“I can keep these down for maybe five seconds at a time,” he grits out. “These are old, dark magic. Powerful.”
It’s unusual for a wolf to wield magic like this. But questions can wait.
My own wolf surges against my skin, desperate to break free. To charge forward, tear through anything between us and our mate. I force him down, barely. We need tactical thinking.
The palace architecture works against us, amplifying magical clashes against the translucent walls. Each burst of power sends rainbow cascades of light rippling through the corridors, making it impossible to move undetected.
Through whatever connects us, I feel Lyanna crossing a threshold. Ceremonial music pulses through me—ancient, binding notes that make my blood run cold. They’re starting the ceremony. We’re running out of time.
“Throne room two corridors ahead,” Ben reports, eyeing the magical palace schematics Evren provided. “Guard concentration tripling—final push.”
A wall of guards forms ahead—at least thirty, their weapons pulsing with enhanced magic. Behind them, the massive crystalline doors to what I assume is the throne room shimmer with protective wards, strengthening visibly by the second.
“Final approach,” Ben signals, his hands moving in precise military patterns. “Gamma takes point. Rhonan and I flank left. Derek and Rafe right. Evren, hold the rear.”
I nod, my wolf’s fury coiling beneath my skin. The connection screams through my blood, each pulse a reminder that Lyanna is just beyond those doors. The ceremonial music shifts in tone—the third binding note already beginning. Four more to go.
Rhonan steps forward, eyes flaring with gold flecks. “On my mark,” he says, rolling his shoulders. “Three. Two—“
He inhales sharply, then exhales a controlled blast of dragon fire, creating a semicircle of flames that forces the first line of guards to retreat. The corridor fills with shouts and the acrid scent of burned crystal.
I charge through the opening, slamming my shoulder into the nearest guard. His enchanted blade slices my arm, but the pain is nothing compared to the agony already tearing through me. I drive him back with three precise strikes, each one calculated to disable, not kill—though every instinct screams to end the threat permanently.
These guards aren’t the enemy. They’re soldiers following orders, probably with no idea their court has been infiltrated by a monster wearing noble skin. Lyanna wouldn’t want a bloodbath of innocents on her conscience. This restraint is for her.
Derek materializes on my right flank, moving like smoke between two guards. “Nine o’clock!” he shouts, ducking under a swing and driving his knee into a guard’s sternum.
Ben coordinates our assault with hand signals, his movements economical and precise. Under his direction, we push forward in a coordinated wedge formation, gaining ground methodically.
Rafe strikes the floor, sending ripples of counter magic that destabilize the guards’ enchanted weapons.
The music shifts again—fourth binding note. My wolf howls inside me, clawing to get out. Three more to go.
“Stronger wards ahead!” Rhonan warns, his voice tight as he deflects a blast of magic with a barrier of dragon-summoned wind.
I feel it too—the palace defenses thickening, crystalline barriers reinforcing the throne room entrance. The doors pulse with ancient power, almost sentient in their resistance.
“Dane trained us for this,” Ben reminds us, blood streaming from a cut above his eye. He doesn’t wipe it away, doesn’t even flinch—just keeps fighting like the pain is irrelevant. Like he’s irrelevant.
I’ve noticed it before, that reckless edge. The way he throws himself into danger without hesitation. Something broke in Ben a while back, and none of us has figured out what.
“Strike pattern Omega!”
We shift instantly into the formation—Derek and Rafe creating magical distractions at the flanks while Ben and Rhonan concentrate force on a single point. I channel all my rage into becoming the spearhead, driving directly toward the doors.
My vision narrows to a single focus—those massive crystalline doors, behind which the fifth binding note has just begun.
The throne room doors pulse with ancient power, crystalline surface flaring brighter with each magical barrier the guardsthrow up. Fae guards form a wall between us and our target, their eyes burning with fanatic determination. They know what’s at stake. So do we.
“Fifth binding note,” Rhonan gasps beside me, blood dripping from his arm. “We need to breach NOW!”
Rafe’s hands blaze brighter as he presses his palms toward the massive doors. “Can’t hold much longer,” he grits out, sweat streaming down his face. “Need more power.”
“On it.” Rhonan draws a deep breath, and golden light blazes through his eyes—his angel heritage rising alongside the dragon fire. When he exhales, the flames that erupt burn with divine intensity, making the nearest guards stumble back. The celestial fire twines with Rafe’s disruptive magic, the two powers weaving together into something neither could achieve alone.
The combined power slams into the crystalline barrier. Cracks spiderweb across the shimmering surface as the magics interweave, creating patterns that disrupt the ward structure.
“Working!” Derek shouts, spinning to take down a guard trying to flank us. “Keep it up!”
