realized he’d just been standing there. With one more fortifying deep breath, he took a step forward. His feet carried him of their own accord as he kept his eyes on Tarron and his sister. He’d only gone ten or so feet when the dark elf’s head snapped up and his swirling eyes landed on Oakley. He hissed at him as though he were a cat who’d had its tail stomped on, which only confused Oakley because he didn’t think that hissing was much of a dark elf thing to do. Then again, he was only half dark elf so what the hell did he know? Maybe dark elves went around hissing at anything they perceived as a threat, or maybe it was some weird dark elf greeting. Should he hiss back? He quickly dismissed that idea when Tarron slowly began to rise, gently placing Elora on the ground, until he was in a crouch. That, Oakley understood. A crouch was one of those things that predators did, all predators. There was no mistaking that position. It was pretty much the universal body language for I’m about to eat you for lunch.
His fight or flight instincts were screaming at him. RUN! But he stood fast. He wouldn’t abandon his sister, no matter how many times the weird, crazy dark elf hissed at him.
“Have you come to die then?” Tarron asked, his voice raspy as though he’d been yelling. His head bobbed back and forth and Oakley was sure at any moment a forked tongue was going to flick out at him.
“I heard through the grapevine that you had my sister” ―he motioned to Elora― “and being the caring brother that I am, I decided to come check on her.”
“How did you find us? Who sent you?” Tarron’s eyes narrowed to barely opened slits. Oakley wondered how he could even see him clearly, maybe he couldn’t.
He took a step closer and Tarron lunged forward, gnashing his teeth together. “DO NOT!” he snarled.
Okay, Oakley thought, he can see just fine. “Nobody sent me. Trik actually forbid me to come but I don’t abandon my family. Elora is my sister and I needed to know she was safe. Is she?” he asked. “Is she safe with you?”
Tarron seemed offended by the question and he stepped back as though he’d been slapped. “Of course, she’s safe. She’s mine, my Chosen. I could never hurt her.”
“Uh-hu, we’ll see about that,” Oakley began. “I’m not sure I believe you because I happen to know that a different guy has claimed her as his Chosen, and” ―he held up a finger to stop the dark elf from interrupting― “this guy didn’t put a dark Voodoo spell on her. So you see,” ―he shrugged as his lips pursed― “I’m finding it really hard to mesh what you’re saying with the facts.”
“How do you know what the facts are? You are a mere half elf and the magic in you is weak.”
Oakley chuckled. He didn’t know where his brave act was coming from but he decided to just go with it. “That may be, but I know another fact,” he said and then went silent staring at Tarron. He knew the dark elf would ask, the villains always do.
“What fact?”
And there it is. Oakley smiled to himself. “The fact that you’re about to get your evil ass handed to you, courtesy of your friendly neighborhood light elf warrior.”
Chapter 13
“Humans never cease to amaze me. They are resilient in turmoil, brave when expected to turn tail and run, and humorous at the oddest moments. But then, I supposed there were times that if you couldn’t laugh, the only other option would be to give up. I am not a fan of giving up, especially, where my Chosen is concerned.” ~Cush
For the first time in his long life, Cush wanted to do what he’d seen humans do and smack his palm against his forehead. He didn’t understand where Oakley’s sudden brazenness had come from; he just hoped it didn’t get him blown to bits by Tarron’s magic. Cush was moving before the last word left his unlikely comrade’s mouth. He cleared several fallen trees with barely any effort and moved silently across the bog. He was fifteen feet from Elora when Tarron turned and threw his hand out.
Cush rolled to his right, barely missing the bolt of power the dark elf had shot at him. He landed on the balls of his feet, ready to move again if need be. But Tarron didn’t strike again. He simply stared at Cush.
“I believe you have something of great importance to me in your care,” Cush said formally. “I ask that you return it. On your honor as a warrior, give her back to me.” He didn’t add that it had been several centuries since Tarron had been a warrior. He wasn’t trying to insult him just yet. First, he would attempt to appeal to his ego and pride. If that didn’t work, then he would use brute force.
