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“We heard about the attack and came to help,” Saoirse said.

The male glanced from her to Rion and back to her. “Help? From Brónach?”

“Yes, now take us to your High Lord so we can sort things out before our units arrive.”

He stood, his legs shaking. “I don’t understand.”

Rion stepped forward and the male stepped back. “You don’t have to understand. You just need to obey.”

Screaming sounded too close. A chill snaked down Rion’s spine, and he was moving a second later. Saoirse called after him, but his heart was pounding too hard to hear. A female. That’d been a female’s scream.

Rion’s magic propelled him faster and upon seeing warriors wearing red and black armor, he ripped the skin from their bodies without hesitation. If anyone wore the color of his enemies, he was striking first and asking questions later.

The female they’d surrounded fell to her knees, clutching a bundle to her chest. Three children peeked around her skirt, tears staining their cheeks and Rion realized the bundle in her arms was an infant.

He looked toward the billowing smoke again. They’d attacked the western gate, yet there were already warriors circling around toward the eastern side, likely taking advantage of the distraction. Móirín shouldn’t be this disorganized. Not so quickly.

“I’m going.”

His sister didn’t protest this time. “Stay alive.”

As if he had another choice.

RION FLEW through the city like a hurricane. He tore through warrior after warrior, ripping flesh from their bones, breaking limbs, and shoving sand down their throats. But he didn’t stop moving or pause to ensure they were dead.

The only time he lingered was to scent the air, searching for the one person he prayed he wouldn’t find. If she were at the estate, like he hoped, Saoirse would protect her. Then his sister would organize Brónach’s forces to wipe Fiadh from the map.

He was of better use out here, where he could prove his worth when he felt so unworthy.

Only a handful of shadow weavers blocked his path, putting on a show to instill fear while those who wielded flame took advantage of the chaos. The strategy was solid, but he saw right through their façade.

A warrior roared, so loud and fierce it had Rion stopping to observe. Fiadh’s warriors had broken through a line set up by a young group from Móirín. They fought. Hard, but Fiadh was faster, quicker on the draw. Rion charged.

A snarl ripped from his throat and earth snaked up their legs, wrapping around their bodies so fast they couldn’t react. He snapped two necks and suffocated the others, leaving them to writhe on the ground like the vial filth they were.

The warriors from Móirín froze. One fell to his knees.

“Brónach is here to provide aid. Regroup and push Fiadh out.” None moved. “Now,” he roared then they were scrambling, and he was off again.

He wrapped his magic around a leg in passing and yanked, pulling the knee from its socket. Rion hardened the sand into tiny pellets and propelled them straight through the skulls of six others. He kept moving, kept fighting until—Rion’s heart dropped into the pit of his stomach, and he skidded to a halt.

Fear flew through his body when he scented the air again and sprinted west, pushing his legs faster and faster.

Arianna.

Was she fighting? Did Avalon know? Was Talon with her?

He followed the trail of bodies, searching, scenting the area. They’d cut her. They’d cut their queen. His queen.

He moved slower now, his blood strumming in his ears as he listened, searching the bodies scattered across the ground. The dense smoke clouded his senses, making her seem everywhere and nowhere at once. Or was that his panic?

Rion tried to center himself as he prowled forward. She was close now, but none of the bodies were moving. No one growling or fighting. No one calling his name.

Then he saw her. A vision straight from his hellish nightmares. Rion’s body froze, his lungs constricted, and it was only by sheer force of will that his knees didn’t give out.

They didn’t share a mating bond.

He wouldn’t have felt it if she—