Barrett heaved a disgruntled breath, running his fingers through his bloody blond hair, and he growled his displeasure before pleading, “Come with me.”
“I can’t. I have to be ready if the daughter of Matthias appears.” Fire erupted in the distance once more and I lifted my gaze to the frontlines. I didn’t know how much magic the Stoicheion users might have left. They couldn’t keep this up. There were too many darklings, our forces stretched too thin between here and the city. The battle had dragged on for far too long now. The darklings were wearing us down, and many of the fallen immortals only replenished the darkling’s ranks.
Barrett crouched and pulled the injured warrior’s arm over his shoulder before hoisting him to his feet. The warrior let out a wet gasp, clutching his shredded stomach, his face contorting with pain. Barrett’s steel eyes met mine, fierce yet fearful. “Be careful, spitfire.”
“You too, hothead,” I breathed with a smile, and he turned to make his way through the chaos to the healers at the back of the battlefield.
A darkling slipped through the crowd between us, its dark gaze shifting to me before its head whipped back to Barrett. Shit, the fresh scent of the injured warrior’s blood must have drawn its attention. My heart lurched as it lunged for their backs. They were too far; I couldn’t get to them in time to intercept its attack.
I shot my hand out, my sword falling to the ground as my thoughts curled and wound around the creature. Roots shot from the ground, snaking up the darkling’s body, anchoring it in place. The darkling twisted, fighting against the tethers, clawed hands snatching through the air at Barrett and the wounded warrior. My other hand shot forward as I closed my fingers, twisting my wrist in a circle. The roots twisted and tightened, biting into the creature’s flesh. The darkling shrieked as Barrett looked over his shoulder with wide eyes. I gritted my teeth, jerking my hand back, tension coiling as the roots plunged into the darkling’s chest, ensnaring its heart and crushing it.
The darkling collapsed into dust.
My shoulders sagged, arms falling to my sides as I panted. “Go!” I yelled, and Barrett dipped his head before hurrying to the healers. I prayed he made it there safely, that he would return to me unharmed. I prayed Zephyr and Vincent were okay, wherever they were.
I turned from where Barrett had vanished, my eyes set on the worst of the battle: the frontlines. Damien was there. He was fighting, and I didn’t know how he fared. Was he hurt? My thoughts stretched out once more, desperate to reach him, to hear his voice, but it hit that wall again, as if something were holding me at bay. I needed to get to him; we needed to be together, to watch each other’s backs.
The ground was slick with blood as I stepped forward, ducking to grab my sword. There were few bodies on the ground, the lucky few who’d died before they’d changed. Gods, how many had we lost? How many of our own had been turned since the battle began? My gaze lifted from the dead bodies, and I leapt into a run toward the frontlines when a wave of power shot over the field from behind me, sending countless darklings and warriors to the ground. I slammed into bloodied grass and mud, cries and screeches replaced with near silence.
Ringing filled my ears, and I grimaced as I pushed myself to my knees. An unnatural presence crawled over my skin. My eyes drifted forward, to where I knew Damien was. The frontlines hadn’t been hit by the blast, didn’t seem to realize it had even happened.
“The healers!” cried a panicked voice from nearby. My gaze snapped behind me, to where the healers of House Latros had resided for the last few hours, to where Barrett had disappeared into the crowd of death. Black mist enveloped it all.
My heart sank. No. No. Where was he? My eyes searched, but I didn’t see him. In the distance, undulating tendrils of darkness stretched out where tents and healers once worked. I couldn’t see anything through the black mass consuming everything, through the swirling darkness, marking the arrival of what I’d dreaded.
The daughter of Matthias had made her entrance. The frontlines were a distraction. She’d somehow flanked us, slamming into our under-guarded rear where the injured were being tended to. How had she slipped past us unnoticed? Where was the rear guard? Had she wiped them out?
“Gods…” I breathed as I pushed myself to my feet in a daze of disbelief. The world spun as the smoke and dust cleared. Nothing remained. She’d destroyed them, in an instant, every last healer, every recovering warrior.
They were all gone. House Latros… Gods, no, it couldn’t be gone.
I gripped my sword, my heart thrumming as the darkness at the core of my being writhed and tugged me toward her. It was too tempting and terrifying all the same, the dark void offering me power that would turn me against those I fought to protect. Terror crawled over my skin, and I forced it down as the very creature I dreaded facing rose from the darkness, tendrils of darkness shooting out from her lower back, knocking every warrior who charged her back.
Her dark gaze drifted across the field, her long black claw dragging across her lips idly as she searched. For what? What was she searching for? Those hollow black eyes locked with mine. She’d been looking for me.
My magic pulsed, begging to be used. I took a step forward, holding her gaze as a cruel smile spread across her face, revealing those terrible serrated teeth behind her dark lips. The deaths she’d caused didn’t seem to faze her, and my blood boiled in response. I would end her, once and for all. I had to. There was no other option. Only one of us would be leaving this killing field alive. For Emilia, for Damien, for our race; I would destroy her.
I stepped forward, primed to unleash myself on her, but time slowed, my vision skipping and cracking. My feet slipped through the ground into nothing, plummeting into a pitch darkness that swallowed me whole.
No!
I slammed into something solid, and I gasped, eyes shooting open. Warm, strong arms wrapped around me, pulling me back against a firm, powerful chest.
“Easy,mea luna.I’ve got you.” Damien’s calm, tender voice slipped into my ear as gentle as a caress, and I blinked as I tried to catch my breath.
The scent of burning flesh and blood was quickly replaced by the smell of cedarwood and leather, of the fire burning in our fireplace, of home. The familiarity of it, of his touch grounded me. My heart thrummed, my hands twitching and clammy where I’d just been gripping my sword. My shoulders sagged as my head fell into the crook of his shoulder.
“How’d it go? Were you able to find anything this time?” he asked, reaching for the glass of water sitting on the nearby table. When he offered it to me, I downed the liquid, desperate for its soothing rush. It slammed into my parched throat so hard, I nearly choked.
I coughed, and Damien eased the empty glass from my grasp.
“Nothing. Something keeps interrupting it, like I’m hitting a wall,” I said through shallow pants, frustration lacing my words.
I’d been at this for the last hour or two, diving into that memory of Lucia’s when she’d fought with Melantha, searching for any clues as to how I’d defeated her. Every time I got to that point, right as I was about to attack her, I’d slip from the memory as if it were wet paper in my hands, disintegrating before me, or the world would shudder, and I’d wake up on the other side of the battle. It didn’t make sense.
“Why can’t I remember?” I muttered, brows furrowing as I rested my elbows against my knees.
“You never spoke of what happened after Melantha fell. Whatever you did, it seemed to haunt you. I didn’t think it would ever be something I needed to know, and I couldn’t bring myself to ask.”
