Leif and his pack were going to circle wide, and ensure no one made it off the property on foot. He wouldn’t need to speak the instructions aloud, had only to shift, and then tilt his head to send his wolves off in the correct direction, and—
He heard a faint pop, like the click of a joint when he stretched. Then he smelled ozone.
“Wait! Stop!” He spun around on the roadway in time to see the black, yawning maw of a portal opening. Sels poured out of it.
~*~
Cassius quickly realized that he couldn’t hope to catch up to Ragnar, nor did he want to. But he’d flattened the underbrush along the easiest path, and Cassius followed it at a jog, swordheld across his chest for lack of a scabbard. It came in useful when he needed to hold aside low branches.
As the din of skirmish behind him faded, it bloomed fresh ahead of him. Other portals had opened, then; he doubted the Strangers, wolves, and Southern forces had been allowed inside the gates of the chateau grounds, which would mean Amelia and her drakes would take on the house alone. They certainly could, especially without the threat of artillery from the ground, but Cassius knew that the emperor wouldn’t have sent just one surprise. And that, in close quarters, no matter how strong and ferocious, drakes had weak spots. As did the duchesses.
The ground sloped up sharply, and he leaned forward, altering his grip on the sword so the blade thrust backward, less likely to impale him if he tripped on a hidden root and fell. It was the most exertion he’d put forth since his capture, and he could feel how he’d softened and weakened in the weeks since. How quickly muscle melted away, and stamina disappeared. He was panting by the time he reached the top of the rise, and when he stopped to gather his breath, he beheld a full-scale melee in front of the chateau gates.
He saw swords flashing, drab browns and blacks surrounded by brilliant, moonstruck golden armor. Wolves darted, wraiths in the dark, hamstringing the enemy. He caught a glimpse of Ragnar, the only wolf still on two legs, raking a Sel’s face to ribbons with nails long and sharp as claws.
A sound jerked his attention upward, the crack and snap of wings. In the dark, the three black drakes appeared like falling storm clouds, dropping over the chateau, blotting out the stars. They came fast. Cassius wondered if they’d detected the Sels yet, but knew they soon would.
They flew in a three-point pattern, the largest, the big male that Amelia herself rode, nearest the gates; the two females flanked the mansion’s far side. Their wings spread wide, andtheir dramatic descent slowed as they drew even with the top of the walls.
Off to Cassius’s left, he heard the drumming and clanking of many armored feet, and a glance filled his vision with gold. Another portal, another wave of soldiers.
He drummed his fingers on the handle of the sword, and took stock of his labored breathing, of his burning muscles, of his lightweight tunic and breeches, and knew that it had been the element of surprise, and no small amount of luck that had kept him alive in the tent. If he turned to meet his countrymen now, out in the open, he’d be run through in a matter of moments.
One of the drakes let out a high, keening cry, and Cassius’s mind filled with a vision of Amelia’s face as he’d seen it earlier, before her departure: the way she’d been pale, and unsteady, just as Lady Leda had said.
Mind made up, he slipped sideways between two pine trunks, and broke into an unsteady run, headed away from the fighting, and toward the side gates that would let him into the chateau’s gardens.
~*~
One moment the ground was rushing up to meet them, the tiny patchwork of the chateau grounds spreading, growing, details popping as Alpha plunged down through the chill night air. The little matchsticks became trees, and the quilt stitches became stone paths, and the child’s dollhouse reared up as a sprawling, slate-roofed mansion built tall and sturdy to withstand the foothill winds. Amelia leaned low between Alpha’s folded wings, eyes tearing in the wind, palm, hand, wrist, arm throbbing and blistering with pain. And then—
Then she was floating in a sea of gray.
No walls, no floor, no sky, no ground, no rapidly-growing chateau. But this wasn’t the Between as she’d come to know it.Even without a frame of reference, she knew that she floated; invisible currents buoyed her limbs; her hair waved overhead, as though she was sinking slowly into water.
Here, her hand no longer hurt—instead, it felt warm in a pleasant way. It felt like someone was holding it.
“Come.” The voice was masculine, rich and deep, accented, and it echoed all around her, filling her head, wrapping around her throat and tugging hard at her belt. “Come now.” The warm pressure on her hand squeezed tighter, and then her arm lifted forward, and something, someone, towed her forward.
At first, this gray, nonthreatening expanse had felt like a reprieve from the impending battle, but now panic overwhelmed her. “No!” She kicked the empty air, bucking and twisting, trying to wrench her hand free. “No, let go of me!”
“Come,” the voice repeated, and she knew whose voice it was, now. Romanus Tyrsbane.
Her hand squeezed so tight she felt the bones grind together.
“NO!” Amelia bellowed, and threw every bit of her mind back toward Alpha, and the Merryweather hillside.
The gray flickered. Once, twice, three times. The world spun. And then Amelia’s face was buffeted by the strong wind off Alpha’s wings as he spread them and flapped backward, turning his nosedive into a sudden, harsh midair stop that lifted her out of the saddle. If not for the strap that clipped her belt to the harness, she would have gone tumbling off his back and landed in the fish pond below.
Her stomach lurched, and for an awful moment she thought she’d be sick. She listed dangerously in the saddle, and when she reached to grip his breastplate, a hot, sharp pain shot from the wound in her palm straight up to the ball of her shoulder. It cracked across her collarbones and lodged in thehollows around her heart, and she screamed before she could catch herself, so intense was the pain.
Alpha hovered outside a top floor window, wings beating, grass and ornamental trees rustling and snapping beneath the force of the wind he kicked up. He craned his neck around, and blew hot air across her face. He trilled an inquiry, and echoed it silently through their bond.Are you well? What’s wrong?
She thought she’d vomit if she opened her mouth, so she flapped her good hand at him.I’m well. Do as we discussed.
The girls called from the far side of the mansion, but Alpha regarded her a moment longer, head cocked so she stared deep into his red-gold eye, pupil expansive in the dark, drinking her in, doubting her assurances.
The pain in her hand was exquisite, and then, to her horror, the sensation of another hand gripping it returned. The tugging. Her vision wavered, white at the edges. He was trying to take her.
