He turned and left her there, tied to the couch with thornless vines.
She struggled against the vines,breathless.
All the while, she could not hate Lucien for this. It was what he had always done. Protected her.
Her skin grew slick with sweat from exertion and pain. The Stella in her veins offered no aid.
Gunshots cracked beyond the broken walls of her home, accompanied by shouts, thuds, and the wet sound of bodies hitting the ground.
She envisioned them dead, gutted, with lifeless eyes, broken on the ground. And she’d be left here, alone, tied up as the perfect offering to the Rogues. But no.
Vesperin knew that was not true.
She felt it, like the shadows that offered her comfort, soothing over her feet as they kicked, struggling against the impenetrable vines.
They were still alive.
Beyond the walls of the house, the sky trembled. The walls shuddered.
She gave a hitched gasp in fear, freezing. Her head tipped back as she stared at the shaking roof. Dust fell around her.
"No," she breathed, feeling her heart crack against her ribcage.
There was a low whooshing sound, just before the vines loosened, then fell away. In a blur of darkness, Rhyden appeared. Blood was splattered on his pale skin, misted along his sharp jaw. His fangs flashed in glee as his deep red eyes met hers. She started to stand, but before she could fully, he was before her, arms wrapping around her waist as he lifted her against his chest. His arm banded beneath her back, the other under her hips.
"Rhyden?"
"We have to go," he said sharply, placing his hand on her cheek, forcing her head against his shoulder. "Close your eyes, or you’ll get dizzy."
She barely closed her eyes before the world spun around her. It felt as though she’d left her heart behind as he used his vampiric speed to flee from the house, with her in his arms.
She felt him slow, and her mind struggled to make sense of it—the influx of sounds. The Rogues’ roars made her already pounding head worse. She tasted iron on the back of her tongue, but swallowed it down.
She slid down his body as he released her. Her bare feet sank into something wet, warm; she didn’t look. Through the heavy red fog, she saw a mass of destruction.
In the center of it all, Lucien stood proud, face pale, black hair matted to his temples with sweat, dirt, and ash. Vines curled from his back, at his shoulder blades like grotesque wings. Not grotesque at all, she realized, as he turned and raised his arms, his bare chest gleaming in the red glow that filled the air. A large crack formed in the yard as Lucien stretched his hands wide. The ground split, and the oncoming Rogues fell right into the pit, thrashing before they slipped below, out of sight.
"Lucien," Vesperin breathed. "He… he’s protecting me." She hadn’t known he had this in him—such fierceness.
He turned and met her eyes, and she saw a thin trail of blood dripping from his nose. Like hers. He reached up to wipe his forearm over it, smearing it along his upper lip. His shoulders loosened as he met her gaze, then tightened in fear as his eyes swept up, past where Rhyden stood by her side.
The air thrummed, quivering as a heat licked at her spine. So hot she winced, wanting to flee, dip herself in a pool of ice.
But she was stuck, rooted to the ground like a tree, roots burrowing. Because something dark and sleek streaked through the red sky.
It looked like a falling Star.
She realized it was not, as a dark parachute flared out, catching it and slowing its dangerous fall into a gentle cascade.
It was coming right for them.
Rhyden lifted her until her feet dangled. Everything blurred. Then she was on her stomach, Rhyden pressing her to theground. She felt the full weight of him atop her. Lucien dropped by her side, his fingers reaching for her across the blood-soaked, dead grass. She lifted her head, unable to move much with Rhyden pressing her so firmly to the ground, using his body to shield her. Her eyes burned from the smoke, from the heat—from emotion.
She saw Auren and Cyrus further away. They were on the ground, side by side. Cyrus covered his ears with his palms. His red hair was wild, and she knew him. She knew him so well. She knew that the way his purple eyes widened, then narrowed, then softened, meant he was trying to be brave for her. She had seen him wear such an expression so many times. In this life and on Sibeth, when he had done everything for her, to make her feel safe.
Heat flared, wind whistled, as the dark thing crashed into her home, caving in the roof.
As she stared at Auren, she saw the paleness of the Star on his cheek. Nothing about it was comforting to her. It felt like the end. His Star had died, and so too did her hope that they could get out of this and?—
