The hounds were so close now, Elyse could smell them. Their scent of rotting flesh made her head pound. Lazarus’s spell continued to torture her, her limbs convulsing uncontrollably.
She closed her eyes and thought of Killian. His golden eyes and his scarred heart. At least he would still have Manny, and his mother. Nina and Corin, and Georgie. He would find a way to go on without her.
“Goodbye,” she whispered to him, wherever he was.
She could feel the hounds’ breath on her skin. The end had come. She opened her eyes to take one last look at her father, smiling wickedly down at her.
“Eat up, boys,” he commanded.
The gray-eyed Hellhound lunged—and Lazarus never saw it coming.
48
Elyse
Themoment the gray-eyed hound wrapped its jaws around Lazarus’s throat, the pain coursing through Elyse ceased. The circle of flames evaporated. The roaring in her ears died away, replaced by Lazarus’s screams.
The two other hounds had sunken down low, ready to pounce at her. But when they heard their master’s cry, they twisted to help him. In a blink, they were on their gray-eyed brother, ripping him off of Lazarus.
Elyse watched, stunned, her muscles still recovering. The three hounds tangled together, vying with teeth and claws for dominance. For revenge. Elyse couldn’t understand. Why had the gray-eyed hound turned on Lazarus?
The realization was a blow to her heart.
It wasn’t a hound at all, but a kind, brave, gray-eyed shifter.
Zubir. He had saved her. He had given her the one shot she needed.
He had wrecked Lazarus. The demon lay on his back, his head barely attached to his body. His chest still rose and fell in rapid succession.
Yet it would take more than that to kill him.
Elyse scrambled, frantic to find the Blade of Hanael. It wasn’t in the circle. Killian had it. But Killian was—Killian was where?
“Elyse!”
Killian’s voice barreled into her, the command and desperation in it tangible.
She turned and saw him sprinting toward her, clothes tattered and nose bloodied. In his hand was the Blade, extended out to her. He was closing in fast.
She reached out her own hand, just as Killian entered the circle. Lazarus was starting to stir, rolling onto his side, his head drooping at a sickening angle. But Elyse closed her hand around Killian’s, around the hilt of the Blade, and together, they spun through time and space.
Everything went black and cold and sharp and loud, for only a fraction of a second as they transported closer.
And then they were back in the arena, Elyse on her knees, Killian standing beside her. Both of their hands wrapped around the Blade, the knife poised above Lazarus’s heart.
Killian let go, and Elyse plunged.
She drove the Blade hard into his skin, through his bones. Right into his cold, wicked heart.
Lazarus gasped, the sound so satisfying. So unlike his haughty laughs or his cruel taunts. He looked at Elyse, eyes wide, a mixture of fear and anger boiling there.
“N—” he began.
But before he could even get the full syllable out, he erupted into smoke.
The smoke, as black and haunting as night, billowed and swirled. It crashed back and forth, like a caged beast hurling itself against invisible restraints. Finally it shot straight up, pluming high up and beyond the clouds.
Around the arena, people gasped and shrieked. The Hellhounds, too, were exploding into smoke. The whole stadium became a cloud of black haze until the smoke lifted, funneling itself into the sky.
