The Goblets Immortal by Beth Overmyer (read 50 shades of grey .TXT) 📕

feel any Pulls…or have control over them. “I don’t think I have my abilities right now.”

“What? How’s that even—”

“Later. Can you get us out of here?”

The house was full of various noises: maids, perhaps, running around overhead; cooks and kitchen wenches chattering over the clatter and clank of earthenware and metal pots; and there were male voices, right around the corner. Aidan frowned, having no sense whatsoever where anything or anyone was. “This is disorienting.”

Slaíne hushed him and stepped forward to peek around the corner, and swore beneath her breath. “This way,” she mouthed.

Aidan followed her, or rather, whoever possessed control over him did, and they made their way toward where Aidan thought the kitchen might lie. They had no sooner neared the savory aromas of roasted meat and potatoes, than a voice rumbled from behind them.

“How in the blazes…?” It was Dewhurst, and his expression of surprise turned to one of indignation and rage.

Slaíne grabbed Aidan’s arm with her free hand. “Run!”

He didn’t need telling twice. Aidan ran after Slaíne, overtaking her at twice his normal pace. “Slow down,” he had to tell the stranger controlling his movements.

“Are you sure?” the man’s voice echoed in his head.

“I’m not leaving her in my wake. Slow down,” he said, knowing Slaíne must think him mad. He shrugged against his own volition.

“Fine. You might want to pick that girl up…if you don’t want to get caught, that is.”

“I’m not strong enough right now, I—”

“No, you’re not, but I am.”

Dewhurst was screaming for guards, his footsteps falling fast behind them. Any moment now, he would emerge from behind them, grab Slaíne – or worse – and they would be done for.

“You’re being dramatic, Aidan.” And with that, he halted against his will, turned, and picked up Slaíne as if she weighed nothing more than a sack of feathers. With barely a moment’s pause, he was back to running toward the kitchen.

Slaíne was shouting turns at him, and he was taking them. Servants scurried out of their way, and those that weren’t quick enough Aidan bowled over with inhuman strength. They had made it out the kitchen door, finding the kitchen empty, when they were met with a surprise on the back lawn.

Darkness had begun to fall, and surrounding the estate were men armed with bows and flaming arrows. At the sight of Aidan, they let out a cry.

“Sorry, mate. This is where I leave you,” said Aidan’s possessor, and the extra strength leaked out of him like new wine from an old wineskin. He collapsed beneath Slaíne’s weight, and that is when the fiery arrows began to rain.

Chapter Seventeen

To Aidan’s amazed eyes, the missiles bounced off the roofing, skittering and rolling as they made contact with the thin metal plating. But some of the arrows were true and found weaknesses, barren spots in the house’s armor.

When the men surrounding them took their aim again, they aimed for the top levels of the house, which soon caught ablaze. Screaming servants streamed out of the smoking manor. The guards weren’t far behind.

If they didn’t want to get pierced by the arrows meant for their enemy, Aidan knew he needed to move. But it would seem that Slaíne was rooted to the spot. “Slaíne, we need to move.”

“They’re burning it down with people inside,” she said so softly, Aidan could hardly make out what she had said. She turned to leave his side, and Aidan knew what she meant to do.

Aidan latched on to her Pull and Tugged it hard, sending her flying back toward where he was struggling to his feet. “Slaíne!” he bellowed.

“Lemme loose.” She thrashed against his invisible hold on her like a fiend, but he continued to reel her toward safety, for they were nearly trampled as people poured out of the flames. “They’ll burn them alive. Let go.”

“Think, woman. Think! We need to get out of here or—”

“I am thinking,” she snapped, pushing off him. After giving the burning manor one last piteous look, she turned, put her arm around Aidan, and helped him limp out of harm’s way.

No one was trying to extinguish the blaze. No one was fighting the men who had surrounded them and shot the arrows. It was as though some spell had fallen on all of them…or as if one had been lifted. Dazed, they wandered away from the heat of the fire and then stood, eyes transfixed on the catastrophe.

From the front of the manor there came a great cry, and soon Aidan felt Dewhurst’s Pull joining the company in the back yard. “Thieves, fire, foes! What are you standing around for, you stupid lumps on a log?” The man swore. “Put the fire out!”

No one did anything.

Slaíne collapsed, the sword still clutched in her hands. Beside her, Aidan felt a sudden surge of energy that had nothing to do with whatever force had possessed him before and everything to do with the fact that he could end this. That energy propelled him toward Dewhurst.

Some of the guards hissed at Aidan and spat, even. But none tried to stop him. Aidan did not hesitate, for he knew Dewhurst’s men were not loyal, and though they hated Aidan and his ‘magic’, they were surrounded by their enemy. And judging from the familiarity of at least a dozen of the Pulls, Aidan knew who that enemy was and that his secret missive had been received.

“It’s over, Dewhurst,” Aidan shouted over the roar of the blaze. “You and your men need to put down your iron if you care to see another day.”

A murmur went up among Dewhurst’s men, and Aidan knew that his allies were drawing back their bows. He reached out and felt for the hated man’s Pull, and found that he was cowering perilously close to the blaze.

Though weakening, Aidan sensed the remnants of his own blood still in the other man’s system and gave it a good tug. With a cry, Dewhurst shot through the brush and bracken, barreling over three of his men.

Aidan