Page 84 of Broken

Chapter 35

The Council turned, craning their necks. Outlaw Ridge troops began appearing at the rim of the canyon, near the trail.

Wolves and armed soldiers, primed for battle.

The earth underneath their feet gave off a tremor. There was violence in the air, and the Valley didn’t like it one bit.

Bathiaz gave the wolves one contemptuous glance, and spoke a word of power. Wards sprang up across the trailhead.

“Your allies are helpless. They will never get through the wards in time.” They were working on it now, though, with items DB had left them.

But just in case… Plan C. Happening now. Cole said, “They don’t have to.”

Gunn had his amulet in his hand, and Cole and Ireland pulled on the power of pack, feeding it into their magic. Their power surged.

Then Ireland threw a ball of magic at the Door to the Mountain. It took the shape of a dragon and sped toward the gold coin on the ground.

Cole held his breath. DB had taught them this one too, for an emergency. It had almost always worked.

But Bathiaz sent a ball of magic of his own. It struck DB’s spell and dissipated it.

The Council members began stepping through their doorways. The ground rumbled again, louder.

There couldn’t be any more violence.

Ireland spoke in his mind. Not violence. Love.

With Cole, she tapped deep into the pack’s magic—not the anger, but the love and loyalty that was at the heart of what they were.

The ground stopped rumbling.

Ireland reached out to the anchor point with their magic… and suddenly Riker appeared on top of it, in ghostly form. Connected to Ireland, and through her, to Cole and the pack; connected to the spirit world through death. He pulled the magic to the anchor point, channeling it into the ground with his own energy, and on to the spirit world where DB and the others were waiting.

Damn. The fucking bastard had really loved Ireland, after all.

A vertical strip of green light appeared.

Ireland called out, “The Son of the Mountain, consort to the Sorceress Illyria, demands a parley.”

All the Bright Fae froze, their eyes darting sideways as if they wanted to check what the others thought, but didn’t dare.

Cole almost laughed. He knew that the parley request was sacrosanct; Thanatos was supposed to be able to arrive and speak to them unharmed.

But the Bright Fae Council had proved time and time again that they thought the rules didn’t apply to them. Now they were all trying to figure out if they could get away with killing Thanatos.

The ground under their feet rumbled again, sobering Cole up. If the Council tried to kill Thanatos and the pack opened fire, this place could still blow.

The strip of light widened into a large doorway.

Through it stepped DB, followed by the three Red Dragons of the House of Al-Maddeiri in human form, their slit-pupilled eyes glowing flame-red.

Last of all came Thanatos.

He glided forward as the other four ranged themselves behind him, and stopped, facing Bathiaz and the High One. Slowly, he pulled back his hood.

His head looked like a gargoyle’s—the color of stone, with a muzzle almost like a cat’s, and bony ridges instead of eyebrows. His ears were long and swept back, and another bony ridge ran up the center of his forehead, dividing into horns that curled backwards like ram’s horns.

Holy shit.