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Across from the grove, the throne room had darkened, becoming a swirling vortex of shadows illuminated only by the flickering light of Draven’s and Vela’s clashing powers.
I watched Draven leap up from the floor where his former mate had thrown him down, and I caught my breath at the sight of his wounds.
His leather jerkin had been slashed to pieces. Blood flowed in ribbons from countless cuts over his chest and shoulders. When he turned, I inhaled. His back was a mess of blood and tangled flesh.
Vela had been wounded as well. She was moving less quickly. One of her legs had been broken, and she was dragging it behind her.
Draven showed no signs of noticing his injuries or of slowing down. With a roar, he ran back towards her, delivering a flurry of blows.
The fae woman shrieked, but instead of recoiling as I had expected, she pushed herself towards Draven. As her head came near to his, she opened her mouth. A long, sinuous tongue darted out, and she licked the entire right side of his face.
My mate let out a cry of pain, and I heard the shapeshifter laugh.
When Draven next turned towards me, I saw his face was a mess of blood and melted flesh.
Every particle inside me writhed to come to my mate’s aid.
“Draven,” I screamed. “Take it. Take everything.”
I prayed to Aercanum itself that he would hear me and understand.
Finally, he heard. He turned to me, his handsome face a wreck, his poor body broken and bleeding.
I met his gaze and held it. Take everything, I pleaded with my eyes.
Our bond was strong. Our connection was deeper than anything Lancelet and I had ever shared.
I saw him understand.
Lifting a hand, he held it upwards.
Excalibur flew out of its curved sheath, away from its place at my side and towards Draven, as if it were a bird with wings coming home to roost.
The weapon’s hilt slammed into the palm of his hand just in time as Vela sprung towards him, her claws already extended and lifted to slash across his chest.
But Excalibur was raised and gleaming.
Draven raised the blade just as Vela’s mouth opened again. I saw her long, wet tongue emerging, coated in its thick, menacing acid.
A whistling sound from above.
Something flew in from the open sky above the grove. Buzzing through the air like an angry wasp.
Suddenly Vela was screaming—a horrific, wordless sound.
A long, sickly strip of pink flesh flew through the air and landed with a splat at Draven’s feet.
Tuva hooted in triumph as Vela sank to her knees, her hands covering her mouth.
For a moment, my mate hesitated. Then his face hardened.
Lifting Excalibur, he landed the killing blow. The sickle cut through the shapeshifter’s chest, separating her into two.
Vela fell to the ground, her screams silenced forever.
Tuva lifted into the air again. As the golden owl flew towards me, the world around us blurred and then stopped.
I looked at where my father stood by the altar. He was frozen in place, his hands still raised, lightning still channeling downwards. The scene had become like a tableau from a painting. Lifeless and still.
