“Thank you,” she gasped, rising back to her knees to suck in another breath. The top of her head brushed the lycan’s soft underbelly.
A low rumble of acknowledgement, then Luce lifted her head and howled.
Within seconds, hands clasped Ariadne under her tingling arms and dragged her out from under the wolf before hoisting her to her feet. She shook as she looked back at Liulund, his completely blackened eyes shifting to look her over.
“Can you walk?”
Ariadne nodded, the feeling creeping painfully back to her legs and feet. “I will be fine.”
The next moment, a dhemon tore through a soldier before her. His blade ripped the soldier’s gut open, and he tossed the dying Rusan aside as he barreled for them. Blood dripped from a cut across his forehead and leaked down his side from a larger wound she could not see.
Then Azriel’s arms were around her, one hand still gripping his sword as he clutched her to his chest. “I couldn’t find you.”
“She’s safe now,” Liulund said. Taking note of her pointed look, he added, “She was holding her own against the Rusans.”
Mumbling what sounded like a prayer in the dhemon tongue, Azriel punctuated his words with kisses on the top of her head. He then pulled back to hold her face in his bloodied hands and took in every single one of the bruises she knew she bore. Those red eyes ticked off one by one, counting the number of heads he would take as retribution for her pain.
“Liulund’s shadows put them at a disadvantage,” Azriel said, carefully avoiding the fact that he likely could not see in the dark either. “We’ve made it to the town square.”
A sigh of relief escaped her. “Were we met with more force?”
Azriel shook his head. “It’s time to rest, my love. We have Caersans to kill next.”
Chapter 23
After sending the western army, led by Sasja, to camp at the southern end of Central Province, Madan, Whelan, and Ehrun took flight once more. The next task didn’t include gathering more soldiers, but the final piece of their cavalry. They needed the one dragon that could and would decimate an army without a second thought.
They needed Sehrox.
Flying out of the dhemon encampment, they soared north to where the war against Ehrun had finally turned in their favor, yet everything had gone oh, so wrong. Anwenja. It was there that they left the massive bronze dragon in the mountains, injured and unable to fly away. They’d be able to pinpoint his location once Ehrun felt their vinculum snap back into place.
What they hadn’t considered, however, was that Sehrox would need to eat and therefore would likely be wandering the mountains on foot as soon as he was able. With Ehrun so far thattheir bondheart connection was silenced, no one would know where he’d gone.
Therefore, when they landed at the top of the ridge near the garnet tomb, the great beast was nowhere to be seen. Madan turned in his seat on Brutis’s back and looked to Ehrun seated behind Whelan. The adjustment from Ehrun riding Anthoria solo had come not long before reaching the ridge when Brutis began showing signs of fatigue.
“Can you feel him yet?” Madan called in the dhemon language.
Ehrun grimaced, his eyes going distant as he searched for the thread of vinculum that connected him to Sehrox. After a moment, he shook his head. “Nothing.”
“He can’t have gone far on foot,” Whelan said. “And it doesn’t matter how far we are from them, there’s no way he’d died—not if this lug is still alive.”
For the first time since completing the ritual, Ehrun cast Whelan a look of pure disdain. Madan almost laughed, his heart throbbing at the same time. The expression was one Kall had given them more times than he could count. The similarities between his enemy and his best friend were frightening, and he feared building a bond with the man who took Kall’s life merely due to how easy it would be now that the true Ehrun had returned.
Madan bit back the chuckle, though Whelan’s sharp eyes took note of the poorly masked smirk and raised his brows. Before his partner could make a comment, Madan said, “You know Sehrox best. Which direction should we go?”
At that, Ehrun sighed. “Hard to say. South makes the most sense in terms of returning to camp, but it’s been long enough—he’d have already made it.”
“So…” Whelan dragged the word out. “Do we go north, then?”
“I’d say so,” Ehrun agreed. “More food in the north and fewer vampires hunting him down.”
Frowning, Madan cocked his head. “Do you think the vampires were after him?”
A dry laugh, then Ehrun scratched beneath the metal collar. A ring of raw skin from the edges digging into his flesh encircled his neck. As his fingers dragged over it, a bead of blood ran down his neck, and for a moment, guilt curled in Madan’s gut like hot coals. His brother had suffered with a similar collar and still bore faint scars to mark its eternal presence in his psyche.
“Azriel might’ve killed all those soldiers that night Loren took Ariadne,” Ehrun said, “but they came back after we moved on. They found Sehrox, and he had to killthembeforetheycould killhim.”
It made sense, yet Madan hadn’t considered that. They left an injured dragon and potential future ally to fend for himself in unfamiliar mountains, where anyone could find him.
