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caught and held.
Cast your own spell!
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Heather Killough-Walden
A voice exploded inside her mind, and Raven s eyes widened.
Then the elf in black robes released his magic and white-hot bolts of energy went
racing from his outstretched palms into the stranger s tall form.
Raven wanted to close her eyes, unwilling to watch. However, the stranger s gaze
held her steady and she was unable to breathe, much less move.
The elf s power crashed into his tall opponent, but instead of rendering him
unconscious or frying him like lightning, the magic simply cascaded around the
stranger s body, sizzling out of existence like a dying fire.
The elf s blue-eyed gaze narrowed.
The man in black leather had not looked away from Raven, even as the elf s magic
had poured over him. Raven s heart had utterly stopped beating. Time seemed to slow,
and the silence stretched.
Then, ever so slowly, dauntingly, the stranger turned his gaze away from Raven and
looked once more upon the elf in black robes.
Cruor. He bowed his head toward the elf, as if in greeting and deference. Then he
smiled, white teeth flashing in a grin that brought Raven s breath up short. Your magic
can not harm me, mage.
The Death Mage s gaze narrowed, his brow vaguely furrowed.
Even Raven knew that the man in leather armor should have been leveled by that
spell. His body should be crushed, or blown apart, or, at the very least, on fire.
Yet, there he stood. Utterly unaffected.
And in the next instant, he attacked.
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He pulled his sword from his back with such speed that Raven could barely see it
happening. The elf in black robes, the one the stranger had called Cruor , waved his
hands in the air once more. A shimmering wall of magic appeared between he and his
attacker, a sort of barrier made of nothing but solidified air.
The man with the sword swung and his blade collided with the force field, sending
sparks shooting in every direction. Then he hit it again, and again, three times, four times
more, until finally, the barrier began to fall.
Cruor s cat-like eyes widened and he took a step back. He raised one arm in his
opponent s direction and spoke a few short archaic words. When nothing happened and
the man came forward, sword at the ready, he stepped back once again.
The man with the sword shook his head. I told you already, elf. Your magic will not
work on me. Now, I wonder," he spoke slowly, calmly, as he continued to step forward,
his long sword gleaming in the shafts of light that streamed through the trees overhead.
Does your prince know what designs you have against his woman?
Cruor s gaze narrowed then. His eyes flitted from his attacker s face to the insignia
on his chest. Comprehension dawned in his eyes and he looked back up. Tanith. He
hissed, a sly smile returning to his features.
The man with the sword nodded once again. At your service.
Cruor shook his head. Astriel must have hired you to retrieve her. I m surprised he
didn t simply recover her himself.
He must have had his reasons.
Tell me, what interest could the prince possibly have in the Chosen Soul?
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Heather Killough-Walden
This time, the bounty hunter did not answer. He simply shook his head and lunged
forward, his sword coming down in a swift, deadly arc.
Cruor was there in one instant and gone in the next.
Raven gasped. The bounty hunter straightened. His body stilled, his head cocked to
one side. He was listening.
In the next moment, he was spinning, his sword coming up in an expert block as
Cruor appeared behind him, dressed this time in leather armor that matched the bounty
hunter s, all the way down to the insignia on his chest. In his hands was a long sword of
the same make as Tanith s, and he was swinging it down upon his opponent s head with
mastered skill and grace.
Tanith blocked the weapon s descent and sparks shot off of their blades as they
collided and slid along one another. Again, Cruor attacked and again Tanith blocked.
The two began to circle each other, the sound of their swords clashing ringing out
through the forest. So many sparks shot off of their blades that Raven was half afraid the
underbrush would catch fire.
Use your powers, damn it! Get out of here!
Raven blinked. She was certain this time that the voice inside her head had not been
her own. It was the man in black leather the one the elf had called Tanith . She knew it
with every fiber of her being. Somehow, he was communicating with her in silence,
inside her mind, and for a moment the realization kept her frozen.
Now!
She jumped at the sudden bellow in her mind and her breathing quickened. She
looked at the red-skinned beast to her right and then at the one to her left. They were
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The Chosen Soul
impossibly well muscled, clearly very strong and the green blazes in their inhuman eyes
was entirely unnerving.
Yet, Raven knew that this was her chance. Should Cruor win this battle, she would
be his prisoner once again, and she d already learned that she was no match for the elf.
She closed her eyes and tried to calm her breathing, even as the continued sound of
sword battle raged a few yards away. She thought of Winter, of her father, of Caina. She
concentrated on the blood rushing through her veins. A devil s blood, powerful, deadly.
She thought of the soul deep down in her core. The stolen soul. And a part of it, her
father s.
She began to chant, silently at first, whispering the words inside her mind like a
prayer.
Her power answered the call. Slowly, tentatively, it began to rise, to spiral up from
down deep within herself, to stretch and flow and ebb to her extremities, pooling within
her fingers and toes, building behind her closed eyes.
When she opened her eyes again, it was to find that everything had turned a very
deep shade of blue. It was almost as if clouds had covered the sky and blotted out the sun,
but Raven knew that it was only from her side, only through her own eyes that the world
appeared that way.
And then she turned her gaze once more upon the red-skinned creature to her right.
He turned his green glowing eyes upon her and they widened perceptibly.
Raven could not help what happened next. She smiled, feeling her incisors lengthen,
and began to chant out loud. Her fingernails began to grow, becoming sharp and hard like
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Heather Killough-Walden
the blades of daggers. Without thinking, she curled the claws into her captor s wrist and
dug in deep.
He howled in pain and drew back from her, releasing her right arm, which she
instantly swung around to rake across her other captor s face. He too cried out in agony
and backpedaled, releasing her other arm.
Raven took several long steps back and willed the rest of her change. This time it
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