Aroar pierced the night, and thank fuck for that. He’d used more than half of his magic reserves in a very short amount of time. Dragon fire seemed to be the only thing that worked against these phantoms.
And phantoms they were.
They weren’t Avonleyan or Fae. Razik wasn’t even sure if he could call them people.
There were around a dozen of them left of the twenty or so that had appeared, and they shimmered in the moonlight. Their bodies were translucent, more phantom than flesh, and they glided rather than walked. Their legs moved, but they hovered a few inches off the ground. Yet none of that was the most disturbing part.
They all looked exactly alike.
Pale skin. Short hair as white as freshly fallen snow. White eyes with no pupils. Sharp, angular features.
Razik Greybane watched as Valric shoved a barbed ice sword into one of them. Or rather, as it went right through the thingand the sword dissipated into nothing. As if the being had snuffed the magic right out.
He supposedthatwas the most disturbing part.
But then Razik was running through the open field, trying to reach the warrior as a gold sword appeared in the being’s hand and went through Valric’s chest. The thing had pulled it straight out of the air. There had been no swirl of magic. No warning.
“No!” Razik bellowed, his boots slipping on the grass. He could summon his wings to get there faster, but with dragon fire being the only thing that had done any damage to the creatures, he was trying to conserve his power.
As he neared the being, he lifted a palm. Black flames flared, spearing for the thing, and when they collided, a high-pitched keen sounded. Razik fought the urge to slap his hands over his ears, continuing to feed his flames to the creature. The scream felt like it was trying to claw its way into his bones until finally it ceased when the being dissolved into black ashes.
“Valric, get up!” he barked, skidding to a halt beside the male. Razik dropped to a knee, pressing a palm over the wound in an attempt to staunch the bleeding while taking in the battle still raging around them. Thankfully, the beings hadn’t infiltrated the forest behind them. If that happened, they were fucked. The trees were too thick to move properly, and with the way the things glided, their forces would be at an even greater disadvantage.
“I feel…” Valric rasped, blinking rapidly as though his vision was going in and out of focus. Those couple words were sluggish and slurred, as if merely speaking was taxing.
“You’ll be fine. We’ll get you back to Aimonway,” Razik said, preparing to Travel. He’d take him to the castle and come right back. He’d only be gone for a few seconds.
Traveling was the way all Avonleyans moved throughout the kingdom. At its core, Traveling was stepping through a rip in the air between time and space from one location to another.
Except he didn’t move through a rip in the air. They stayed on that battlefield near the edge of Shira Forest, a thousand miles away from the capital city on the opposite side of the continent. The sounds of fighting continued to ring out. He tried to Travel again, but it was as if he were stuck, unable to step through that rip in the air like he’d done countless times.
“Can’t…move,” Valric murmured.
“Give me a minute,” Razik snapped, trying to figure out what he was going to do while keeping an eye on the being that was drifting closer. Its white eyes were flaring faintly, and if the thing had pupils, he was sure they would be trained on him.
Tybalt roared again, and Razik was trying to figure out why his uncle had Traveled in so far away when the being that was making its way to him suddenly stilled. The figure tipped its head back, inhaling deeply, and then its head slowly turned to the left, as if looking off into the distance.
“Blood of death,” the creature hissed, and the voice was unearthly. Raspy and icy, it was a whisper that latched on to his marrow. Razik’s dragon lifted its head within his soul, lip curling back and baring its teeth. The voice reminded him of the entrancing abilities the Night Children possessed that enabled them to control the weak-minded.
Trying to figure out what had distracted the being from coming for him, he tried to follow its line of…sight? Could it even be called that?
Pressing down on Valric’s wound more, Razik shifted his eyes, the pupils becoming the vertical slits of his dragon. He could see farther distances this way, everything sharp and crisp. It also allowed him to see better in the dark and shadows.
But when he finally saw what the being had locked on to, he was fighting a full shift as rage coursed through him.
What in the ever-loving fuck was Cethin doing here? Why was the godsdamn king on a battlefield with beings that weren’t even fucking corporeal?
He already knew the answer to that. Cethin Sutara was an arrogant ass who believed nothing could touch him. Of course he would show up on a battlefield and distract everyone from doing their godsdamn jobs. Egotistical didn’t even begin to describe the male.
Razik turned away from the king. Someone else could deal with him while he figured out how to get Valric back to the castle. They’d need Niara, the best healer in the kingdom, for this because?—
He looked down at the male. A comrade he’d known for over a century. Valric was one of the most skilled in the Cadre. Or he had been. Because the male’s chest was no longer moving. His dark green eyes were glassy, staring vacantly at nothing. Killing an Avonleyan was not an easy task, yet these beings made it appear easier than breathing.
“Razik,” Tybalt snarled in the way only a dragon could. He’d shifted at some point, coming to a halt and standing over him. “Go to Cethin. He’s your responsibility until we can figure this shitstorm out.”
“No,” Razik retorted, standing so he was eye-to-eye with the male. “Send Jarek. I’m more useful out here. Dragon fire is the only thing that seems to be?—”
“Exactly,” Tybalt interrupted. “Dragon fire will keep ourkingsafe.”
