Fovever Bound - The Promise Trilogy, Book 3 (WILL BE REWRITTEN)

Chapter 4 - Recreation

The grass field was lush and quiet. My bow lay across my lap, strung and ready for use. More archers surrounded me; my friend, Blompfum, crouches beside me.

My view from the bank takes in the approximate area - perfect for shooting. I spy shadows in the forest outlining the grounds. Our forces are in position – spearmen, pikemen, swordsmen, gunmen and more, right and left. Hidden in the bushes beside the archers post, vampire hunters wait. I had argued with Dominique about it, saying it wasn’t her fight; but she had backfired me with a stern: “It is when people I love are in it”. It would’ve been fruitless to continue as my ex-mentor never budged when her mind was made.

Rasoons looked each other in the eyes and nodded – me included – as we indicate our good lucks and goodbyes; not knowing whether we’d make it out alive.

The rhythmic patter of feet reaches our ears before we see the enemy. Malted green cloths encircle their feet, reducing noise. They were dressed in black with leather wrapped hilts prodding from hips and shoulders. There were around a thousand in their numbers, seriously out-numbering us 5/2. A mind contacts mine and every other archer’s.

“It’s time.” The connection severs  

After receiving the signal, archers knock arrows, raise bows, aim and shoot; repeating this again and again until our quivers are empty. Adversary lines deplete as we hit home. Another volley erupts before the foot soldiers disperse. Battle cries ring my ears as forces collide. I shoot carefully, not wanting to hit my own. Sensing something behind me, I spin only to find a hunter standing over a corpse.

“Thanks.” I mouth in gratitude. My saviour nods and fades into the shrubs. Checking my arrows, I note the remaining three. Choosing carefully, I empty my quiver, jump from position – knocking foes right and left with the wooden curve of my bow and strangling with the bow string. I pay no heed to how I dispose as long as I kill my enemy and secure a win.

SNAP! A blade slices through my weapon. I look at the pieces before switching to my attacker. Blonde hair flutters across a hardened face. A scare runs along an eyebrow and through the left eye. Gregory.     

“You broke my bow!” I growl before drawing one of my swords and dismembering his head from his muscular torso. Grim satisfaction presents itself as I destroy foe after foe; blood and battle lust coursing through my veins.

I was on the verge of losing control and going berserk, when I spotted my brother fighting one-on-one with Bonjovi; hatred ignited in their eyes. I loose sight of them as I’m intervened by another Sealth, catching brief glances as my opponent is revived by another.

“Ahhhhh!” A scream wrenches my heart. I cut down my opposite and see my nightmare – Jason, with a sword through his chest. Sorrow threatens to override my sanity. I run to him, catching my brother before he hits the ground. Tears free themselves from my eyes.

Sword, He mouths. I tear it out. I grab my witches blade—from my human life—, slice my wrist and hold it to his mouth; hoping to save him. He pushes it away. The acceptance radiating from him astonishes me.

It’s too late. I hear in my mind. Jason's voice through the mind link is weak and fading.

“You can’t leave me.” I choke past the lump in my throat. “You can’t”

I’m sorry. Jason closes his eyes as their turquoise-hazel appearance returns. He breathes for the first time in decades, before ceasing it.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOO!” My scream echoes around the field. I finally let go of sanity and embrace the wild side of grief, arrogance, pain and hatred; coating my eyes scarlet. Gripping the hilts of my knife and sword, I charge at my brother’s killer – awaiting and ready.   

The clash of steel on steel draws a circle of warriors around us as vampires and witches alike stop to watch our interaction. We deal little damage as we’re equally matched. We exchange words as we avert to circling.

“What does it feel like to be truly alone now, brat?” My opponent teases.

“Nothing that’s not familiar.”

“What does it feel like to watch someone you love die?”“Felt it all before.” He’s trying to make my do something rash.

“What does it feel like when they die in your arms?” I stay silent, knowing answering will provoke me to do his wishes. “What about when they break their promises? What about when they refuse your help? What about… when they betray you?” He looks at me and notices I’m holding onto to control slimly.

“What does it feel like when your brother refuses to live and leaves you alone without a goodbye or his … love?” I hiss at him as my last sliver of sanity starts to slide out of my grip.

“Don’t listen to him Amy!” Someone calls from the crowd. “He did say goodbye. He did give you his remaining love. He didn’t leave you ALONE!”

I ignore whoever it is and attack the one in front of me. He sidesteps me, jutting out his heel, and trips me next to my brother. I grasp his lifeless hand, waiting for the inevitable. The blade slices my arteries. A gurgle followed by a body falling to the ground accompanies my gasp. I turn my head a little to spot Maveric drop his weapon on Bonjovi’s corpse and rush to my side. He rolls me over.

“He’ll have to remember the leadership is shared by three, not two, if he wants to win.” Jason’s friend laughs. It’s soon cut off as he notices my eyes turn form scarlet to black, to sapphire-blue as I follow my brother into the void. Maveric reopens a wound in his chest and drags me close. I struggle against him.

“Amethyst don’t. Your brother wouldn’t want you to give up.”

“There’s nothing left to do.” I whisper.

“Yes there is. You have a whole life ahead of you.”

“I’ll live it in misery."  He sighs at my stubbornness.

“Listen to me.  He did say goodbye. He did give you his love. He didn’t leave you alone. He lives in your heart. The supernatural needs a leader. They need you… I need you.” Maveric hesitates, then leans over and kisses me long and sweetly. He tastes of honey and smells of roses. ‘Awe’s’ escapes mouths.

“Oh my god!” I hear Dominique mutter. I’m glad she’s alive.

My lover retracts his mouth as I breathe shakily after two years.

“I love you.” Tears run down his cheeks as he whispers those three heart-warming words. I stroke his face, snuggle and die in his arms.