Radre turned his head toward Hottie. What was his name again? Wicked? Yeah, it had to be his name after what they’d done in the hotel room. And he’d dressed in black leather, with lots of buckles and rivets and shit. Oh, Piers so wanted Wicked in the bedroom in those clothes. He’d happily unwrap a leather-covered present.
Or lose patience and peel him out of his confinement with a box cutter.
“Do you want to see your brother killed?” Radre asked.
Wicked shrugged, his knowing smirk making Piers want to crawl onto the floor and beg for every erotically sinful thing the man had to offer. “Why wouldn’t I? I’m next in line to the throne.”
That wasn’t right. Wicked didn’t want to be king, did he? Too much responsibility. “That’s my mom,” Piers said, holding a finger to his lips, “but shh… don’t tell anyone.” He giggled.
“Dude, you are batshit.” Jess took out another mage, hair whipping around like a colorful thunderstorm. Yeah, those thick robe thingies were probably hell to fight in. Especially when faced with a woman who’d learned to kick ass and take names at a young age. “Chynne! A little help, please!” she cried.
The dragon flicked out its tongue, yanking a mage through the window. The mage’s screams slowly faded. The dragon disappeared. A snake twisted its way across the floor.
“Watch out, Jess!” Piers tried to shout. Snakes scared the hell out of her. Though the way she handled the sconce, Piers put his money on a gooey spot of snake pulp on the floor.
Radre and the old man fought while Wicked hacked his sword through the mages toward Piers. Someone should help the old guy out. No spells. They couldn’t use spells. Could Piers? Did he even know any?
Always before, when he truly wanted something, he just had to wish hard. He eyed the light thingy hanging from the ceiling. Wow. A wagon-wheel-looking thingy full of half-burned candles. If it fell on top of Radre…
The thing dropped.
Right on top of the old man. Oops!
Radre grinned, closing in on Wicked. A blue-robed figure screamed and flailed by, yanking at the snake sunk fangs-deep into her neck.
Wicked held his sword at the ready. A blueish glow sheened the surface. Radre conjured a blade of flame. Flame, blue? Lightsabers? Fire and water? Oh, shit. This couldn’t be good. Piers’ eyelids grew heavy. He blinked, willing his eyes to stay open. The mage flung the snake against the wall, hard. The creature crumpled to the floor. Poor snake.
The dragon should come back. Pretty dragon.
Saris let out a very unregal whoop, clinging to the back of a mage. The man charged backward, slamming her into a wall. She fell and lay unmoving on the stone floor. The remaining mages closed ranks around Radre, bearing down on Wicked. Jess brought a mage to his knees with a swift kick to the balls. She helped Saris up. Back-to-back, they brandished makeshift weapons. They’d do better with swords. Why couldn’t they have swords? Piers wanted them to have swords.
Jess yipped as the sconce elongated into a blade. Saris merely stared at her newly-acquired weapon. Both women grinned as one, charging toward the mages.
Radre raised a hand. Jess and Saris slammed into an invisible wall. The asshole said no magic!
Saris crumpled to the floor. Jess sprawled a few feet away, sword clutched in her hand.
Jess. Oh, God, Jess! Blood oozed from her hair down her face.
Chynne. Was the snake Chynne? Piers’ heart pounded. They couldn’t be dead. They couldn’t!
Wicked slashed with his sword, arm covered in blood. He screamed, yanking his hand back from Radre’s flaming blade. Radre backed him into a corner. No! Wicked couldn’t die!
Piers’ heart gave a frantic kick. Motherfuck, that hurt! He tried to grab his chest but couldn’t move.
Was his heart trying to escape?
In slow-motion, he watched Radre raise his arms, then bring the sword crashing down.
Wicked screamed.
No! They couldn’t be gone! Everyone Piers cared about! His heart throbbed. He bolted upright, free from the immobilizing spell at last.
Too late.
Radre turned toward Piers, triumphant grin falling. His face registered uncertainty, then horror.
Piers roared, clutching his chest. Oh, gods, the pain!Someone make it stop!He heard his screams reverberate against the walls in a vague dream state.