They did, giving me time to reinforce. I shoved a filing cabinet into the gap, wedging it tight. The metal groaned but held.
Hour twelve.
The shadows were lengthening outside, afternoon moving toward evening. My healing was slowing, and my left shoulder was definitely dislocated now. I felt it grinding with every movement. Three ribs broken, maybe four, and blood loss was making me dizzy.
During the lull, I noticed the safe behind Slade’s largest award, his combat excellence commendation. Typical Slade, hiding real treasures behind fake honors. I used the severed Nerath’s hand, knowing Slade would have keyed the senior staff for emergency access. The biometric lock clicked open.
The Regalia sat inside, exactly as I’d hoped, along with credit chips, documents marked with Conclave seals, and data drives that probably contained enough blackmail to destroy half the organization. Shield generator master codes too, though they were useless without Slade’s biometric confirmation. I securedthe Regalia in my vest. We’d come for this, and now we had it. Whatever else happened, the mission was complete.
Above us, something heavy crashed through a floor, followed by screams. Not combat, but terror. Pure animal fear. The Gravewings had found a way deeper into the building.
My power cells ran low quickly, as energy weapons drained fast in sustained combat. Twenty shots left, then ten, then the cell died with a depressing whine.
I switched to blades. Slade’s letter opener, an ornate thing with his initials in gold filigree, went into an eye socket when an Orlian peered through a gap. The wet pop was satisfying. A shard of broken glass from his award case opened a Lyrikan’s throat, his silver blood spraying in patterns that looked almost artistic. When those were lost or broken in bodies, I used my hands.
Hour fifteen.
By now, my healing had stopped. Wounds stayed open, weeping blood that made the floor treacherous. I could barely stand between assaults. But still they came, and still I held.
I checked on Bronwen between waves. The transformation was progressing well. The silver patterns now covered her entire shoulder and were spreading down her arm, across her chest, creating designs unique to our bond. Under the skin, I could see them pulsing faintly with each heartbeat. Her breathing was deep and even, her skin still fever-hot but not dangerously so. The bruises on her throat were already fading, her healing beginning to work.
“Almost there,” I told her, touching her face with bloodied fingers, leaving red smears on her cheek. “Just a few more hours. Then we hunt together.”
BRONWEN
The darkness had taken me gently.
Not the violent unconsciousness of injury or sedation. This was something else—a sinking into warmth that started where Zarek’s fangs had pierced my shoulder and spread outward in waves.
Then fire.
Not pain. I’d expected pain. But this was ecstasy wrapped in flame, every nerve ending singing a frequency I’d never known existed.
The first change was awareness.
Not my own—his. Zarek’s exhaustion flooded through me. His ribs ached where mine were whole. We were separate but not. Two bodies sharing sensation across impossible distance.
He was fighting. I knew it without seeing
My skeleton was rebuilding itself. Muscles tearing apart to rebuild denser, stronger. The silver patterns spreading under my skin weren’t invasion—they were invitation. Come, be more. Be predator. Be his.
Hour six? Twelve? Time stuttered.
Outside, the compound was dying. The Gravewings I’d called were doing their work beautifully, turning order into chaos. Even unconscious, I was still orchestrating death.
He was slowing down.
The change in his rhythm pulled at me. Where before his violence had been sharp, now it dragged. Exhaustion beyond exhaustion. His body eating itself to keep moving.
His healing had stopped. Wounds stayed open.
Then—agony.
Not mine. His.
He was on his knees. Someone standing over him. Weapon raised. Death coming for my mate.
No.
