Page 139 of Facade

My skin prickled—my Gargoyle was waking up. The adrenaline must've burned off the remaining poison.

Sweat beaded as I concentrated, reaching through the haze to my Gargoyle—calling on her—

I shifted instantly, grimacing as my wounds stretched and moved. My leg was still fractured by the feel, but in this form, I was able to put weight on it for now.

“Evanee, you match—”

“I know!” I snarled at Malachai.

“You can’t go out there—you’re hurt and—” Lyra started.

“I will not leave them to die,” I hissed at her. She winced, but I couldn’t worry about her feelings. Not now.

I beat my wings once. Testing.

Pain flared down my back, but there was no other option.

I tried again, a frustrated scream leaving me when the pain in my back was too much. My muscles were too atrophied to lift me. Helplessness hooked into my mind like talons.

A large warm hand landed on my shoulder, and I turned to see Malachai’s furious, golden gaze.

“I’ll go with you,” he said, determination behind his words. My gaze raked over his injuries, the seriousness of them. I couldn’t let him risk himself. I couldn’t let anyone else die because of me.

“Who’s that?” Lyra yelled, tripping on herself as she tried to run past us.

I tensed, expecting some other horror to join the fray against us.

Glowing silver beneath a head of white.

Malachai straightened beside me.

“It can’t be…”

“Yes,” I grinned. “It’s him.”

“How? We were told he died,” Malachai said hoarsely.

Ryker came into view, and one thing came to mind;

Death incarnate.

Blood coated his hair and face. Gore stained his blades as he carved through the enemy like death given form. A wound gushed at his side, making my heart slam against my ribs—my Gargoyle clawed to get to him. I gritted my teeth and held where I was.

A Shadow Stalker lunged at him from out of nowhere.

A warning burned on my tongue, but he was so fast. His tail caught the wolf mid-air, slamming it against the ground before he turned and sliced off its head.

A howl rang over the battle—Dimitri’s large wolf form stood tall with three wolves behind him. He charged toward Ryker, who was crossing blades with a Fae, unaware of what came at his back.

“Ryker!” I screamed—he couldn’t hear me. Not over the sounds of battle and the raging storm. He sliced the Fae’s throat with his twin blades, then roared at his next target, taking another wolf’s head with barely a glance. Another Fae lunged with a spear, and Dimitri was almost on top of him.

“Ryker!”

His name ripped from my throat again.

“Shit,” Malachai hissed, limping to my side.

Ryker fought and fought. Every step he took, two more bodies would fall. In that year I first got to know him, I never saw him in an actual battle—I was enraptured. The steely focus, the way he used both swords in tandem, each swing quick and deadly.