Alora: The Maladorn Scroll (Alora 3)

Gastaene rasped. “Move over there. Away from Faestus. Were you trying to break his chain?”

When Kaevin moves, I’ll be exposed. Can I transport the guards to disarm them? Or are they belted in iron?

Gastaene let out a gruff shout, and Alora flinched, biting her tongue. The pain and the metallic taste of blood helped her focus her attention on

the confrontation and ignore her emotions.

With a step to the side, Kaevin turned his body. A sword sliced past him, and red bloomed on his t-shirt. As Kaevin slashed down with his knife, Alora fixated on Gastaene’s black-bearded face and attempted to transport him across the room. But the enraged man continued to battle Kaevin, unfazed by her efforts. Kaevin’s knife connected, cutting a deep gash in Gastaene’s arm as he spun away. With a grunt of pain, the guard transferred the sword to his other hand, swirling to face Kaevin, his massive back blocking her view of her soulmate.

A shriek of rage drew Alora’s attention as the huge female guard grabbed the blue-corded hilt of a knife that had appeared in her chest near her shoulder. Without even wincing, the Amazon-like woman withdrew the blade, her hand blurring as she hurled the bloody knife at Jireo. Missing by millimeters when he bobbed to the side, the blade flew past him, slamming into the wall and bouncing to the floor.

Sporting a sleeveless garment that exposed her sinewy, well-muscled arms, the guard woman stalked closer. Jireo danced from foot to foot while she loomed toward him, rivulets of blood dripping from a large gash on his arm. Up against the wall, he had no room to maneuver, and her sword had a longer reach than his knife. His eyes connected with Alora’s, and he lifted his chin, giving her permission to act. She blessed the time they’d spent practicing this maneuver.

In a flash, Jireo was standing in front of Alora. Turning on his heel, he rushed behind the guard while she was still staring at the empty wall in confusion.

But Kaevin’s yelp of pain distracted her from Jireo’s battle. The hackles rose on the back of her neck when Gastaene’s coarse laugh rang out, gleeful at carving her soulmate with his sword.

Blood oozed between Kaevin’s fingers as he clutched his side. As the guard made a leering advance, Kaevin stumbled back toward Alora. Shrinking. Arms wrapped protectively around his body. Chin down. Knees wobbling.

Alora felt Kaevin’s intense pain, but if he was afraid, he hid it well.

With his lips stretched wide in a snaggletoothed grin, Gastaene hefted his sword above his head, ready for the killing blow. “Nowhere to run,” he snarled.

In desperation, Alora prepared to transport Kaevin out of the way—somewhere—anywhere away from the murderous guard. But something tackled her from the side, knocking her over against the sleeping platform, her shoulder twisting as Faestus’ grasp remained firm on her wrist.

Jireo! Why did you do that?

She craned her neck, mesmerized by the guard’s sword, which gleamed as he held it in the sunlight. The flashing blade began its decent. Alora screamed. Kaevin spun, his foot connecting with guard’s knee. A crack sounded. The guard shrieked, tumbling to the floor. Following him down, Kaevin’s knife slid across the guard’s throat. Thrashing and gurgling, Gastaene’s life left his body, a scene that didn’t sit well with Alora’s stomach.

Turning her head, she threw up on the floor. Whether from fear or horror, she didn’t know, but she was glad she hadn’t already eaten Uncle Charles’ cinnamon rolls.

“Ughh!” Jireo scrambled away from her, leaving his bloody imprint on her shirt.

Kaevin wiped his knife on his jeans and sheathed it before offering Alora a hand to help her stand. Wiping her mouth on her sleeve, mortified at her weak stomach, she refused to look him in the eye. But strong hands slid around her waist, lifting her to her feet and into his strong embrace, his blood soaking into her new pink sweater. She stayed there, safe in the circle of his arms until her body stopped trembling. Still, the nausea remained. In fact, it grew even stronger. I’ve got to get a handle on my emotions. They’re crippling me.

“We must escape now,” said Jireo. “The other guard left to call Vindrake.”

“Maybe you should take Markaeus and run,” Alora panted, lifting her wrist and flexing her fingers, trying to get blood to flow past Faestus’ painful grip.

“I can’t,” Jireo declared, laying a meaningful hand on Kaevin’s shoulder. “You know I can’t leave.”

“I don’t believe the grip will release as long as I live,” Faestus stated, his voice dripping with significance.

Kaevin nodded, pressing his lips together until they blanched. Tilting his head toward Markaeus as he climbed out from under the table, Kaevin whispered, “We can’t do it, Faestus. Markaeus would never forgive us.”

“I serve my Lord and Master Vindrake.” Faestus mumbled the bloodbond mantra with a trembling chin. Looking up through damp lashes, he added, “I love my grandson more than my life.”

“Wait,” said Jireo, holding up one finger in a pause sign. He tapped it on his forehead and smiled. Climbing onto the sleeping platform, he knelt behind Faestus. His arm snaked around the old man’s neck and squeezed. Faestus’ eyes bulged and his face turned red.

“No!” Markaeus screamed. “Stop! No!”

Kaevin grabbed the boy, who fought to escape him, kicking and screaming.

“Calm down, Markaeus. We must escape. There’s no other way.”

As Faestus’ eyes blinked closed, his grip fell from Alora’s wrist, stinging blood rushing into her fingers. Again, she turned her head to vomit, but this time she only had dry heaves.

“Hello, Alora.”