Vassal Sterling D'Este (top 10 books of all time .TXT) 📖

Her eyes narrowed in on her target. And she flung herself at Tristan with all the fury of a mountain cat.

Enyo spun so quickly she was no more than a blur.

She collided with Delyth, who surely would have decapitated Tristan had Enyo’s body not slammed the warrior, rocketing her off course. The Goddess laughed low and soft as Delyth regained her footing. “Who do you think taught your priests how to fight?”

The temple behind her quivered. The mountain shook. Enyo would bring the entire peak down in her fury.

She darted forward, hand coming to grip Delyth’s throat. One moment she was standing before the priestess, the next, she was strangling her, lifting the larger woman off her feet by her neck.

When Delyth swung Calamity in defense, Enyo’s empty hand shot out to capture Delyth’s wrist, twisting cruelly to force the warrior to drop the blade. “You pathetic, treacherous, fickle, beautiful creature. I admire your fire, if not your stupidity.” Enyo’s grip tightened on Delyth’s throat, her eyes steady as she watched the warrior struggle to breathe.

Then, the hand clamped around Delyth’s throat suddenly released her. A tiny gasp escaped Enyo, and hesitation flickered momentarily across her face.

Delyth gasped for air, barely standing, her eyes watering from pain.

Why had Enyo stopped? To toy with her? To draw out Delyth’s death?

The beast grit her teeth, raised her head to spit in the face of the Goddess, to prove that she would not be cowed.

But she found amber eyes instead, a delicate flash of color above sharpened teeth. And then Alphonse lunged to take the priestess’s face in both her hands. Her thumb smoothed a tender line against Delyth’s cheek. She yanked Delyth’s mouth up to her own. Passionate. Gentle. The warrior’s lungs still ached for air; only it didn’t matter. Nothing did.

Alphonse remained. Even now, she fought.

“Ad—” Delyth tried to murmur, but her voice would not form words. It was too broken.

Brave little bird.

She wrapped her arms around the healer and kissed her until her body throbbed for want of air. Tears spilled from her eyes once more.

The hope hurt almost more than the loss did.

But Delyth clung to it anyway.

❀

Alphonse ran her fingers greedily across Delyth’s skin, soaking up every touch, every sensation. She could feel Enyo growling and thrashing beneath her heart. She didn’t have long.

Only long enough to save the most precious people in the world.

“Delyth,” she murmured, careful to keep her voice low. Let the others think Enyo was still toying with the priestess. Let them believe she murmured terrible, wretched things to her lover. Let them think she was breaking the warrior’s unrelenting spirit.

So brave. So strong.

Her protector.

“It’s my turn to protect you, Del. Please. I love you. Take your things, take Etienne, and go. I can’t stay for long.” She winced in pain, her mind reeling as Enyo sliced claws of bone through her thoughts.

“Go.”

༄

Delyth hesitated for a moment. She knew that Alphonse was right, that Etienne was the only person who still knew anything of binding Enyo, that she had to go if she ever wished to free the healer.

And yet, she wanted to say more.

She wanted to tell Alphonse to be safe, to curl up and hide deep and protect the healer herself from whatever atrocities Enyo wrought. She wanted to stay and protect her herself.

Only, they were out of time. And Delyth could not speak.

Painstakingly, she opened her lips to form last words, breathy and slow. They were barely audible. Barely words at all.

“I love you.”

And then she turned, reaching Etienne in a series of short bounds and lifting him from his defeated slump. Her wings spread, raising them from the ground, clumsy and awkward but flying still. She managed to get their bags, their lifeline in the cold, unpredictable mountains, and then dove down the side and towards the plains far below.

Minutes passed before there was a massive blast from the peak, the sound of shattering wood and stone raining down on bare earth. Thlonandras had finally fallen.

⥣          ⥣           ⥣

Enyo’s Thlonandras was now nothing but rubble. Rubble and the basin.

Tristan watched the escape of the halfbreed and the coward with little interest. So, what?

They were nothing.

He did not immediately interrupt Enyo’s rage. It was awesome and terrifying to behold; she uprooted trees with mere blows, made the mountains tremble. Still, he needed this body. Let her take it out on their surroundings rather than him.

When the time came that she no longer seemed as likely to kill him as anything else, he approached her, easy smile in place.

“This is a strange way to celebrate, even for you, Enyo.” He let his eyes wander the length of her rage-shaped form. “We’ve won, remember? Your basin is in hand, along with your power.”

She was quickly devolving to sulking.

“I was looking forward to drinking the mage’s blood and fucking the priestess.” Of course she did. She’d been getting the two of them to give her blood—and therefore, power—the entire trip. The idiot mortals just hadn’t realized that their desperate acts to save Alphonse had been feeding the Goddess all along.

“There’ll be others.”

As quickly as she had sunk into pouting, the Goddess’s gaze became assessing and then lecherous. She smiled, rounding on him—a cat remembering the mouse. “I’ve been thinking about your reward, Crael…” she murmured, inching closer, hands coming to entwine in his tunic.

Now, this was much closer to what Tristan had been looking forward to. He gripped her body, pulled her roughly to him. There was no fear in him now, just a desire for her wildness, for her ferocity.

“And what would that be, Enyo?”

“I think you should meet a friend of mine. I’m certain you two would get along swimmingly. He’s a very good friend to have, for rogues like you.” She crooned, tracing her fingers through his blonde hair amorously. Almost tenderly.

Her eyes took on a glassy look, remembering her past—remembering who she had been left behind.

Tristan cocked an eyebrow and leaned