She almost smiled. Almost. But her throat was too tight. “I might have been one of them if not for you. You saved me.”
He hugged her close and kissed the crown of her head. “My love, you’re the one who saved me. Never doubt that.”
He pressed a kiss to her temple, lingering just a moment too long before pulling away. “Anything from Little Gus?”
“He’s quiet, but I can sense him now. Waiting. Hiding, maybe. I don’t know. I think he’s blocking me.”
“Alive is good. As long as?—”
A pearlescent black streak tore across the sky, roaring. Fire streaked ahead of it as if clearing a path. Turos’s mind brushed hers, no words, only pure, righteous fury.
The dronsian banked hard toward the village, only to be intercepted by a much larger creature. And Turos faced the Vorash, unafraid.
Selene’s breath caught as the two collided midair, talons locking. Flame shot from Turos’s throat, but the Vorash drove him back, wings like death incarnate.
Heart hammering, she stepped closer to Augustus, but he was too stiff. Too still.
She followed his gaze.
Thorne stood in the center of the street, blade in hand, clothes stained with blood. Dark hair clung to his brow in sweaty, matted clumps.
Three men flanked him, just as disheveled, just as blood-soaked.
And at Thorne’s feet—discarded like refuse—lay Mettius, bloodied but breathing.
Not a word passed between them, but the message was clear:
Come and take him.
The world went still. Noise faded. Augustus calculated his next move.
This was Thorne’s grand finale? Three half-dead men and a sword? Augustus could work with that.
Augustus’s sword scraped free from its sheath.
Thorne stood loose-limbed. One hand flexed open and shut, the other dangling a blade like an afterthought.
“You’re looking a bit haggard, Thorne,” Augustus said. “You sure you’re up for this?”
Thorne’s teeth flashed. “Me? What about you? Weeks of torture aren’t cutting through your remaining strength?”
It was, and Augustus wouldn’t deny that. His body screamed for rest, for healing, but there would be time for that later.
Besides, Selene’s presence at his side was like newly forged armor. She was with him, body, soul, and blade.
Once, he might’ve begged her to run.
Now? He feared for anyone foolish enough to stand against her.
Thorne’s gaze slid between them. Then he smiled. “Don’t worry. It’s almost over.”
He gave a sharp whistle, and doors creaked open. Floorboards buckled under footsteps.
Augustus turned, heart sinking as men emerged from the buildings like rats from a sinking ship. One by one, fresh, unbloodied. Thorne’s final stand. These men had been here all along, waiting.
Selene came flush to his side, her grip on his hand tightening.
Thorne aimed his blade at them both. “Would you like a moment to say your goodbyes? Wait, what am I saying? Your arrogance would never allow you to admit defeat, would it?”
