Give her hope.
I drop her wrist. She limps forward.
Then, he touches her. That bastard Prophet. He dares to sweep her into his arms as if she belongs to him. My vision reds out. I’ve seen death, I’ve delivered it, but I’ve never felt more sickened than I do now. It’s a desecration.
And still, she looks back.
Eyes glinting. Jaw set.Live. Run. Come find me.
And we will.
No matter how locked down Easthaven is, Fort Knox or not—it doesn’t fucking matter.
Wewillcome for her.
Because once Raphael knows…
He’ll raise an army from the bowels of hell itself. He’ll burn through every inch of that compound with holy fire and unholy wrath. And we, her damned demons, will be at his side.
This isn’t goodbye.
It’s a declaration of war.
69
Seth
“ALL THAT MATTERS IS US. AND HER. GOT IT?”
We move like twin shadows in the woods.
Rory and I don’t need words. One glance, one flick of the wrist, and we know. I break left, swinging my axe clean through a bastard trying to flank us. Rory lunges from the right, a flash of steel in his hand. We trade off, over and over, fluid and lethal. He makes noise, draws their attention. I slip behind, deliver the killing blow. My axe guts the soldier in fatigues. Probably a ranger.
I don’t give a fuck. I might be the “nice” guy in the group. But you come for my Kinship, my brothers, my woman? I go feral. See nothing but red.
Rory’s like the napalm bomb. I’m like a thousand hand grenades.
Smoke attacks the air, but not deadly yet.
My grip tightens until the wood creaks beneath my fingers. I feel the shift—the thing inside me stretching, waking. It’s not rage. It’s purpose. As cold as my axe blade.
With blood spattering my jaw, I snarl when I swing my weapon, clean and quick, embedding it in the spinal cord of the nearest enemy. I move without mercy, because mercy is for strangers. Not for the ones who threaten what’s mine. Ours.
Every one of them wants to take Briella away. Every single one dies.
Rory’s gone. He’s all beast. No leash. No hesitation.
I glance up just in time to see him slam a cleaver into a man’s throat, slicing clean through. The head rolls with a sickening thump.
“Jesus,” I mutter, but I can’t help the grim pride. Then I spot movement coming at him from behind.
“Rory!”
I swing my axe. The blade sinks into the attacker’s skull with a wet crunch. The man crumples like paper.
Rory turns, blood-slicked and wild, and blows me a kiss. I shake my head, laughing, even now.
We’re both drenched in red.
