Guild menscreamed; their voicesdrowned beneath the furious roarsof dragons. Their weapons—pathetic, mortal things—wereuselessagainst the relentless force of creatures born offire and sky. Themassive, roof-mounted ballistaehad been torn apart, their operators left asscorched remnants in the rubble.
The battlefield was chaos—flashes silver nets whipping through the air, their gossamer threads gleaming in the moonlight, so fine they looked likespiderwebs coated in morning dew.
Nets of Floating Silver; ancient weapons of elven creation, crafted for war, designed tobring even the mightiest of creatures to their knees—a restraint so light it should not exist, and yet...
No blade could cut it. No fire could burn it.
To be caught in it was to behelpless, to have the very essence of powerripped from your veins. Dragons hadwhispered of it in fear, long before men even understoodwhat hunted them from the skies.
He’d rarely seen one before today. Stolen centuries ago, and now, humanGuild members had possession of them.
Vector snarled with rage.
The humanshurled the nets blindly, but the dragons weretoo fast.
Talons shredded one mid-flight, tearing through the delicate threads before it could ensnare anyone. Still,Vector knew their danger.
If evenoneof those nets caught him before he reachedher, it couldend everything.
And he would not let that happen.
And then?—
The mansion itself began to collapse.
Acolossalbronze male and asleek, battle-scarred cobalt female—two of Erik’s fiercest Guardians—ripped into the stone wallsof the estate.
Massive clawstore through centuries-old rock, fangscrunched through marble pillars, sending entire sections of the structurecrumbling in on itself.
A group of Guild operatives tried toflee through a side door?—
The bronze dragon swung his tail.
The impact was earth-shaking.
The entireleft wing of the mansion caved inward, stone and glassexploding outwardas the Guild members werecrushed beneath the rubble, their criesmuffled by their own graves.
Vector barely spared them a glance.
Their lives meant nothing.
The only thing that mattered was her.
Find mate. Find her. Find her.
A deep voice—one that crackled with ancient power—echoed through his mind.
“Vector. We are here.”
Vector turned sharply in the air, his emerald eyes locking onto the sleek black vehicle that had just rolled through the estate’s outer gate, untouched by the carnage.
The doors opened.
Atall, deadly figure stepped out, dressed in black Elven armor, the color so dark it caused vertigo to the unwary. At his back was a black sword and scabbard, etched with ancient Elven symbols.
Thedark elf, Prince Alrik.
The elven prince of nightmares.
