Sam flinched at the noise of the grenade Millie had just thrown. “He’s going to shit himself when he learns we have Deianira then.”
Rolfe’s grin widened beneath that curling mustache. “Can’t wait,” he grinned. “I got the truck as close as I could get it in the forest. Had to beat off a few bloodthirsty deer.”
Sam took one more glance around. “I think they’ve got this. Let’s get them loaded.”
Rolfe nodded, and the pair got to work.
They ducked bullets as they dove into the back of the truck and took the injured demons out. Sam hauled Tate into his arms. She stirred, though her arms just limped in her lap. His border called to them as they pushed over it, the fog wrapping around their skin like it was welcoming them home. He laid Tate in the back of the truck and went back for Nolan as Rolfe laid Trey down at Tate’s side.
Millie was on her last edge of patience when Sam made it to the back of the dump truck again. He saw her throw her empty gun aside and pulled her daggers from the straps on her thighs. Her teeth bared, and she went charging into the masses.
Sam didn’t get to see much more of her except a whoosh of blood, of ripping throats and her dodging gunshots. He and Rolfe kept moving, stepping over his men healing and gathering their wits on the ground before running back into the battle.
He jumped into the back of the truck as Tate’s chest rose into the air, her body convulsing slightly. He held her a moment to calm her down, promising he would have her healing soon—
A scream rang out that chilled him to his bones.
A scream that he never wanted to hear again.
A scream that put him back in the trenches five hundred years earlier.
Sam laid Tate back down and stood just in time to see Millie crash to her knees. A glint of green caught Sam’s eyes, and his heart fell.
“Millie!”
Sam bolted out of the truck and out of the forest. He ran straight into the battle, watching the man standing over Millie as she held her side, blood pouring from the deep wound on her body. Pain stretched her features. Agony in her gritted teeth.
Sam’s vision went red. He shifted, his talons and teeth exposed, and he launched across the field. Slashing and breaking. He sent shadows to snap the necks of every soldier with a gun pointed his way. He ripped the flesh of any person thinking they could run. Blood sprayed the ground, the trees, the air. Soldiers turned to mist beneath the pressure of his wrath.
Death stood in the middle of a scene he hadn’t seen since the last war and caught his breath. Silence rang over the air as the rain faltered, and a sunset began to appear on the horizon. And all around him, laid the shredded bodies of a Firemoor legion that would never see the bridge into a new existence.
Their souls could rot in the unknown, and he would own them.
And the man that had cut Millie… Sam caught him by the throat, snapped his neck, but—
He didn’t kill him.
No, there was a special place for this man. A very special place where he would enjoy watching the red stain his floor, hearing those screams through the air.
So, Sam kept this one.
When Sam finally calmed down enough to be himself, Rolfe was over Millie, helping her to her feet. He ran in their direction, the other demons gathering their wits and groaning as they got to their feet.
So much blood covered Millie, and inside the wound.
“Shit,” Sam muttered upon seeing that same emerald green hue that was in the injuries of the others. He grabbed Millie’s face, lifting her chin, his heart breaking at the sight of the tears in her eyes.
“I’ll fix this,” Sam swore.
Millie winced, cursing that she could barely walk, and she held onto Rolfe as they moved toward the border. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine,” she grunted.
All Sam could do was watch Rolfe help her across the shadows and into the truck on the other side.
Sam went through and thanked every demon recovering on that field, telling them to make their way into Shadowmyer as soon as possible. That they would be hunted if they stayed in the Spine much longer, and each of them nodded in return.
On his way to the border, Sam grabbed the collar of another Firemoor soldier still sputtering out on the ground, holding onto his last breath. He dragged him and the one who had hurt Millie across the shadows.
When he reached the truck, Sam stared at his demons in the back, the green ooze spilling out of them, and then to Millie, sitting up in the passenger seat but wincing every time she touched her side.
