Sam is strung up, like a hog for slaughter, head lolling to the side. Dried blood cakes his body, and fresh cuts ooze over his bruised skin. He’s been beaten repeatedly, kept unconscious, and my magic heats, sparking like it might catch fire.
“Oh my gods,” Grace whispers beside me, eyes locked on her brother.
As one, the vampire army senses our arrival, lips curling into snarls.
With no further hesitation, and with all the rage in my heart, I slice through the closest ones.
“This is going to take all fucking night!” Riot yells over the war cries spouting off around us as we charge down the aisle of the throne room.
“Then let’s get to work!” I holler back, and the magic of my Hunters responds to my demands.
An endless supply of vampires funnel into the throne room from the doors on either side of the dais and through the antechamber on the other end. Hunters slaughter our enemy through the first hour with ease, but vampire numbers keep replenishing.
We still haven’t been able to get to the dais. The vampires surround Sam in a wall built from bodies.
The king was ready for us, and I have no doubt this is what Sam was warning me of, that he was bait, but it still wouldn’t have kept us from making this choice.
Grace and I work our way around the grand room into the third hour, fighting through the night, our fury fueling untamed fire. We’ve fought together many times before, taking out small covens and defending our towns, but all of it pales alongside this. And we harness everything we know—the rings we’ve trained in, the weapons we’ve mastered, and the skill our bodies know to rely on.
We unleash death together.
The Captain and the Heir of the Hunters, husband and wife, destroyer and maker, brawn and beauty, claiming the stone and soil under our boots for our people. For the peace theydeserve. Side by side, we stake and slice our way toward Sam.
The magic of my warriors thins, exhaustion radiating from everyone as the night wanes. Grace leans against the wall behind me, and I defend her position while she catches her breath, sheathing the blade she can no longer carry and switching to stakes.
Longton and Ned are the first to reach the dais, Master Hull right behind them. They fight with glorious strength and awe-inspiring talent, and my respect for them runs deeper than it ever has.
Ned charges ahead up the stairs, clearing a path for Master Hull to get to his son, while Longton expertly defends their backs.
His broadsword mastery is like no other.
Grace and I move toward the dais, eager to join them, and I’m pissed it’s taken as long as it has. We have to get him down.
My thoughts growl, a viciousness festering that ratchets my frustration as I stab hearts and slice throats. But, finally, my boot thuds onto the first marble step of the dais, blood splashing, as Grace ducks underneath my swinging sword, and my target goes down. We don’t waste a moment before racing to the top.
Master Hull has Sam’s feet untied by the time we get there, our breath heaving, and I reach up to work on the rope around his wrists. Sam’s skin is raw and torn, and it takes everything I have to focus, to not be swayed by the anger that clouds my ability to fucking see straight.
The blood-soaked rope loosens, and I unwrap it from the top of the throne it’s tied around and catch Sam as his limp body falls into me.
“Sam!” Grace screams, trying to coax him to consciousness, her tears running.
I still can’t feel his magic; he’s not close to the surface. “Stay with him,” I tell her, and she nods as I prop Sam up on the side of the throne. Master Hull crouches beside his son, cupping his face to try to jostle him awake.
Longton, Ned, and I take wave after wave crashing upon the shore we hold.
I survey the grand hall as I fight, Hunters battling fiercely, and Riot is right in the center, commanding a perfect circle around himself. He’s midway down the aisle that threads the throne room like a seam, and vampires are going down under fire from his canister in one hand and the stake in his other. Ash and blood rain around him in a brilliant display of Hunter glory.
Rhett joins us on the dais, stabbing his way toward Sam.
“Sam!” he bellows. “Wake the fuck up, you asshole. Ineedyou alive, brother.”
Best friends first, stationmates second.
Rhett skids to his knees, pulling Sam into him. I feel Sam’s magic, trickling in a slow drip against mine, and his eyes slide open.
“That’s it, Hunter,” Rhett says. Grace smiles down at Sam, sweeping his bangs off his sweaty forehead.
And then my magic sears and wails unexpectedly as the first Hunter loses his life.
