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Although their blades still clashed, steel shrieking as sparks burst between them, Broderick saw it clearly now—the shift in Angus. His strikes faltered, his footwork sloppy, his rage sputtering into desperation.

“Stop this!” Broderick shouted, parrying another wild swing. “We dinnae have tae keep fightin’! We’re the last of our kin, Angus. Let us end this feud before it destroys us both!”

Angus’s face twisted, torn between fury and despair. His blows came slower, less certain, as Broderick’s words pierced the armor of his wrath.

Sensing the fracture in his enemy’s resolve, Broderick eased his assault, meeting Angus blow for blow but refusing to press the advantage. “We can end this. Dinnae let the mistakes of our father—”

Angus let out a guttural cry of anguish, the sound raw and unfiltered, as though his very soul had torn free of him. His sword sagged at his side, trembling in his grip.

Without warning, he staggered back and crashed through the balcony doors, glass exploding outward in a shower of glittering shards. In a heartbeat, he vanished, scaling the wall like a shadow fleeing the dawn.

His tortured cry echoed over the village, a mournful wail that cut straight through Broderick’s chest.

Broderick let his weapons fall from his grasp, the clang of steel lost beneath the pounding of his heart. He turned to Davina, her breath shallow and uneven.

“I’m so sorry,” she whimpered. “I—”

In two strides, he gathered her into his arms. Her body shuddered against him, skin burning beneath his fingertips as she sobbed.

“I couldn’t control myself. Oh, God,” she cried against his throat, her arms tightening around his neck. “I’m a blood slave.” She sobbed harder. “I’m going to die, aren’t I?”

“Nay, yer not.” Broderick gently pulled back, cupping her face in his hands. “There’s still a chance to save ye. We have to get to Aberdeen. I have to take you tae the Vamsyrian Council.”

Her brow furrowed. “But… You said Veronique—”

“We’ll take her with us. They said there was a cure, but we have tae go now.”

Davina nodded. With her cradled in his arms, Broderick rose. He cast a final glance at the broken balcony doors.

Vengeance, or whatever he had to face with Angus, would have to wait. Angus could flee to the ends of the earth, but Broderick’s world was here, in his arms—and he would fight heaven and hell to keep her alive.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Pain rippled through Davina’s body like a thousand icy needles, radiating from her chest through her limbs. She shuddered, clutching Broderick’s arm for support as they climbed the winding path toward the looming Vamsyrian Fortress of Aberdeen. The dark, jagged stronghold, crowned by flickering torchlight, carved a sinister silhouette against the starless sky. Its spiked parapets jutted like claws toward the heavens, each step toward it tightening the knot of dread in her stomach.

Beside her, Veronique stumbled, leaning heavily on Rosselyn and Nicabar. Her pallor had turned ashen, her mouth twisted into a perpetual sneer aimed squarely at Davina. The weight of that venomous glare pressed coldly against Davina’s soul. Though they shared the same cursed bond, Veronique’s resentment burned with a fire that made Davina’s chest ache.

Broderick had explained everything: the blood bond Angus had forged to enslave them both, the tether that wouldinevitably claim their lives if the Army of Light did not intervene. Angus, in his insatiable lust for revenge, had condemned them both to a slow death. Now, this fortress—and the Council within—offered their only hope of salvation.

Amice trailed close behind, murmuring prayers in hushed torment. As they approached the fortress’s towering, thirty-foot iron gates, two hulking Vamsyrian guards emerged from the shadows. Clad in black leather armor, their eyes were as empty as the abyss, their faces carved from stone.

One guard stepped forward, voice rough and commanding. “Broderick MacDougal?”

He nodded. “Aye.”

“The Council is waiting inside.”

The group took one step forward before the other guard struck the ground with his spear. “No mortals pass these gates unless they seek the judgment of the Council.”

Amice gasped softly, clutching Veronique’s arm as though sheer will might anchor her granddaughter’s soul. “Please, Veronique,” she begged in French. “Do not forsake your humanity. Accept the cure and return to me, my sweet girl.”

Veronique’s lip curled in contempt. She wrenched free of Amice’s grasp with a disdainful sneer. “Go back to your filthy Gypsy camp,” she spat. “You are nothing to me.”

Amice’s face crumpled, tears streaking her weathered cheeks. Rosselyn and Nicabar closed in on either side of her, each laying a hand on her trembling shoulders. Rosselyn’s scowl deepened, her voice low and seething. “Ungrateful bitch,” she hissed beneath her breath.

Veronique lunged at Rosselyn, fury twisting her features, but Broderick and Nicabar were faster. They stepped between them, steel in their eyes, shielding Rosselyn from the young Romanigirl’s assault.

“That’s enough!” Broderick’s voice cracked through the night, a thunderous boom of command. “Take them back to camp, Nicabar.”