The darkness devoured everything in its path, shattering armor and disintegrating flesh, tearing through the advancing elves. A few defiant warriors bludgeoned his shield with Essence, each futile blow sparking violet flares across the ward.
He’d shoved Aesar’s awareness deep into the recesses of their mind—a simple feat with his other half bound in the grip of slumber. But Aesar’s fury would come. And surely Kal’s too, since he’d been left seething and restrained in a tangle of rending back in the jungle.
Let them rage. By the time he finished destroying Galaeryn’s fleet, their indignation would be irrelevant. Their complaints too late.
Lykor strode across the gore-streaked beach, blood from broken bodies soaking the sand. The humans had already scattered, scrambling up the cliffs in a frenzied retreat. They weren’t his concern so long as they fled—mere insects scuttling away from his power, spared by his indifference.
Reaching the docks, Lykor’s boots thudded against wooden planks. He blasted out another wave of rending to clear the area, his jaw tightening as he surveyed the ships rocking against their moorings.
Starlight glinted off the main body of the fleet anchored farther out in the bay, the distance a silent taunt.
Time pressed like a blade against his spine—he’d have to cut the destruction short if the elves forced the humans into order. Assuming the flight captain’s report was correct, the mortal numbers camped beyond the castle walls were far too great for him to extinguish alone.
A piercing screech shattered the night, wrenching Lykor’s eyes toward the shoreline. He’d almost forgotten about the dracovae.
Trella’s devotion to Aesar had unexpectedly extended to him, though it was as volatile as the beast herself. Insulted by his attempt to leave her behind, Trella had nearly snapped his head off when he’d initially opened a portal too narrow for her massive form.
His fury seemed to fuel her bloodlust. Trella rampaged down the beach, a living weapon carving a path of devastation. Her scales gleamed in the light of the moons, a spray of blood splattering her feathered chest as she ripped an arm away from a soldier’s body. Whipping in a brutal arc, her tail smashed another elf into the sand, talons shredding them in two.
Lykor bared his fangs as a wave of rending streaked toward her. Throwing out an arm, violet light flew from his fingertips, crystalizing protectively around the beast. The shadows slammed into his ward, shattering harmlessly against the barrier.
He unraveled the shield, allowing Trella to resume her charge unhindered. Swearing under his breath, Lykor followed her erratic movements as she surged down the coast.
Without telepathy, he had no way to direct her aimless carnage—a force of nature with no leash. Rankled by the thought, he formed a fist, his gauntlet screeching. If only he could order her to fly—to shatter the masts of the ships anchored out in the waters.
A dark idea struck him. A twisted solution that should have made him pause.
But it didn’t.
He’d done it before. He could do it again. Hesitation was a luxury this war wouldn’t afford. He’d disregard the cost, no matter the stain it would leave on his soul.
Abandoning the docks, Lykor strode back to the beach, homing in on an approaching elf. With a flick of his wrist, a burst of force whipped through the air, coiling around the warrior and yanking her into his outstretched claw. The metal bit into her flesh when he squeezed her throat, snarling into her face as he hacked at her Well.
Essence surged into him, a molten wildfire blazing through his veins as he leeched the elf’s talents. Abilities Lykor had lacked now became his—while those he already possessed violently amplified.
He staggered back from the exhilarating rush, casting aside the husk of a wraith. Whether lifeless or merely stunned, she crumpled to the sand, forgotten before her body hit the earth.
Delving into the depths of Aesar’s knowledge, Lykor sparked the acquired telepathy talent. Extending his mind down the shore toward Trella, he wove his awareness into hers.
THE SHIPS,Lykor commanded, searing images of her splintering masts and ravaging decks to sink their hulls.
Trella’s reluctance echoed back to him, a flicker of instinctual fear. Images bled into his mind—the crash of her body against the jagged cliffs, the snap of wings breaking against unseen rocks.
The dracovae’s poor night vision was an inconvenience at most. A flaw easily remedied.
Lykor released a wave of light, the pulse of energy shooting toward the beast. Illumination wove into Trella’s feathers, igniting her wings with radiance, twin beacons slicing through the dark.
Trella shrieked and barreled forward, driven by unbridled purpose. Glowing pinions snapped out, beating the air in a blinding display. Her haunches coiled before she launched into the sky, taking flight.
Lykor tracked her ascent as she hurtled toward the first ship in a blur of primal beauty. She collided with the mast like a falling star, the pillar shattering with a thunderous roar. Shards of wood burst outward and the folded sails collapsed into a tangled heap, swallowed by the sea.
Trella’s triumphant screech rang out across the harbor as she dropped to land on the ship. She swung her tail through the air, slamming it against the deck with devastating force. Planks buckled and splintered, the wreckage plunging into the water as she leaped back into the sky.
A satisfied smirk tugged at Lykor’s lips as the vessel sank. Destruction was a language Trella spoke with brutal fluency.
Unexpected movement snagged his attention. A shift in the wind. The clash of magic and blades.
Squinting down the shoreline, Lykor muttered under his breath. Illumination revealed the prince and the girl locked in their own battle with a contingent of elves. Whatever they were doing was irrelevant—so long as they stayed out of his way. At least the pair served as a distraction.
