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He watched in awe as they sizzled across his skin, and fell away like ash.

The pain faded from his body as he threw himself from that gods-forsaken table. With the movement, his Warsword strength returned to his limbs, a warmth washing through him like a powerful wave. He felt nothing but energy as he found his feet and locked eyes with the Archmage.

Wilder offered a savage smile.

He grabbed the man by the back of the neck and, with a single downward motion, used his head to smash the glass case surrounding his twin swords.

Blood splattered, screams sounded, and this time, it was nothing but music as Wilder’s fingers wrapped around the grips of his blades. With their weight in his hands, he came back to himself: the Warsword, the Hand of Death.

Monsters’ throats opened beneath the edges of those blades, spilling gore across the ruined laboratory.

As blood dripped from Wilder’s swords, that brilliant white light flared again.

At last, he tasted the storm on his lips, and looked up.

CHAPTER SIX

THEA

Awhimper escaped Thea as she took in the mighty sight of him. Wearing only a pair of tattered undershorts, Wilder Hawthorne was a blaze of bare-chested bloodshed and glory. Though his body was bruised and brutalised beneath the gore, he moved like a god of war, becoming a savage blur of steel as he carved through the remaining monsters to get to her.

Thea held her breath, her lightning dancing at her fingertips as he reached her.

When he met her gaze, she exhaled. For his silver eyes were his. He was whole.

Wilder’s stare widened at the sight of her. Despite the carnage around them, he took in the Warsword totem at her arm, the strength that radiated from her and the power thrumming between them.

He staggered towards her, lips parted in awe. ‘Thea —’

But she lunged for him, gripping the back of his neck and silencing him amid the madness with a deep, searing kiss. She didn’t care that he tasted of iron and sweat, only that he was hers. His lips met hers in a fierce claiming, his mouth opening for her and her tongue brushing against his as she pressed her armour-clad body to his bare torso.

She broke away, panting. ‘I love you,’ she gasped, refusing to tear her eyes away from him. ‘I love you so much I can hardly breathe. I’ve wanted to say it for so long —’

Wilder gave a hoarse, broken laugh. ‘Tell me again later. Tell me when we’re safe.’

Thea kissed him again, desperate to show him that tempest he’d brought to life within her from the moment they’d met. ‘I’ll tell you every day until my last,’ she murmured.

Outside, beyond the blanket of darkness, something exploded, ripping through the air.

Thea and Wilder broke apart, rigid with tension as they listened.

It started as a distant, muffled sound, akin to the low rumbling of thunder echoing across the marshland, only to crescendo into a near-deafening blast that shook the very foundations of the Scarlet Tower.

Thea grabbed Wilder’s hand and pulled him towards the exit. ‘Come on, let’s get the fuck out of here.’

‘What is that out there?’ he asked, following, his hand not leaving hers.

‘Our back-up,’ she replied, kicking debris from their path. The laboratory was ruined, empty but for the rivers of black blood at their feet.

When they reached the corridor beyond, she halted them, crouching by a body on the floor and wrenching its boots from its lifeless feet.

‘Here.’ She held them out to Wilder. ‘They’ll be a snug fit, but your feet —’

Wilder was already hauling the pants off the corpse and tugging them on before stuffing his feet into the too-small boots. ‘They’ll do,’ he said, his gaze flicking to the darkened hallway. ‘How —’

‘A story for another time,’ Thea said, snatching his hand back in hers, dragging him down the passageway towards the spiral stairs. Spotting a unit of howlers coming towards them, she took the lead. Though he was keeping up, she knew Wilder wasn’t at his full strength and she wasn’t about to let him take the brunt of their violence.

‘Thea,’ Wilder objected, but she simply gave him a wicked grin and flung herself into the heart of the fray, cleaving through one howler after the next, spraying blood on the stone walls and letting her steel sing. In the frenzy and rhythm of the rampage, she was dying to use her magic, to unleash that powerful storm magic like a wave upon them all, but with Talemir’s warning fresh in her mind, she reined that part of herself in. If she couldn’t kill them with lightning, she’d cut them down the Warsword way.