From beneath the purge of dark fae, there was a slash of snowy white and startling hot pink. Merrick and a group of his hunters emerged from the throes of thrashing creatures smothering them—stabbing, cleaving, and obliterating their way to the surface. Many of them stood battered, bruised, and bleeding, but all of them were alive. They formed a circle, facing outward, each hunter ready to protect and die for the one beside him.
Suddenly, Rowan dove into the fray. His shadows devoured the Sluagh-born fiends surrounding Merrick and the hunters, demolishing them so only a mound of bones and dust remained in the wake of his power.
Tiernan swore to the gods, as soon as he got Parisa in his clutches, he would slice off every inch of flesh from her bones, force her to feast on her own rotted body, then cut off her damn head. And even that death would still be too kind.
“Behind you!” A feminine voice cried out.
Spears of sunlight streaked overhead, laying waste to a nearly a dozen dark fae buzzing through the sky above him. He tried to spin, to dodge the impending attack, but it was too late.
Claws shredded through his leather armor, sinking deep into his flesh. A guttural roar of agony tore from somewhere deep inside him, as the sensation of a hundred daggers scoured the center of his back. He lurched forward and a sudden force yanked him backward so violently, with so much vengeance, it felt as though his spine were being ripped from his body.
Except it wasn’t his spine.
It was his wings.
Searing pain stole the air from his lungs, and a swell of nausea caused his head to spin. His swords slipped from his grip, his magic swam, struggling to heal him. Heat scoured him,ravaged him. The agony of it was unbearable. Warmth spread down his spine, tainted with a strong metallic scent. Blood. His blood. It gushed from the wound at his back, soaking his armor as he plummeted from the sky.
“TIERNAN!”
Maeve’s scream sounded from somewhere above him.
Colors whirled past him as he fell, and that damned fae was still attached to him. Despite the torment raging through him, he twisted hard, reaching over his right shoulder to rip the fucking fae off of him. Rancid breath clogged his lungs, and Tiernan grabbed the creature’s throat, crushing it with his bare hand. The dark fae gurgled, and blood trickled out from its mouth as Tiernan squeezed, wrenching it to the side, snapping its neck.
Then he let go.
His vision blurred, his heartbeat slowed.
“Tiernan!”
Suddenly, Maeve was there, diving toward him, her hand outstretched. Her eyes were wide with terror. She was screaming something, probably his name, but he couldn’t hear it over the roar of wind echoing in his ears. Even with her wings tucked back behind her, he knew it wouldn’t be enough. He tried to reach her, gods how he tried, but the momentum of the fall pulled him further from her grasp. She strained for him, her fingers mere inches from his own. But she grabbed only air.
What a bullshit way to die.
Darkness overtook him. Cold seeped into his skin, chilling him until his teeth chattered. Here, there was nothing. No sounds of battle, no cries of anguish and despair. He couldn’t see anything, either. Not Maeve, or the war, or any sliver of light. Just a vast swath of endless pitch with no beginning and no end. Perhaps he was already dead. After all, he should’ve hit the ground by now. The impact alone would have killed him. Maybethis was the place in between worlds, the one nobody ever talked about, where one simply ceased to exist.
Something damp and solid cradled him, and the shadows dispersed.
Rowan dropped down onto the ground beside him, his midnight wings outstretched.
He owed the Nightweaver a life debt. Assuming he didn’t die from blood loss first.
Tiernan struggled to sit up, but Rowan grabbed his shoulder, pressing him back down. “Don’t move.”
A flurry of gold and pink slammed into him.
“Fuck,” Tiernan groaned, as Maeve’s face faded in and out of focus.
“Tiernan.” She choked on his name. Her hands coasted over his face and chest. “Oh, Tiernan. Your wings. Yourwings.”
“He’s losing too much blood, Princess.” Shadows obscured the Nightweaver. “He needs a healer. Fast.”
“But—”
“You can’t save everyone, you told me so yourself.” Rowan’s disembodied voice seemed to hover from somewhere above Tiernan. “Now, focus. Call to Brynn, trust him to her care, then get your ass back in this fight where you belong.”
Screeches and snarls reverberated across the battlefield, drowning out their voices. The vicious clang of swords, grunts, and peals of distress sounded closer. The press of battle was closing in on them, smothering them. Devouring them.
His eyes closed.
