Page 78 of Dark Dragon’s Mate

His heart leaped. It was Trish. Where are you?

On the main staircase. Just below the guards.

She was here. She came. She shouldn’t be here; he’d sent her to Silverlake to keep her safe. But hope and happiness blossomed inside him, all the same.

I’ve got your back, she said. Just tell me what you need.

Did you find help?

Not here yet, but they’re coming. She didn’t sound sure, and he didn’t have time to wait. He’d never really thought they’d get there in time, anyway. He’d just wanted her out of danger. Now he realized how stupid that was. They belonged together, fighting side by side.

They’re about to open the portal, he said.We have to move.

Just tell me when.

Grange walked up in front of the portal area, the King’s Key in his hand. Fucking traitor. Raiding the hoard had been a diversion; the Key was what he’d wanted. He activated the Key, starting the spell to create the portal.

Emon said to Trish, Now.

He aimed his stolen rifle at the King’s Key and pulled the trigger, shooting it right out of Grange’s hands. He didn’t even bother to watch the reaction in the room, just attached the grappling hook to the top of the balustrade and swung himself over.

He slid down the rope, holding it with his legs and one hand, automatic rifle tucked under his free arm, spraying the guards between him and the door with a clip of bullets.

As he neared the floor, he yanked the sheathed knife off his combat vest and threw it to Tristan.

Tristan reached his bound hands up and caught it, a feral grin on his face, his eyes glowing gold. As Emon hit the floor, Tristan was already cutting the enspelled ropes around him and the others.

Then the guards opened fire, and everyone dove for cover.

As soon as she heard Emon’s ‘Now,’ Trish leaped out of the darkness at the nearest guard, throwing him off-balance and sending him tumbling down the stone steps.

Before he’d even hit the bottom, she was on the other one, a nightmare out of the shadows.

All hell was breaking loose inside the room, the rattle of gunfire echoing painfully off the stone. The second guard had a knife, but she tore it ruthlessly out of his hand.

She had to get to Emon; she had to save the others. It was all that mattered. Snarling viciously, Trish and Layla fought as one.

Emon upended a table and ducked behind it, trying to pick off more of Gen-X’s soldiers. The King’s Key was lying on the floor, and fucking Grange was crawling toward it. Emon didn’t have a shot.

“Tristan!” he yelled. “Get Grange!”

Tristan cut through the last bit of rope binding him, and handed the knife off to Mina. Then the white wolf stood up, a look of terrible concentration on his face, and flung his arm out at Grange.

Emon saw a faint flash of energy, and then Grange sank to his knees, holding his head, his face contorted in pain and blood pouring out of his nose.

Holy fuck. Tristan was attacking people with his mind.

He flung his arm out again, this time at one of the guards on the balcony. Good thinking. Keep them from picking him and Tristan off from above.

Emon went back to firing his rifle. He had two objectives—keep his people safe, and out of that damn portal. And keep these fuckers from making off with Ragnor’s research.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mina go wolf and attack the nearest guard. Never fuck with a mother and her kid.

Brock was still cutting himself and Mayah free.

Emon shot and ducked, shot and ducked, trying to keep track of Grange and the guy in the suit. Johnson. They were the leaders—the ones to watch. Everyone else was just muscle.

Johnson had managed to grab the King’s Key, and was trying to form a portal.