The Tides of Time(Book2 in the Time Travel Series)

Chapter Three: Coastal Combat

Tory gaped at the scene, scrambling for a rational explanation for what she was seeing. Maybe a movie was being filmed? Some sort of reenactment, like some people's did for important battles from the Civil War? Victoria knew there just had to be some kind of plausible explanation as to why a huge battle was raging at her back

But right then she had nothing.

There had to be more than a thousand men on either end, dressed in outlandish outfits-breastplates, white skirt-like bottoms, and high strapy sandals.

Like Roman soldiers, Tory thought as a chill raced down her spine.

The others were on the grungier side-long, braided hair, almost like dreadlocks, blue paint streaked across their faces, their clothes made of leathers, and bright cloth shields and spears in hand. Swords clashed, the sound painful to the ear. The smell of blood and sweat was all around her, the stench stifling.

This isn't for show, Tory thought, as a led ball of dread settled in her stomach. The blood, the moans of pain, the smell of putrid death-it was very, very real.

The gut wrenching cries reached her ears, causing bile to rise up in throat, gagging her.

Tory would have laid there, locked in a dream like daze as she watched the battle unfold. That is if one of the fighters-bronze breast plate, with white skirt and strapy sandals-hadn't noticed her laying there and launched towards her, sword bared with a bone chilling war cry on his lips.

Instinct kicked in, and Tory moved fast. As the sword came down, dangerously close to her head, Tory rolled away. The sword struck sand. The man spat out a word that Tory had never heard before, another language. He whirled to strike out at her again, but Tory was ready. Lashing out, her foot connected with his wrist. The sword fell from his grasp, hitting the ground.

Tory struck again, landing a hit to his abdomen. He stumbled back, winded enough that she had time to climb to her feet. She snatched up the sword, it weighted heavy in her hands. Every part of her was aching and wary, but she knew that if she faltered her chances weren't good. She hefted the sword up, the sharp blade pointed at her attackers neck.

"D-don't move," she warned, her voice scratchy and weak.

The man sneered, hissing in that language again. A word caught her attention-was he speaking Latin? Who spoke Latin?

"I knew I should have taken Latin classes instead of Spanish," she mumbled sourly, the sword in her hands dropping slightly.

The man seized her moment of forgetfulness. With one hand he knocked the sword from her hands, then with the other he shoved her down to the ground. He swung the back of his hand across her face. The blows came one after another; once, twice, thrice. Pain flared, white hot and mind numbing, stars and black spots weaved in and out of her vision. The man lifted the sword, ready to deal the deadly blow.

A cry came from his flank, and the man whirled, just in time to block the battle ax that had come within a hair's breadth of lopping off his head. Tory scooted out of the way, crawling back awkwardly on her back as far as she could from the scrimmage.

Her would-be rescuer had his back to her. Dark, coppery brown reached the sculpted width of his shoulders, the mane woven into dread like braids with wooden beads strung on the strands like a charm bracelet. He wore a weird leather vest thing, and what looked to be hand died skirt like bottoms that showed his powerfully muscled legs to their best advantages.

Tory watched, spellbound by the exchange. As a member of the fencing team, she'd watched, as well as fought, a fair number of sword fights. It was a medley of skill and technique with sheer emotion fueling every thrust and arch of the blade. The Roman lunged forward, sword drawn and ready to rip through armor, flesh and bone.

The other warrior was faster.

He leaped out of the way, the sword catching only air. He swung out, his own sword hitting the other man's shoulder. Tory winced, covering her eyes as a gruntled sound of pain escaped from the his lips. Obscuring her sight did little to block out the sound of the Roman's last cry as the other warrior delivered the killing blow.

Tory wasn't sure what made her do it. She knew what she would see if she pulled her hands from her eyes, but she did it anyway. She didn't gasp, didn't cry; not even a whimper made it past her lips as she stared in horror at the mangled body that lay at her feet.

Blood, death, pain.

As a single tear slid down her face, Tory realized exactly where she was.

A nightmare.

She wasn't aware of the shaking in her limbs until one huge hand came down, engulfing both of her's. She gazed up, her body seizing as she gazed up into a familiar face.

Her rescuer was Mr. Perfect from the ship.

He looked back at her in equal shock as his hazel eyes roved across her face. He looked different-rougher, ragged and primal.

Freaking hot,Victoria thought.

With a trembling hand, he nudged a lock of ink black hair out of her eyes. Tory recognized the spark of recognition that lit up his hypnotic eyes, mingled with the same disbelief that Victoria was feeling at that moment.

"Coira." he whispered, as he cradled her face in his hands and brought his mouth down on her's in a breathtaking kiss.

____________________________________Author's Note________________________________

Hello! First off I dedicate this chapter to all Captain Swan shippers cuz WE GET OUR KISS THIS WEEK.

Hehe :3 You all must want my head on steak. So my mini vacation helped me figure out what I wanted to happen in this story. So the ending is pretty much set in stone and as you all know from Hannah-that's a good thing.

I am so very excited about this story. I think watching Harper's Island again helped a bit. Show's twisted and creepy but I do love it. I want to start a weekly book recommendation. I will post a message to all of you with the title, author, and a small description of the book as well if its apart of a series. I know good books guys, trust me.

So Vote COMMENT and Fan.

Lol Amber :)