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Rein clasped it in two hands, advancing. Cerberus readied his blade, arcing it through the air while he moved forward.
Countering his opponent’s blows, Rein studied the mage’s technique. Cerberus was an excellent swordsman. His grip was good. He aligned his feet properly. His strikes were powerful. His reach long.
Rein allowed the steel to nick his upper arm.
Cerberus smiled at the slight victory, his lips haughty, his eyes bright.
Still assessing the mage’s skill with a sword, Rein permitted the tip of his assailant’s blade to scratch his throat. With the scent of his own blood flooding his nostrils, he finally possessed the knowledge he needed. He bared his fangs, eager to begin battle in real.
Despite his enemy’s craft, Cerberus’s methods were flawed. He dropped his shoulder, weakening his strikes. He failed to keep his blade moving, leaving himself open to attack.
So Rein whipped Blood’s Kiss through the air, twice as fast as his opponent, making it sing. When Cerberus attacked, Rein deflected and charged, driving the mage backward, his opponent’s arms trembling, his blows lighter with each swing.
Unlike Cerberus, Rein had no intention of allowing his enemy time to regroup. He was not stupid. His arrogance came from his true skills as a warrior, a male Awakened as a vampire, savage in his lack of control. Rescued by the Firebrands, he chose a higher purpose. Mate of Braelyn, nephew of Indigo, and son of Alarik and Castia, Bludclan of Melius. He was a mixling. He was proud of his heritage, even his incubus forbearer.
When Cerberus faltered, defending himself from blow upon blow, Rein struck one last time, plunging Blood’s Kiss deep into Cerberus’s chest, into his black heart.
The warlock gasped, eyes wide in disbelief. He clutched the offending blade’s edges, slicing his palms when he tried to pull the sword free. His skin paled. He slumped to the ground. His eyebrows knitted together. His blond hair rested in the dirt. He struggled for air. “I am the prophesied Cerberus. Victory is my destiny. My right.”
Rein glanced down at the defeated mage. “Yeah. Sometimes shit doesn’t work out like you want it to.”
The light of life faded from the eyes of Hades’s hound.
Rein withdrew his sword. Taking no chance, he swung it, severing Cerberus’s neck.
Thwop.
The vampire mix bent forward, snagging a fistful of hair. He thrust his arm into the air, Cerberus’s head in his grasp for all to see. The bloody remains dangled by his fucking blond locks. With his lips pulled back to expose his fangs, Rein’s voice thundered across the battlefield. “The warlock is dead.”
The valley remained quiet, the combatants focused on the outcome of the battle between Cerberus and Rein. Their weapons sagged on the ground. Weary fighters fell to their knees. Arisen Dawn soldiers stared in disbelief, mumbling, “It cannot be.”
But Cerberus was no more. Rein held the body-less head high to prove it.
The indestructible mage who commanded the legendary “thirsty army” was on his way to Angor. The indestructible hound was dead at the hand of a Firebrand warrior.
The Coalition drew breath. They had won. The world sighed with them, the skies were open, and the sun shone bright.
Chapter Thirty
Perched in Vast, Gahya studied the scene. She worried her lower lip, concerned that without Cerberus her Aeternals would fall into disarray and defeat. They needed a victory against the diverse Coalition.
Arisen Dawn diehards resumed fighting though others threw down their weapons, falling to their knees to beg for mercy. Still more fled, carving through the humans to the south or through ravines between mountains. Questing beasts followed hellhounds across North America, searching for better pickings. Harpies flew above them, waiting to move in on their kills. Fresh meat or carrion. Either was okay.
Mottled silvery wings snapped from Gahya’s spine as she shot upward, screaming her anger into the skies. Once she calmed, she jetted to her home. Standing before a closet, she tapped a manicured nail on her chin. Hmm. Yes. She slipped out of a white peplos, donning black leather pants, a matching vest, stylish knee-high boots with a lot of heel, and a silver breastplate etched with intricate carvings. In front of the mirror, she admired her image. Gahya spun left. Right. Reverse.
Warrior Genitrix. Perfect. Catchy.
Mayhap Scribe could document her attire once she was victorious.
She tied back her hair with a leather band. Yanking strands of curls around her face, she strove for a balance between scampish disarray and stunning carelessness. Again, perfection.
The OneCreator had promised success. He’d failed her. So be it. Fortune lay in her own hands. Surely she had a right to interfere.
Bursting through the clouds surrounding her dimension, she streaked toward a horde of Arisen Dawn soldiers.
Hovering above them, she spoke in a voice lush with a thousand layers of sound. “My creatures, halt. I am the Genitrix Gahya. In death, Cerberus deserted you. But I am here to lead you to triumph. Homo sapiens are inferior. My glorious species, you are destined to rule the world.”
Her people stared in awe, obviously struck by her beauty, power, and speech. While they remained silent, motionless, she preened, ruffling her feathers, posing for her subjects. “What? You’ve never seen an immortal before?”
