“Stop using that magic,” Lykor growled, taking a step closer, wings clamping to his spine. “Before it takes you somewhere dark.”
Blood pooled bitter at the back of Jassyn’s throat. But he held Lykor’s gaze with the same iron grip that he kept on the minds down the shoreline.
“Stop them from killing each other,” he gritted out, “and I will.”
Lykor’s nostrils flared, shadows lashing around him. His eyes flicked to the snared warriors, then back to Jassyn. Something haunted and aching burned under the anger, a cinder that refused to die. He pivoted sharply, barking orders to their allies untouched by the coercion.
“Disarm them and escort them to Asharyn.”
Jassyn’s legs trembled as wraith secured the Kyansari squad. Only once they were contained did he release Essence, gasping on a broken breath.
Sound slammed back into him—screams thrashing through the surf, a razorwing droning overhead, a dracovae’s shriek splitting the clouds. He swayed before his eyes landed on another fallen elven-blooded twitching in the shallows and choking on water.
Jassyn staggered toward him, reaching for the lake to shove the waves aside. A healing lattice sputtered at his fingertips—threads collapsing, scattering like embers kicked from a dying hearth. His knees struck gravel before he realized they’d buckled.
“Jassyn.”
Breath tore through his clenched teeth as he dug his fingers into the stones, ribs refusing to expand. He tried summoning Essence again, but nothing stirred—his Well wrung dry, stripped of even the faintest spark. Strength slipped through trembling hands as the world tilted.
“Jassyn.”
“I’m not…finished,” he slurred. “There are…still wounded.”
Lykor’s hand clamped around his arm, hauling him upright with a force that brooked no argument. “You’re done.”
Jassyn jerked his head in refusal, though his body listed toward that anchoring grip. “I need more Essence. I can still—”
“No.”
A soft word. A harsh command, dismissing rank entirely.
Jassyn’s vision blurred. Shadows and snow wound around Lykor’s shoulders, his wings flaring in a protective arc. Jassyn blinked, the world narrowing to the fire in his eyes.
“Let me…just—”
With one last flicker of defiance, he reached for Lykor’s wrist. But his fingers slipped as his legs gave out again.
Lykor caught him instantly. One arm swept behind his knees, the other braced hard across his back—steady as stone, impossibly gentle for hands that had killed so ruthlessly.
“You’re going to rest,” Lykor growled, pitched for him alone.
Jassyn tried to lift his head to protest, but the world dimmed as Lykor’s fingers curled tighter around him.
Darkness swallowed him before the words could leave his mouth.
CHAPTER 37
SERENNA
Angling her wings into the wind, Serenna climbed toward the convulsing heart of the storm. Rain flayed her in silver sheets, plastering her hair to her face, soaking through her armor. Each wingbeat burned down her spine, her muscles seizing in protest.
Above, Skylash carved a furious arc across the clouds, a serpent wreathed in lightning. Sparks spiraled in her wake, every sweep of her wings beating lightning down.
Heart hammering, lungs straining, Serenna fought the sky itself. Wind struck sideways, hard enough to send her in a tilt she barely caught. Gritting her teeth, she rose, forcing her body higher.
The dragon scythed through the storm, wings folding as she plunged.
Straight for Serenna.
