Then Chad steps in behind me. He presses in close, his chest fitting to my back as his arms slide around me to anchor himself to Horace. His hands grip the vampire’s shoulders just above mine, his breath brushing my ear.
My pulse spikes. I’m held between them—Horace’s unmoving strength in front of me, Chad’s heat sealing me in from behind. My back is flush against Chad’s chest, my head tucked just under his chin. There’s nowhere to go, no space to breathe, no part of me not bracketed by one monster or the other.
We are a sandwich of dark creatures, with me as the very mortal, very overwhelmed filling.
Chad's heartbeat hammers into my spine like he's trying to Morse code some demonic message through my vertebrae. He's a freaking furnace, which would be great if I weren't packed between him and Horace's ice chest. Talk about temperature whiplash.
Horace launches himself into the air with a powerful thrust that steals the air from my lungs. The ground falls away, and we become a dark shape arrowing through the night sky, Ignatius and his dragon cargo a twin shadow beside us. I try to fixate on counting treetops, cataloging cloud patterns—literally anything that isn't Chad's thighs locked around mine like he's riding a particularly stubborn horse.
Then the world to the south ignites.
A bloom of orange light blossoms on the horizon, silent and terrible. A moment later, a low, guttural roar rolls across the sky,a sound so deep and primal it vibrates in my bones. Another gout of fire, bigger this time, punches a hole in the darkness, illuminating the underside of the clouds with a flickering, hellish glow.
Hell’s already here.
“Gods,” I breathe. “That’s the clearblood outpost.”
The camp we just fled. Dragons are attacking it.
From our vantage point, we see them—massive, brutal beasts of scale and fury. Their wingspans blot out entire swathes of the forest as they descend. Fire plumes from their mouths, turning the clearing into an inferno. We are miles away, and I can still feel the percussive force of their assault, the very air trembling with their power. It’s… an annihilation.
A strangled sob cuts through the rush of the wind. It’s the captured dragon. Her eyes are wide as she watches the carnage. Any proud defiance has shattered, replaced by raw, naked anxiety.
“None of this should be happening,” she chokes out, tears streaming down her pale cheeks, catching the distant firelight. “It was all a mistake. We shouldn’t be here.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
Her voice cracks. “We basically had no choice. King Anees… he gave us no choice. It was this or be branded a traitor. It was join his war or watch our families be stripped of their names, their lands… their lives. He already arrested my uncle.” She’s shaking now, her body trembling in Ignatius’s arms. “I don’t want this, not really. We were surviving and peaceful in our home, not perfectly happy but… not at war.”
Her words hang in the cold night air, a damning and depressing confession. Of course, Nyssa already hinted to Esme that this wouldn’t be a unified invasion. It’s a draft. A forced march. The same way I’m shackled to whatever war our coven elders rope us into… including summoning Ides.
The horizon erupts again in a shockwave of heat and light. Even miles away, the heat slaps my face like opening an oven door.
“Faster,” Chad growls, his voice a low rumble against my ear. He's talking to the vampires, but one of his arms cinches around me like he thinks I might dissolve into the night air if he doesn't hold on tight enough.
“Easy, big guy,” I murmur.I’m already seeing stars.
The bloodsuckers amp up the speed and we tear through the night sky toward Darkbirch, the howling wind drowning out everything except the distant roar of dragonfire consuming everything we left behind.
36
ESME
My eyes snap open to a pale, deeply lined face hovering inches from mine. Warden Blythe. Her ancient hands are gripping my shoulders, her expression grim, urgent.
“Esme. Wake up.”
My body feels like a lead weight, every muscle screaming in protest. A deep, bone-aching exhaustion pins me to the mattress, and a strange, inexplicable chill runs from the base of my skull down my spine, making me pull the blankets tighter around me.
My head feels like a fog bank. Shards of memory, sharp and cruel, pierce through it. Killing Brynn with a shadow blade. My mother’s face crumbling to dust under my hands. Over and over, an endless, looping nightmare of slaughtering everyone I have ever cared for. The Infinite Challenge.
I want to forget. All of it.
I just want to sleep.
I groan, attempting to turn over. Blythe grips me.
“I’m sorry to cut your recovery short,” she says, her voicelow and clipped. “But we have no choice. The final trial must begin now.”
