Fearless Warrior: Isaacson Trilogy Book Two

17

It spun toward Esmund in strange, disjointed movements and began chanting foreign words in a dark, malevolent voice that infused the air and blocked all other sounds. It was as though the voice itself was a living, breathing thing, not merely belonging to the glowing person.

The words grew louder and more insistent until they echoed within Esmund's blood and reverberated through his bones. Excruciating pain, unlike any he'd ever experienced, pierced every nerve within his body.

The figure reached out a hand toward Esmund and clenched its fist. Suddenly, a sharp pain seized Esmund's chest, and he feared his heart would burst from the intolerable pressure.

He lay in the snow, crippled and writhing in agony, welcoming death if it would bring an end to the torture, but in a rush of wind and a flash of light, the voice and person vanished.

Discordant sounds of violence assaulted Esmund in a deluge of noise, made even more shocking when he realized the pain was gone. No remnant remained to prove it had even existed. Where had the devil run off to—or, more accurately, where had the scoundrel poofed to?

Unable to find an obvious answer, Esmund turned to the source of the violence and welcomed the overwhelming desire to unleash his rage. Four men—make that three—fought against Nora twenty feet to his right.

She'd berserked and was holding her own against men ill-equipped to deal with a Berserker. Blood sprayed onto her neck and shirt as the next man she killed dropped to the crimson-stained snow at her feet.

In a matter of seconds, Esmund took in all immediate threats and determined Nora had everything under control. Piper was relatively safe, lying unconscious, tied, and draped over the back of a horse. Her right shoulder bled profusely and would require tending, but Elsie needed him far more at the moment.

Two burly men dragged her as she fought against them. She clawed and kicked one of her assailants and gained a heavy-handed strike to the face for her efforts. The blow knocked her out, and she slumped within their grasp, allowing them to haul her with much more ease toward a waiting horse. Esmund roared his fury and raced toward his mate, relishing the destruction he would unleash upon the foolish imbeciles.

He was on them in the next heartbeat and snapped the neck of the man daring to harm her. The second man squealed in terror, throwing Elsie to the ground seconds before Esmund picked him up and slammed him against his knee, breaking his back in two.

Esmund quickly discarded and ignored the broken man and knelt at Elsie's side, wanting to tear the men apart all over again when he saw her bruised and bloodied cheek. With the tender care he would have shown a newborn baby, he cradled her against his chest and stood with her in his arms. Her eyelids fluttered against her cheeks, but she didn't wake.

Esmund turned in time to see Nora pick up her last opponent by the scruff of his neck and throw him over her shoulder. His strangled scream echoed down the canyon as his body sailed through the air until it collided with Barnaby, who reared and trampled the man to death.

The Berserker rage released its hold upon Esmund just as Elsie opened her eyes and smiled at him. "It's so nice not to die in your presence for a change."

He smiled in return but had to clear his throat to speak past the emotion. His voice sounded raspy when he teased, "Let's hope I can keep up the good work."

The smile left her eyes, replaced by a deep emotion he was afraid to name and powerless to deny. She reached up a steady hand, wiped his hair off his forehead, and trailed her fingers down the side of his face until it rested on his left cheek.

As soon as they touched, visions of them laughing, kissing, and staring at each other with desire-filled gazes flickered before his eyes—there and then gone like the flash of light when striking a match. Did she wield some magic to cause this, or was she just as helpless against the visions as he was?