“Madan—”
Azriel ignored the blood dripping from his mouth and turned through the frenzy in search of his brother. Gods, hisbrother. Madan’s emotional desperation clambered through the vinculum even as he physically remained rooted in the battle, for when Azriel finally caught sight of him, Madan still exchanged blows with another Caersan.
“We’re still alive.” Oria’s reassurance was not enough to temper the panic steadily rising from Madan.
“Brutis,” Azriel said. “Come get him.”
But to his surprise, Madan pushed back. “No.”
Engaging with another vampire, Azriel pushed the Caersan’s blade away before slamming his horns into the man’s stomach. The soldier doubled over from the force of the air being stolen from his body. Azriel didn’t hesitate. He brought his blade down on the back of the man’s neck and didn’t care to watch as the severed head fell into the mud.
Instead, he worked his way back toward his brother. Madan had moved considerably farther than him in the fray, pushing soldiers back despite his missing arm. Only when Azriel was almost at his back did he say, “Go see Whelan.”
“Whelan wouldn’t allow it,” Madan grit back, though tears cut through the streaks of mud and blood that caked the vampire’s face, unmasked by the falling snow.
As much as Azriel hated to admit when Madan was correct, he knew deep in his gut that if his brother arrived at the medic tent in the middle of battle, Whelan would hold it over him forever. Victory tonight was too important for anyone still able-bodied enough to fight to leave. They needed to take the Hub above all else.
“Fine.” He grabbed a soldier’s arm as it raised to strike, held it in place, and shoved his sword through the man’s armor hard and fast. Against another Caersan, the steel was strong enough to hold. Put to the test with dhemon strength, however, the forged exoskeleton was punctured and crushed as easily as any other insect.
Without another word on the matter of Whelan—they were sure to learn of his well-being soon enough—Azriel turned his attention elsewhere. Phulan would take care of him, and Oria would do anything to not let her bondheart die, even if it meant stubbornly clinging to his life force until her own sputtered out alongside it. The same would have been said about Bindhe and Kall had the wound not been immediately fatal. That this one did not kill Whelan outright told Azriel there would be hope.
After all, if Ariadne could survive a salted blade to the gut, Whelan would, too.
“It’s time,” Azriel said to Razer.
The two words were all his bondheart needed to hear. No other thoughts were exchanged before the dragon lifted into the air, following a similar path to Anthoria and Almandine had taken just minutes before. More followed—the large winged beasts collected from Ehrun’s army and his friends alongside the smaller, more precise hatchlings that were determined to make their mark in the battle.
“Keep your distance from the walls,” Brutis cautioned the flying cavalry. “They will be looking for any opportunity to shoot you down.”
Echoes of confirmation flooded through the vinculums, and the high-pitched shrieks of the small dragons announced their arrival before the great shadows of death roared down from the sky. Screams of pure terror from Caersan soldiers orchestrated a stunning melody in Azriel’s ears, unlike anything he’d heard before.
All across the battlefield, crimson-clad vampires turned from their enemies and ran. With how far back from the Hub the main fray was, their instinct to flee at the sight of such powerful beasts worked against them. The dragons used their frenzied escape to swoop in and raze them to the ground. Bursts of dragonfire lit up the snowfall, punctuating the scene with flames capable of melting metal.
The Valenul soldiers who did not try to run became what Azriel decided at that moment to callwalking corpses. While they continued to fight and some even managed to bring down a dhemon every now and again, most had suddenly become so preoccupied with the thought of being snatched up by a dragon that they could not properly focus on what was happening in front of them.
A shadow swept overhead, accompanied by gentle mental claws that raked through Azriel’s thoughts, and dove down to pluck a pair of crimson soldiers from the fray. Razer’s amusement at the way they flailed in his grasp made Azriel grin as the dragon tossed them like discarded rubbish at the back of the Valenul army. The bodies barrelled into standing soldiers with such force that he would be shocked if any of them stood up again.
But Azriel did not stop to look through Razer’s eyes and observe the battle from above. There was no need when he stood in the middle of it. Doing something so reckless would only land him in Phulan’s tent—and that would be the best of cases.
Instead, he turned and slashed, broke and pierced, hacked and parried. One soldier to the next, he never looked at their faces. Never let their fear sway his actions.
Because he was afraid, too. Afraid that what they did was wrong. Afraid that he couldn’t possibly fight long enough. Afraid that he’d made a mistake in sending Ariadne to an entirelydifferent battalion to fight alongside Whelan instead. Whelan, who could no longer watch her back.
Fear was what drove Azriel forward. Though his bond had begun its healing process since the ritual, bringing him back from the depths of his own insanity, it still plagued him with horrific images and thoughts. What if the bond wasn’t like other fae, and he couldn’t feel if she was in trouble?
Ariadne’s severed head returned to the forefront of his mind, strangling him as he drove his blade into the exposed side of a soldier before the vampire could turn to face him fully. The soft flesh gave way beneath his fingers despite the gloves he wore and the sword he wielded. The pain of her loss haunted him as readily as when it first occurred.
This isyourfault.
There would come a night when Melia’s voice would fade from Azriel’s memory. That night could not come soon enough. Azriel could only pray to Keon that the longer he had with his mate, the less frequent those haunting words would become.
Until then, he breathed through the agony, clinging to the reality that she was there.
She was safe.
She washis.
For, yes…yes, the bond still connected them, even separated by blood and bone. It was such a different feeling than the connection between him and Razer. The vinculum that fastened his bondheart to him was like a tangible thread that wove them together. Azriel could almost pluck it like a harp string, testing its durability and feeling its very solid existence.
