His maneuver gave Chance the moment he had been looking for.
However, just as Chance started to make his move, the Fallen Druid thing went down low as though to claw the stone floor and charge.
Royce remembered she had the wand safely in her grip. The moment had come for her to do what needed to be done.
She moved to get into position; it drew an agonized wail from her, but she sneered at herself and gritted her teeth as she pointed the wand and whispered the needed words in ancient Danu, “Oighrionn tu, reonn tu.”
She repeated them for good measure, “Oighrionn tu, reonn tu,” which essentially ordered the beast to freeze.
She hadn’t used the spell since she was a youngster and still being schooled in the arts of Light Magic. She was, through her pain, sweetly surprised to see that it worked. The Fallen Druid stood rigid and frozen in place.
“Arrgh,” Royce groaned in agony, almost wishing she could just pass out. How did humans survive such pain? She did in fact feel herself start to slip into semi-consciousness as the excruciating pain ravaged her.
“Nooo …” she said out loud. She needed to watch and make certain Chance and Trevor were safe.
She opened her eyes and witnessed Chance taking a stance, aiming his Death Sword, and forcefully flinging it through the air to hit its mark—sure and sound.
The weapon landed precisely where it was aimed: in the monster’s throat. A foam of blood and goo poured out and around the sword. She saw the Fallen Druid collapse and smiled as the beast keeled over.
Then, she did what she had never done before—she fainted.
~ Nine ~
A PERSISTENT STROKING, COUPLED with the sound of her name, brought Royce to consciousness, and she felt her lashes flutter.
She found the experience extremely annoying. All she wanted was oblivion—where she would feel nothing …
“Stop,” she thought she said loudly but heard as a whisper. It wouldn’t stop. “Go away,” she added hopefully.
Instead, she felt her head cradled and heard a victory whoop. She grimaced to herself and opened her eyes wide to see who it was who wouldn’t stop pushing and prodding her.
“Why won’t you stop?” she asked before she could focus on her tormentor.
Chancemont Le Blanc grinned broadly, but his voice was a caress. “There ye go, lass, ye’ll do, aye then, wee warrior, ye’ll do.”
A soft smile worked its way onto her face. She was still in pain, but he was with her, holding her, and she just smiled.
He said, “Can ye lift yer head, precious lass? Can ye see what’s happening right now? Ye so need to see this …”
Poison raged in her bloodstream from the claws of the Fallen Druid. She felt as though it scurried with tiny feet though her, leaving pinpricks in her veins. She was desperately afraid to move and suffer the torturous pain that would turn sharp with any activity.
She was sick to her stomach, and her head was (she was certain) being squeezed by an invisible vise. And if that weren’t enough, a horrible clanging rang in her ears. And what did he want? He wanted her to look around.
They were always wanting something, weren’t they—these males of all species!
Her left hand was sticky with her own blood; her right hand still clutched both the wand and the Peckering.
However, through a haze of color flooding her vision, she lifted her blood-soaked hand to her head and groaned as she tried to do what he asked and look around. “Agh,” she groaned.
Pain shot through her sharply, and through it all she saw Chance wince before he stroked her cheek and whispered, “There, there, sweet beauty—it won’t be long now, and you’ll do …”
“I’ll do?” she said with disbelief, but her voice sounded hoarse and her mouth felt gummy.
All she wanted to do was pass out again, but she did look around because he repeated, “Look, m’own sweet lass—look!”
Since when did she become his? For no logical reason she smiled. He called her his own sweet lass. He had accepted her as part of his team.
So, look she did and discovered that the Prison Realm was dissolving all around them.