Is Romulus right? Is this really all because Remus came for me?
If that’s true... if this is because of me...
My eyes land on Ksenia’s pain-contorted face as she clutches her stomach through another contraction, whimpering despite her fierce expression.
Then, dear god, this is all my fault.
“Where are you taking us?” Abaddon demands as we lift further into the air, the castle falling away below us.
“I know somewhere we can go,” Layden says tersely, not elaborating.
“Is it safe for us?” Abaddon presses.
“Safer than here,” Layden mutters. Then, sharply: “Shit. They’re here. On our six. Incoming. Eight fighter jets, and they’re firing missiles.”
I can hear them now—a high-pitched screaming sound cutting through the air.
“Abaddon, Romulus, get the fuck out there and deal with it, or this ‘copter and anyone not immortal will be wiped out in about fifteen seconds.”
The back ramp of the helicopter lowers again with a mechanical groan, and before it’s even halfway down, Abaddon and Romulus are running—wings flaring wide and magnificent—and they dive out into open air.
I scream, then cover my mouth with both hands.
Screw it. We’re mostly stable in the air. I unbuckle with shaking fingers because I have to see what’s happening with Romulus. He just flung himself out of a helicopter thousands of feet in the air!
The ramp is now fully open, and my hair whips around my head violently as I hang on to metal grips along the interior ceiling. The wind is deafening.
I gasp at the sight of Romulus and Abaddon flying with their massive black wings outspread—each wing easily twenty feet from tip to tip, the feathers gleaming like obsidian in the afternoon sun. They soar straight toward the incoming missiles with impossible speed, their bodies streamlined and powerful.
The twin speeding projectiles are moving so fast I can barely track them—only the thick white trails left slicing through the brilliant blue sky like chalk lines. They’re closing the distance at hundreds of miles per hour, the screaming sound growing louder by the second.
But each brother dives directly in front of the missiles without hesitation, wings tucking tight against their bodies to increase speed.
Romulus reaches his first—I can see his arms extend, grabbing the missile mid-flight like catching a football. For a split second, he holds it.
Then it detonates.
The explosion is massive—a ball of orange and red fire blooming outward in a perfect sphere, black smoke billowing at the edges. The shockwave ripples through the air visibly,distorting everything behind it like heat waves off summer pavement.
I scream, the sound ripped away by the wind.
A hundred feet away, Abaddon’s missile explodes too—another fireball, this one even larger, the flames so bright I have to squint against them.
But when the smoke clears—great dark clouds drifting on the wind—both brothers remain.
My hand over my mouth trembles, my throat raw.
They’re hovering there in the air, wings beating slowly to maintain position. Romulus’s shirt is gone, burned away, revealing the unmarred muscled planes of his chest and abdomen. Abaddon’s mane seems slightly singed but he’s otherwise untouched, golden eyes blazing with fury.
They’re already streaking toward two other missiles that have gotten even closer to us—close enough now that I can see the white-hot flames jetting from the rocket engines.
They’re maybe two hundred feet away. Coming right at us.
Romulus reaches one of the missiles with a burst of speed, his tail whipping behind him for balance as he grabs it with both hands. This time he doesn’t just hold it—he redirects it, muscles straining visibly as he forces the missile to turn. It spirals away, exploding harmlessly over empty forest below. The trees briefly light up orange before smoke covers them.
Abaddon takes a different approach. He flies straight at his missile and punches through it.
Actually punches through the metal casing like it’s cardboard.
