The injured warbirds do as I ask without a backward glance. Good. I’ll be twice as effective if I’m not worried about them.
To my right, Fyrestar and Idallia move like a violent wind on this edge of the battle. They leave glowing streaks in the air, using wings and swords and sheer savagery to tear through vampires. She’s found her focus, and when she’s on fire, the two of them burn as hot as I do.
“The captives are in a trio of wagon cages still in the woods,” Grambolt caws as he swoops by and takes one of my opponents off me. He grips the vampire by his head, talons gouging into eye sockets, and flings the screaming man into a foe trying to circle around behind us.
Another vampire takes the previous one’s place. They have dozens of reserves hovering between us and Wade and Danica. Vampires wait in the center, battle-ready and still shooting arrows and throwing lances to keep the remaining wing guards occupied and in danger.
I want to shift and crush these bloodsuckers with teeth and tail and talons, but a severed head will kill me just as it will a vampire. While I shred one with my fangs, five more would attack from the sides, and we’ve learned the hard way from our ravaged garrisons along this border that it’s better to fight vampires in skin if we can’t burn through them with fire.
It makes us smaller and more nimble opponents, but still physically stronger than they are. Even in skin, a skilled dragon shifter is worth several vampires.
Which is why the seven of us are usually enough to put the fear of the stars into blood raiders.
But right now, we’re only four, and the vampires are dozens more than usual.
“Have the raiders noticed Glimmerwing and Cinderblaze trying to free the prisoners?” I ask Grambolt in mind-to-mind speech.
“Not yet.” He spins abruptly to avoid an arrow, then swoops back to me. “Wade and Danica are struggling.”
My dread intensifies as I fight off waves of relentless vampires. Idallia and I are struggling too. The numbers are heavily against us.
“We need the rest of the Elite Wing here,” I mind-to-mind shout to Fyrestar, allowing Idallia to hear too. Seconds could make a life-or-death difference soon. “Leave Idallia and retrieve the squadron as fast as possible. The locals will need to manage the fire alone.”
I hear Idallia’s heart hammer out a hard beat despite the deafening battle. “Fight without Fyrestar? We’re a team. Bale?—”
I cut her off. “None of us can use fire or flight. You’re on equal ground.”
She scowls at me as the two of them whip toward a new threat, her legs gripping Fyrestar’s body. She deflects a blow on one side and slices off a head on the other. Fyrestar hammers a heavy wing into a vampire’s stomach and uses the resistance to whip around so fast they plow into another and knock her over from behind. Grambolt speeds down and drives burning talons through the vampire’s neck, ripping it open.
“Equal ground?” Idallia shouts as they circle past me to attack again. “We’re so outnumbered, I can’t even count them!”
“Then everyone else had better get here now!” I soundlessly snarl. And that means sending the fastest warbird in our arsenal. “Fyrestar, go!”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
IDALLIA
Panic gouges a hole in my stomach, but we don’t have a choice. Neither of us has ever disobeyed a direct order, and I understand Bale’s reasoning. Sol’s the fastest phoenix alive, but she’s not here. Fyrestar is far and away the next fastest, and he’ll reach the Elite Wing before anyone else can.
“Let’s do this,” I mutter.
“Fight as hard for yourself as you would for me.”
My throat constricts. I instinctively picture Fyrestar, Rim, Sol, and me all together again in our quarters, and I know I’ll move the stars in the sky to make that happen. “Come back fast.”
Fyrestar swoops low enough for me to vault off his back. I land spinning, my swords out, and both blades slice through a vampire’s neck. The bloodsuckers next to them turn in shock. I grin viciously and strike out.
I kill two more vampires in seconds, but then a spear almost hits Fyrestar because he’s looking back at me, and my heart plummets like a rock. He neatly evades and continues on his mission, but I abruptly lose the concentration, speed, and strength I’d found. My swords drop from a blur back to normal. I stop being able to isolate sounds and hear too many. Nothing comes into sharp enough focus. The difference is sudden and merciless, and I gasp, jumping back when a vampire nearly slices me in half. I leap back into the battle, swinging fiercely and trying to unlock my version of magic again.
“He’s the fastest,” Bale growls over the din of swords. Mine crashes without ceasing, but feels horrifically slow compared to before. “It was the right choice.”
I ignore him. Separating me from my warbird is never the right choice. I’ll turn into a fucking animal for my phoenixes. Nothing else can pull the same savagery and strength from me. Nothing else will make me win, no matter what. Not even my own impending death—and things are looking pretty grim.
With that thought, my rhythm breaks. I end up with a vampire boot to the sternum and stumble back.
“Do better!” Bale roars.
“Shut up!” I roar back as soon as I can breathe.
