Dark Love

B2:P22

A hand reached out to clasp about hers wrenching her forwards. She fell against a heaving chest of pure muscles. Nick was clearly agitated and his fingers digging into her flesh told her as much.

"Nick," she breathed out his name in a quiet plea.

"No!" A plea he denied with a vehemence that shook her to her core. The rattling of her teeth told her that his denials were not merely platitudes. He was clearly trying and trying hard to shake some sense into her. But she would not be reasoned with. Not over this. Sorrow, fear and anger all raged within her.

Saera stared up at him, torn in trying to contain the tremble to her bottom lip and raging internally that they would just toss his life away like that. As if Nick's very existence was meaningless. She stood there looking up at him. His Elvan heritage on full display. She couldn't believe as she'd been so blind to it all these years. And she certainly couldn't believe how she'd kept her hands off him for so long. He was just so beautiful. And while the glamour he'd worn had made him look more human, it hadn't done anything to play down his naturally perfect features. She ran her eyes over them appreciatively now. Not knowing when she would next have the chance.

"Captain Jack Clemont will be there to greet you. You will follow his directions. Let them through." They were waved on without delay. Startled and mostly in shock, they fell into line and ambled out like sheep's off to the slaughter.

"That was plain stupid." Nick gritted out, falling into step beside her.

"Thanks." Saera muttered sarcastically, turning to the only shield she had against him. That it truly was wasn't the point. Stupid is as stupid does. And she had certainly gone the extra mile on that counts. But that didn't mean she willing to play doormat and him rub it in. But she should have known better than to wield his own on him. Nick wore sarcasm like an armour. She knew he could lash out with words every bit as painfully as he could with his fists. And he didn't disappoint.

"I was looking forward to a good fuck tonight," went on Nick, dryly. Aiming for a low blow to make his point.

"Oh, yeah?" Saera returned, trying and failing to use a dose of sarcasm to turn off his own. But there really was no fighting fire with fire.

"Yeah." Agreed Nick, purposefully ignoring her growing ire in favour of rubbing his point in. "Can't fuck a corpse."

Saera coughed. "That could work both ways you know. I mean what if you were the one who turned out to be the corpse?" She returned reasonably. "What if you died instead?" She prodded, turning the question back on him and lifting a brow in query.

Nick abruptly stopped his languid pacing after the small group of half-breeds and turned to close in on her. "Then you don't get fucked."

The tremble to her lips grew and water treathened to splash down her heated cheeks. "I'd get fucked either way." If push comes to shove, the only one of them going down in this fight will be her. She was not about to let him up and die on her. Not just because he was some half-breed Elvan.

Fuck that!

A tall lean mage met them along the corridor and led them straight towards the weapons room.

"Arm yourselves," he announced. The Elves scattered, heading for knives swords and arrows and fitting as many of each as they could find. Saera followed after Nick and calmly accepted whatever he saw fit to thrust her way and efficiently strapped them all in. She had knives a plenty and a trusty sword too. A light weight sword clearly made in mind for smaller framed women. That fit her bill to a T.

Once ready, they were marched on out without further preliminaries. Heading towards the front of the school, the sounds of the battle out front scared the shits out of her and despite her intentions to face it all bravely, Saera found her hand slipping into Nick's and holding on for dear life. It was literally a scene from hell.

Deamons of every kind prowled along the boundary, held at bay by sheer determination as the frontline waited for reinforcements. Them.

As if they could tip the balance in this hellish mayhem. The grounds beyond the barrier littered with the dead. Both of deamons and mages alike. Warrior mages had strong offensive and they trained hard in that field. Saera's best skill was in potion brewing. It was what witches do. Holding up shields was not it.

The Captain stepped forward and began to give them the rundown of does. There were no don'ts. Not even the usual don't-die-on-my-watch or some shit like that. The instructions were rudimentary at best. Step past the barrier and take down as many possible. There was no mention on what comes after that.

A cold chill settled down her spine freezing her breath and her very heart beat with fear. She was no warrior. That one deamon she took down was a fluke. Adrenaline at it best. She felt none of that now. Nothing but cold riding gear.

"Go on! Get out there!"

They were shoved forwards. Nick's hold on her hand tightened and they gripped each other hard as they slowly made their way up. Their brains too rattled to plan anything up front. Then it was too late to even try. The barrier flickered off and a moment later, flickered back on behind them.

Saera gulped back the sudden urge to simply scream as terror over their sudden vulnerability sent a shock of fear coursing through her veins. There was a sudden hush to all sounds as the blood gushing through her veins thundered in her ears.

And when it cleared it was to realise there really had been no sounds at all.  The deamons had fallen silent and staring. And with it, the clanged of weapons and power desisted. Saera turned about in bewilderment then to find every eye out there trained on her. She gulped down another panicked scream. Her brain freezing in shocked understanding. It was a sense of recognition. Deamon to deamon. They essentially functioned as a collective. She was one of them but her intentions ran discordant to their own.

The lapse was momentary, but enough to get the team a head start on slewing down the beasties. And then all hell broke loose and Saera found herself right in the thick of things.