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Tegan screamed when his fangs tore at her side, tearing into her flesh. Her hand came up swiftly, sinking a dagger deep into his side. The One snapped his head back, he laughed. That was the Blade? This small thing that was less than a pinprick in his flank?
He had wanted to savour her death, he had wanted to taste her blood for days before he killed her. He had wanted to taste all of her and then slowly, painfully rip her apart.
As she lay under him now, unable to move the heavy wolf from on top of her, he could smell her fear, but he could still see her hate. Those deep blue eyes filled with loathing and...resolution. Her hand came up suddenly, aiming at her own throat, no hesitation in the killing blow she was about to deliver to herself.
Quickly he knocked her hand away, his fangs once more sinking into her flesh, tasting bone as his teeth bit into her shoulder. Her blood was potent. So sweet that her cry of pain merely heightened his pleasure.
Changing back to Drakhyn form, the One reached down and grabbed her by the throat, lifting her. He brought her close to his face, and even as she struggled, her blood flowed from her wounds. He looked around at the fighting and cast a small spell to create a barrier from the others. He may have torn at her flesh too eagerly, she was bleeding freely. For the time that she had left, he wanted her to feel it. He leaned forward and licked her face, inhaling her scent deeply. “You let him touch you,” he told her. “No matter, tiger, I will still enjoy you.”
Tegan’s hands came down in a sharp move, aimed to unblock him and loosen his hold, and she succeeded. The One dropped her, and she scrambled back away from him, her feet kicking out as her hand clawed their way backwards. She had no weapons left to defend herself. The bond was burning in her chest, the pain fading in and out with every other pain she was feeling. She knew the Drakhyn had wounded her, cutting deep into her side. She was afraid to look at the damage, but Tegan knew the wound was deep, probably fatal. Her slow reactions told her she was losing blood, fast.
“I like that you still fight,” the One told her with an evil grin. “I enjoy the fight.”
“You will never win,” Tegan gasped as her hand slipped on the ground, slick with her own blood, causing her to falter.
“But I already won, tiger,” he told her as he crouched down and leaned over her, his tongue snaking out and tasting the blood from her arm. He was gratified to see her eyes widen.
But she did not widen her eyes at his words.
Michael rose behind him, and with a single sure stroke, he severed the Drakhyn’s head from its body. Tegan rolled painfully to the side, avoiding the Drakhyn’s body as it fell towards her.
The Drakhyn under the power and command of the One scattered. They shook the hold he had held over them, and when they realised they were being slain, slaughtered, they turned and ran. Akrhyn, weary from battle but never weary from this eternal fight, raced after them.
Looking at the dead body of the fallen Drakhyn, Tegan turned to look up to her brother. Her joy faded as she saw Michael. His throat was torn open, his chest had four deep wounds from the claws, and his face was ripped flesh. The wolf claws had swiped across his body in one smooth stroke from his chest to his face, his ear hung off his head, a mangled mess. Michael stared down at her, deathly white, and Tegan felt fear grip her throat.
“I am the Blade,” Michael told Tegan in wonder before his sword dropped from his hand and he fell.
The Drakhyn’s spell enclosing them had burst the minute his head left his shoulders. Her scream pierced the air, and all heard. Sobbing, Tegan crawled to her brother. He was gasping and struggling for breath. “You.” He swallowed wetly. “You...the...stone.”
Tegan nodded as she tried to lift him, her own injuries limiting her movements, but she managed. Gently she rested his head in her lap as her tears fell down freely like rain. “I was the stone,” she cried as she brushed his hair back from his face.
“I didn’t…” Michael gulped. “I never...” He swallowed as he struggled.
“Shh, you need to rest, help is coming,” she whispered as she clutched his hand. “Help is coming, Michael, please hold on.”
Michael stared at her as identical eyes met hers. “I love you. You must,” he whispered as he struggled to talk before a cough racked his body. “You must not leave us…dad…will…need you.” Michael gasped once more before his breath left his body for the final time.
Sightless eyes stared at the clear open sky above. Sobbing, Tegan lay her head on her brother’s chest. Pulling him to her, she struggled to hold on, her own pain too much.
“Tegan, Tegan, you need to let him go,” a voice said to her desperately. “Please, Tegan, we need to save you, you need to let him go,” the voice pleaded.
Tegan clutched her brother tighter. She recognised the voice, but all that mattered was Michael. “He was the Blade,” she sobbed.
“He was, Tegan, but please,please, you need to let us heal you,” Salem whispered, and then with a strength he never knew he would need, he lifted his dead son from the arms of his dying daughter.
“I have him,” Sloane said as he lifted his friend from the heartbroken Principal. Tears rolled down Sloane’s face as he cradled Michael gently in his arms, turning his friends head into his chest so his wounds were hidden from all that looked on.
Salem lifted Tegan and turned to Pure Castor Jameis. “She’ll need all your skills,” he said brokenly. “She doesn’t have much time.”
As Jameis reached for her, a cold white hand on his arm stopped him. Startled, he looked to one of the Three. “Only a little healing, Castor, the Stone is still needed.” She turned to the middle of the battlefield where a slender male with long grey hair and black robes crossed the ground to confront the Mark of Velvore. “Now his battle begins.”
Marcus ripped the arrow from his throat with an angry hiss. His eyes narrowed on the Lycans that fought against them.Hewas Alpha of these mangy traitors, not that fake abomination that crossed the ground to reach Tegan.
Marcus concentrated, his hand tangled in Tove’s fur. He had vowed to her this morning, before the daylight broke the skyline, that he would not let her go.
Now he stood with the blood running freely down his neck and Tove pressed into his side. He was not scared of the shapeshifting Drakhyn, he was scared what Tove would do should the old alpha take her. Marcus would not,couldnot, lose her.
The power of the Prophecy broke his concentration, and his head whipped to the area where the black wolf sent a killing blow to Michael, throwing him backward on the grass, even as it leaned over Tegan.
