At last, the smoke was clearing. Which meant Lanthe needed to catch up. Who knew what could be awaiting them out in the night? Thousands of immortals had escaped.
Had this many enemies ever been so concentrated in one inescapable place?
She readied her sword. A vague memory arose of holding her first one. Mother had absently handed each of her daughters a golden sword, telling them, “Never depend solely on your powers. If you and your sister want to survive to adulthood, you’d best get handy with one of these. . . .”
Now Lanthe kept her weapon poised for—
Pain on her ankle?
Body reeling forward?
One second Lanthe had been sprinting; the next she was on her face, sword tumbling in front of her. Something had her! Claws sank into her ankle, piercing the leather of her boot. She screamed and thrashed, but it hauled her back.
Ghoul? Demon? Wendigo? She stabbed her metal claws into the ground, scrabbling for purchase, looking over her shoulder.
Her own nightmare.
Thronos.
His scarred face was bloodied, his towering body tensed. A maniacal glint shone in his gray eyes as his wings unfurled—they seemed to flicker in the dim tunnel. A trick of light.
The bastard had actually braved an underground shaft. Vrekeners never abandon their hunt.
“Release me, you dick!” She kicked out with more force, but she was no match for his strength. Wait, why didn’t he have a collar? Thronos was akin to an angel, a warrior for right.
She knew he’d become a warlord. Had he turned evil over these centuries?
“Let her go, Thronos!” Carrow yelled, charging. She’d parked Ruby somewhere, returning to take on a Vrekener.
For Lanthe. I knew I liked that witch.
Before she could reach Lanthe, Thronos had used one of his wings to send Carrow sprawling. The witch scrambled up again, drawing her own sword.
Lanthe continued to thrash, filled with dread. Thronos was too strong; like Lanthe, Carrow still had her collar.
When the witch charged again, a wing flashed out once more, but Carrow anticipated the move, hunching down to slide under it. She shoved her sword up, piercing the wing, leaving her weapon to hang like a giant splinter.
He gave a yell, releasing Lanthe to pluck the sword free. Blood poured from him, pooling in the gravel.
Carrow lunged for Lanthe, snaring her hand. Before she could get Lanthe up and running, Thronos seized Lanthe’s leg again, wrenching her back—but Carrow and Lanthe kept their hands locked.
It was a losing proposition. Ruby was vulnerable without Carrow. And for all the grief, heartache, and pain Thronos and his kind had dished out to Lanthe over the years, she didn’t believe he could murder her in cold blood.
She chanced another look back. No matter how much he’d looked like he was about to.
His blood-splattered face was as grim as a reaper’s, his lips thinned, his scars whitening. The age-old question arose: did he want to abduct her or kill her? Or abduct her to torture then kill?
No, no, he couldn’t hurt her; Lanthe was his fated mate. Hurting her would hurt him.
The tunnel quaked again. In the distance, Ruby called, “Crow!”
“Save Ruby!” Lanthe cried. Smoke thickened, rubble building around them.
Carrow shook her head, digging in determinedly. “I’ll save you both.”
In a deafening rush, rocks began to tumble down from the ceiling, filling the space between Carrow and Ruby.
Ruby screamed, “Crow! Where are you?”