The Uninvited
~CASSIUS~
The moment the barrier shatters, chaos erupts.
One second, an impenetrable wall of magic separates us from Gwenievere—a shimmering membrane of power that rejected every assault we threw at it with mocking indifference. My shadows had clawed at its surface until tendrils bled darkness that evaporated on contact. Atticus had hurled blood magic with enough force to level buildings, only to watch it splash harmlessly against the barrier like water on stone. Mortimer's dragon fire—hot enough to melt through dimensional walls—had done nothing but illuminate the space with frustrated golden light.
We couldn't reach her.
For seventeen agonizing minutes, we watched our bonded mate hover in suspended animation while a stranger did something none of us could comprehend. Her body had floated in the center of the barrier's dome, translucent as morning mist, incantations pulsing across her form with increasing desperation. We'd watched her fade and solidify and fade again, existence itself uncertain whether she belonged to the living or the dead.
Seventeen minutes of hell.
The barrier had appeared the instant Gwenievere lost consciousness—one moment she was biting Damien's wrist, the next she was collapsing and this stranger wasthere, stepping from shadows that weren't mine with the casual arrogance of someone who believed the universe had been waiting for his arrival.
He'd caught her before she hit the ground.
Wrapped her in magic I couldn't identify.
Erected a barrier that made my shadowsrecoilwhen they tried to penetrate it.
And then he'd done... something. Something that involved golden light and ancient incantations and power that tasted of nothing I recognized. Something that made Gwenievere's ghost-form solidify, made her breathing restart, made her heart begin beating again with rhythm I could feel through our bond.
He saved her life.
The acknowledgment burns like acid in my chest, because gratitude is not an emotion Duskwalkers wear comfortably—especially not toward strangers who appear from nowhere and touch what'smine.
Then the barrier shattered.
The membrane of power didn't fade gradually or dissolve with dignity. Itexplodedoutward in a cascade of energy that made the air itself ring like a struck bell. The shockwave passed through us with force that would have staggered lesser beings, carrying with it the residual taste of magic so foreign my shadows actuallyflinched.
And in that same instant, Gwenievere's eyes flew open—wild and burning with power I've never seen in her before—and she shot upright with the desperate energy of someone clawing their way back from death's doorstep.
The stranger leaned toward her.
Said something I couldn't quite hear over the ringing in my ears.
And Gwenievere—myGwenievere, my little mouse, the heir to everything the Wicked world contains—reared back and headbutted him with enough force to crack skulls.
"And... we warned him," Zeke observes with feline calm that borders on inappropriate given the circumstances.
His golden eyes track the falling bodies with detached interest, as if watching mildly entertaining theater rather than our bonded mate collapsing after apparently killing herself through cranial impact.
Atticus curses viciously.
His vampire speed activates before the sound finishes leaving his throat, crimson blur cutting through space that separates us from Gwenievere with urgency that makes my shadows surge in sympathetic response. He catches her before she crashes to the ground, ancient reflexes positioning her head against his shoulder, cradling her with the particular gentleness vampires reserve for things they consider precious beyond measure.
Blood pours from her nose.
The crimson stream traces paths down her face, dripping onto Atticus's shirt with soft sounds that make my stomach clench with worry I don't want to acknowledge. She's pale—far too pale for someone who was literally resurrected moments ago, far too fragile-looking for the fierce woman who headbutts strangers into unconsciousness.
She's bleeding.
She knocked herself out.
What the fuck is wrong with this woman?
The stranger groans, beginning to stir from where he collapsed after Gwenievere's violent greeting. Before he can so much as lift his head, my shadows move.
