Davina (Davy Harwood #3)

She regrouped and came at him again.

He ducked one more time. As her hand jabbed at him, he bent backwards so he was almost horizontal to the ground. Saren flew up in the air again and kicked out with her leg. This time, as he started to come back up, she clipped him in the head, but he was unfazed. He reached up and caught her ankle, twisting her body in the air again.

Saren gasped from the surprising speed of his reaction, but countered once again. She dipped backwards, jerking her foot out of his hand and she followed through, doing a backwards roundhouse. As she righted so she was standing on her feet, her second foot swiped out at Roane. He caught that one, too, but instead of trying to throw her, he shoved her away from him.

She landed on her feet, her knees buckled, her arms out in a ready stance. “You killed me.”

“I snapped your neck. There’s a difference.”

The flame in her eyes sparked up. “Oh? Please unveil the difference to me.”

“You’re Immortal. Snapping your neck did nothing to you.” He smirked at her. “But it did me a world of difference. Thank you. I had a whole day away from you.”

The flame lit up, overtaking her entire eyes, and it burned the air. “And if you were attacked while I was gone?”

Roane drew back, startled. His eyes narrowed. “I would’ve slaughtered them like anyone else. You think you’re that needed? Trust me. We did fine without you, and we’ll do so again.”

“You have no idea—” she started.

He cut her off, shaking his head. “Don’t. You’re here as a tag along. That’s it. You need the army to rescue Davy. We don’t need you. Let’s get that straight.”

She stared at him, and as she did, the flames doubled in size. But then, they stopped. They drew back and simmered so only a light smattering of smoke showed. She said, almost saddened now, “You’re wrong, Vampire. I am more needed than you realize.”

Grass was stepped on in the distance, and both went silent, looking toward where the sound came from. A second piece of grass was crushed, then a third. Both remained silent, now on high alert as predators, as they waited for the newcomer. Whoever it was, kept coming. They seemed unheeded by the sudden lull in voices. As one unit, without looking at the other, each drew to opposite sides of where the new arrival would appear. Both moved silent, as if touching air when they moved, and drew their weapons. Saren held a sword across her chest, her head dipped low, and her eyes downcast. Roane pulled out a knife, but kept it tucked against his arm. He waited with his arms down at his side.

The person continued toward them.

Roane lifted his head, filling his nose with as many smells as he could get. It was a werewolf, but he couldn’t identify what family. If it were a Christane wolf, he’d only maim him. No wolf should be on his path, unless sent there because Christian didn’t trust him. If it were an enemy line, he’d do the same. The wolf would be brought back to camp for interrogation, but when the person stepped forward, now between them, Roane held back. It was Christian himself. But Saren didn’t hold back. She launched forward. Christian twisted and caught her. He fell back from her momentum, but tossed her over his head.

“Wolf,” she snarled, her nostrils flaring, as she hurled toward a tree, caught it, and flung herself right back at him.

Christian wasn’t ready for the quick counter-attack. She kicked him right in the chest, and he went down once again. This time, instead of being bucked off, she remained on his chest. Her feet were planted there and she knelt down, her sword immediately placed in position. The sharp edge of it pressed up against his carotid artery, and she knelt down, a warning hiss from her, “Move, Wolf. I dare you.”

Christian started to retort, but the words caught and held in his throat. He looked to Roane instead and sighed. “This is my greeting by both of you?”

Roane had tucked his knife away during their scuffle, and he held his hands up now. A slight grin was on his face. “We needed to know the hierarchy. Now we know.”

“Hierarchy?” Christian echoed, a scowl forming.

“I am above you.” Saren pressed her sword against his throat before jumping off him. She sprung backwards in the air, looking as if invisible strings suddenly yanked her from him. She lowered herself to the ground a few feet away, sheathing her sword back in place, strung across her back. She gestured from herself to Roane. “And the vampire and I are equal . . . for now.”

Christian got up to his feet, dusting off his pants. “I held back, whatever you are. Get that right.”

“Right.” She smirked, folding her arms over her chest. “Let us get on with it. Our group approaches, and we’re supposed to be scouting ahead.” She sent that last statement to Roane, a flare of disapproval in her tone.