"Break it how?" Casteel demanded, though speaking required more effort than it should have. "I won't abandon him."
"Not abandon," Makim corrected. "Balance. The bond needs to flow both ways, not just drain from you to him." He turned to Eryken. "Those medicines you mentioned—do you have strengthening tonics? Something to boost his natural healing?"
Eryken nodded to his men, who immediately began unpacking supplies. "Whatever you need."
They all turned at the sound of thundering footsteps.
Lucan burst back into the chamber, his face grim with urgency. "Commander," he gasped, "Doran's forces have surrounded the temple. We have minutes before they breach the outer walls."
"How many?" Eryken demanded, instantly alert.
"At least fifty," Lucan replied, already checking his weapons. "Palace guards and those silver-armored zealots Doran's been training. They've got the main entrance blocked and scouts are searching the perimeter."
Casteel felt panic rise in his throat. Nero lay deathly pale on the altar, his breathing shallow, utterly vulnerable to capture or worse. Through their bond, he sensed his mate's life force flickering dangerously.
"We can't move him again," Makim warned, already preparing more medicines with swift, practiced motions. "The bleeding has barely stopped."
Eryken's face hardened into the mask of a battlefield commander. "Lucan, take men and create a diversion at the western wall. Make it loud, make it convincing." He turned to hisremaining fighters. "The rest form a defensive line at the stairs. No one reaches this chamber."
"And what about us?" Casteel demanded, one hand still clutching Nero's. "If they break through—"
"They won't," Eryken stated with cold certainty. "My men will hold."
But even as he spoke, the distant sounds of fighting echoed down the stairwell—steel on steel, shouts of pain, orders barked in urgent voices. Doran's forces had already breached the outer defenses.
Casteel felt something shift inside him—the wolf stirring, but different now. Not just rage and protective instinct, but something deeper. The silver wolf of prophecy, responding to the threat with ancient power.
"I need a weapon," he said, his voice steadier than he felt.
Eryken studied him for a moment, then unsheathed a secondary blade from his belt—a short sword of excellent craftsmanship. "You know how to use this?"
"No," Casteel admitted, taking the weapon anyway. "But I'm a fast learner." The thought of plunging a blade into living flesh made him feel sick, but Nero would protect him with his life. Had just attempted that. Carrying a blade was the least he could do.
The sounds of combat grew louder, closer. Makim worked frantically over Nero, administering potions and changing blood-soaked bandages. Eryken positioned himself at the chamber entrance, sword drawn, face set in grim lines.
"Casteel," Makim called urgently. "I need your help. The bond—it's faltering."
Casteel rushed back to Nero's side, cold fear washing through him at the sight of his mate's ashen face. Through their connection, he felt Nero's life force ebbing like a tide retreating from shore.
"What do I do?" he asked desperately.
"Bite him like he did you," Makim instructed, his voice clinical despite the chaos around them. "It needs a double bond."
Understanding dawned immediately. Casteel bent over Nero, his lips finding his mate's throat. The connection between them pulsed weakly as he pressed his mouth to the beautiful skin. Casteel hesitated only for a heartbeat before his teeth broke the skin and the taste of copper flooded his mouth as Nero's blood touched his tongue, something electric surging through their connection. The bond flared to life with renewed strength, pulsing between them like a living thing.
Nero's body arched beneath him, a ragged gasp escaping his lips as consciousness returned in a violent rush. His eyes flew open, clouded with pain but aware, seeking Casteel's face with desperate intensity.
"You're alive," Casteel breathed, relief making him dizzy. Through their bond, he could feel Nero's life force stabilizing, still weak but no longer fading.
"Hard...to kill," Nero managed, his voice barely audible beneath the growing sounds of combat. His eyes focused past Casteel, widening as he recognized the rebellion commander. "Eryken?"
"Save your strength," Eryken replied, attention divided between the wounded man and the approaching battle. "We'll have time for explanations later."
A thunderous crash from above sent dust showering down from the ancient ceiling. The clash of weapons drew nearer, accompanied by shouts and the unmistakable sound of bodies falling on stone steps.
"They've breached the upper level," a rebel called, appearing at the chamber entrance with blood streaming from a gash across his forehead. "Our men are holding the stairs, but they won't last long."
"Go," Eryken ordered, gesturing to Makim. "Take them through. My men and I will cover your retreat."