“She is mine,” Tarron spat at him.
Cush clenched his jaw as he refrained from arguing. It was pointless to argue with a madman and the longer he stood in Tarron’s presence the more he could sense the taint of black magic permeating him. Whatever it was, it was driving the dark elf mad. That was something that would not bode well for Elora. He needed to get her out of Tarron’s hands―the quicker, the better.
“Maybe that is what you believe, but you know that your Chosen perished long ago. There is no way that Elora could be yours. Hear me, Tarron, if there is any good left in you, don’t keep up this farce. She will never really love you. It is only the spell that keeps her from running from you. Is that really the kind of love you want?”
“Do not speak of love to me!” Tarron turned, fully facing Cush so that Oakley was at his back. He obviously didn’t perceive the half elf as a threat. “You do not understand what love is, what it can do to a man. I’d be doing you a favor by keeping her. All she will do is bring you misery and ultimately destroy everything you once were.”
“Maybe,” Cush agreed. “But I think it should be my choice as to whether or not I want to give her the opportunity to destroy me.”
“You are a fool.”
Cush laughed. “Perhaps, but I am her fool. Give her to me. Please.” He felt bile rise up in his throat at the politeness he forced himself to use.
Both of their heads snapped down when they saw movement. Elora slowly pushed herself up until she was no longer lying down. She attempted to tame the dark mane on her head but gave up after a few seconds. After several minutes of silence, a voice came from behind Tarron.
“Hey sis, how’s the view of the swampland from down there in the sludge?” Oakley asked, his voice light and playful as though two elves weren’t about to attempt to kill each other.
“Oakley?” Elora asked as she looked around the dark elf. The sound of her voice sent warmth pouring into Cush, and some of the pain he’d been experiencing began to lessen.
“The one and only,” her brother responded.
“What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same thing. The last time I saw you we were in Las Vegas getting ready to bust up Lorsan’s operations. So tell me, baby sis, how’d you end up in this glamourous marsh with its plethora of plant life and beasts that want to eat us?”
“I, I don’t know. I think, but then I can’t.” She stumbled over her words. Elora began to stand up and, when she faltered, Cush attempted to move to help
her but Tarron shot a warning bolt of magic at him. The red ball of power landed at his feet.
Elora whipped around to see the object of Tarron’s attack. Their eyes met and Cush felt a different sort of bolt shoot through him. He could practically hear her soul calling to him. He needed to get to her to hold her.
Her brow narrowed as she looked at him. “Who are you?”
Knowing that she was under a dark spell didn’t stop the sting of the question. For his own mate to look at him with no recognition in her eyes was a pain he’d never experienced.
“He isn’t anyone of consequence, love.” Tarron’s voice was like a record being scratched as it played, irritating beyond the realm of sanity.
“She didn’t ask you,” Cush said as calmly as he could. He looked back at Elora and his countenance softened immediately. “I am Nedhudir, a warrior of the elfin race.” He figured too much information too quickly might be dangerous to her mind.
“Did your parents hate you? That’s a terrible name.”
Cush’s lips twitched as a smile threatened to stretch across it. Okay, so maybe her mind wasn’t as delicate as he first thought. “You said something similar to that the first time you asked me about my name.”
Her brow wrinkled as she frowned. “The first time?”
“This is not our first encounter, Little Raven. We have met before. And you do not belong with him.” Cush took a step forward but stopped when Tarron moved closer to Elora. “Do you remember anything? Anything at all?” He knew he was grasping at straws, but Cush wasn’t sure what else to do. As long as she stood between him and Tarron, she was in danger. He couldn’t take any action until she was safely out of the line of fire. So he figured he might as well attempt to jog her memory.
She began to climb to her feet. Her legs were shaky and Cush cursed Tarron for being the one to help her up. Seeing his hands on her did nothing to help him keep his control.
“I don’t understand what’s going on,” Elora admitted. “My mind tells me I’m supposed to be with Tarron. It tells me that I belong to him.”