Azriel lifted his unfocused eyes to find Whelan studying him, taking in every injury he had already incurred in such a short period of time. Guilt and relief poured forth in a horrible, confusing combination of feelings.
Whelan had come despite Azriel’s monstrosities.
“Lhienska lhon,Rholki.” They were the only words Azriel could think to say. Now was not the time for apologies. Now was the time to act—and to ensure Whelan, who risked his life and that of his bondheart, made it back to Madan.
But Whelan didn’t reply. Instead, he held firm to Azriel’s arm and dragged him to the side, swinging his sword to block a soldier who’d broken through the dhemons’ walls. With a silent nod to Azriel, Whelan pushed forward, tearing through two vampires in mere seconds.
Another bolt whizzed by Azriel’s ear, clipping the edge. More blood dribbled down his neck as he turned in his haze in search ofher. His wife.
Ariadne stood before her friends, the blanket she’d held moments ago now discarded as she instead wielded a sword larger than she was accustomed to. Wearing a dress in which she could not move properly, her face twisted in frustration. Yet when a soldier tried to grab for her—no doubt an attempt to drag her from the fray—she dropped the blade on his outstretchedarm with such force, the entire limb thudded to the floor, accompanied by an ear-shattering scream.
“Lhuka!” Azriel shouted above the din in the dhemon language, finally recognizing the dhemon nearest to the women. “Get them out of here!”
Without question, the dhemon shifted his attention to Ariadne, Camilla, and Revelie. He struck a soldier square in the face with his fist, then followed with his blade to the vampire’s neck, clearing his path to them.
Though her friends looked at Lhuka with wide, uncertain eyes, Ariadne’s lips moved with words Azriel couldn’t make out before shoving Revelie forward, still gripping her quilt with a trembling hand. In one swift motion, Lhuka lowered himself just enough to scoop the Caersan onto his shoulder. Revelie squeezed her eyes closed as he carried her to a broken window and launched himself from the balcony. A moment later, the silhouette of Nix bearing his riders disappeared into the lightening sky.
“We need to get out of here,” Whelan advised through the vinculum. “They keep coming—we’re outnumbered.”
Gritting his teeth, Azriel turned back into the chaos, and it was in that moment, at the center of the storm, that Loren Gard rose to his feet. A nasty bruise spread out from a broken nose, sending a jolt of pride through him at the thought of Ariadne delivering the blow. But it washewho wanted Loren’s head.
“Gavrhil, get Camilla,” Azriel commanded, then grit his teeth as he moved through the pain of the bolt still lodged in his shoulder.
But Gavrhil took two steps in the appointed direction before his eyes flew wide in shock.
For the second time in a fortnight, all the air was punched from Azriel’s lungs in the worst way. He swung around to take on Gavrhil’s attacker, only to find the dhemon unharmed. A scratch ran down his cheek—that was all.
Then a horrible, agonizing roar echoed from outside, bringing the fighting in the drawing room to a halt as everyone turned to see a massive claw on the balcony ledge being ripped down. Shouts of excitement rose from outside as another shriek ripped through the air.
“Rhun!” Gavrhil screamed and stumbled toward the open door.
Azriel watched in mute shock as his friend’s knees hit the floor. “Razer—”
“They’re killing him,” Razer confirmed, his words breaking around the pain and sorrow. “A chain net and—”
Killing him. Rhun. A dragon. Loren had done it—he’d figured out a way to kill their greatest assets.
Loren laughed, and when Azriel rounded on him, he found him watching Gavrhil dying on the floor with no visible wounds. The bastardlaughed, and now he knew that he could put an end to them all so much easier by targeting the dragons’ bondhearts.
Pure agony put them all in danger. Azriel struggled to breathe, and he could only imagine what that meant for Whelan, in the midst of all those soldiers.
“Get out of here,” Azriel forced through the vinculum to his brother’s mate. “I’ll get them out safe.”
“You can barely stand on your own,” Whelan snapped, refocusing on the battle despite the ripples of Rhun’s death throws choking them through the bond.
He wasn’t wrong. Azriel tried to focus, tried to get to Gavrhil, tried to find his friend’s link through the vinculum to convince him to break the bond with Rhun before it was too late. But his mind tilted the room on its side, his feet stumbled and sent him careening into a chair, and there was nothing for him to grasp.
Nothing.
Because Rhun was dead, and so was Gavrhil.
“Anthoria.” Azriel pulled at Whelan’s bondheart. “I won’t let either of you die.Get him out of here.”
“What about you?” Oria asked, though he could feel her turning in mid-flight to circle back toward the castle.
Righting himself, Azriel plowed back through the soldiers now bearing down on him. He didn’t respond to the dragon. Instead, he wrapped an arm around Whelan’s waist and used all his strength to drag the dhemon back. A blade scored the length of his back, and he used his free arm to throw his elbow back, connecting blindly with whoever stood there. Then he stumbled and fell with the much larger dhemon atop him.
Whelan cried out in alarm, cursing Azriel as he blocked blow after blow with a forearm armored by leather. But a moment later, a claw reached through the open doors and plucked him from on top of Azriel.
