Guess no one ever did that to him.
Lore flexed his bleeding fingers, a dark anger sweeping through him.
But he’d learned, having seen the Guardians and witnessed human gangs fight—as dirty as they could. And Lore wanted the ass to feel pain?—
A faint tingle spread along his spine. His gaze snapped to the castle in the distance, light glinting in a few of the windows. The quiet, deadly energy from the Trinity traversed out into thenight, across the destroyed land to the battle. It coasted over them, silently spreading its perilous net.
The whine of steel flew close to his head. Instinctively, he leaped back, but the blade caught his biceps in a stinging blow.
Dammit!
“That was for what you did!” the ass snarled, then like a fading light bulb, he slowed, brow creasing?—
They all slowed.
Increment by increment, the thrones’ bright power blasts faded, and their fight moves weakened until his former brethren all froze in place. Confusion clouded the air for a moment. Then, their eyes darkened with fury as the realization dawned they were trapped by some invisible foe.
“What the fuck’s happening?” Nik panted into the sudden silence.
Chest heaving, Lore flipped his sword and slammed it into the destroyed turf. A hand resting on the hilt, he waited.
Bleeding and baffled, the Guardians all stood there amidst the immobilized thrones.
Race stopped at his side, his naked form bloodied, his silver hair damp and trailing down his back. “Never expectedyouto be fighting with us. Too boring on the winged side, eh?”
Lore snorted. The dragon would learn the truth soon enough.
His back itched, and Lore freed his immense wings. He exhaled deeply with relief as the pain in his back eased.
The Guardians—all of them dripping blood from their own injuries or from those they’d inflicted upon the thrones—examined their trapped foes.
Lore glanced at his bicep wound. It had already healed.Good.
Michael appeared, carrying a sparking, intricate, woven clay urn. He lifted the lid, and the thrones’ power rushed out of their bodies in a visible, shimmering outpour.
“What the fuck?” Týr leaped out of the way.
The cacophony of energy flowed past the Guardians, cascading straight into the open mouth of the clay vessel?—
“Fuck, no!” someone yelled.
The warriors scrambled around a fallen warrior.
Lore sprinted over.
Aethan lay on the ground, gasping for breath. A wound to his chest gushed.
“Michael, get over here!” Týr snarled, placing his palms on the warrior’s chest, trying to heal him, but the lesion continued to spurt.
Lore cursed. He knew the danger of a hit to the chest with an angelic weapon. He glanced back at the castle and could feel the Trinity still locked in their spell. Little wonder Echo didn’t know her mate was severely wounded.
The power drainage waned, and Michael snapped the lid shut. He set down the vessel and was at Aethan’s side in a heartbeat.
“Hold on,” he said, placing both hands on Aethan’s chest?—
An iridescent silvery glow seeped into the warrior.
Beyond their group, the trapped thrones sagged. Another silent wave of energy swarmed them, distorting the night air. Their gazes widened. In a flash of pure white light, they all vanished. The ringing of their falling weapons echoed in the stillness.
