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Marcus knew he should run to their aid, but his Lycans were dying, and it was the former alpha who wanted Tove. Him, Marcus had yet to see, but he knew he must be nearby.
With wonder, Marcus watched Tegan fight, and then Michael struggled to his feet, even as Tegan still fought. Her cry was muted, and Marcus realised they were in a protective spell to keep others out.
Marcus, Tove cried through the link.
I know, we cannot aid them, he told the Lycan, who had turned to watch as Michael felled the Drakhyn.
Oh by the grace of the Ancients,Tove whispered,Michael was the Blade.
Marcus had been about to reply when he saw the Drakhyn’s power over his soldiers break. The Drakhyn looked around fearfully, and then they began to flee.
But the Drakhyn had not been a Lycan even with his wolf form. TheLycanswere not under his spell or control. They stayed for the fallen Alpha Augustine.
Marcus’s fight for his Lycans, his pack, for all Lycans was far from over. His hand gripped Tove’s fur as he watched Salem run with desperation to where Michael fell, Sloane not far behind him, defending the Principal Elder, who was blind to the surrounding danger, his need to reach his children his only focus.
Moments later, Tegan’s scream of loss filled the air, the pain so raw that all the Lycans whimpered. Marcus saw Salem stumble at the cry, and then Sloane was clutching his Principal’s arm to steady him.
Slowly, cautiously, they approached her, and Salem fell to his knees.
Our fight is not over,Marcus told the packs. He saw the shadowy figure form and start to walk towards Cord.Help me finish this, Marcus asked his pack.
Swiftly he changed to his Lycan form and bared his teeth. With a fierce growl, Marcus leapt into the fight.
* * *
Leonid’s head snapped up as he searched for the source of the cry. It was Tegan, he saw her fall, and then he saw the Drakhyn sink his teeth into his daughter. Fear gripped him, and he started to run. A Drakhyn grabbed him, and he spun, fighting it, and then another as it brought its talons down.
Leonid almost stumbled when he saw his daughter being raised by her throat to eye level with the monster that was going to take her. Leonid fought more Drakhyn, cutting his way through them to get to her, their numbers slowing him down.
The bombs and smoke had not deterred the Made, their vision had been sharp either way. Leonid had led his fighters into the woods, knowing there would be numbers of Drakhyn waiting in reserve. It was the Made’s duty to cut them down.
Leonid spun, his kick taking the Drakhyn down to the ground as he landed in a crouch, ready to spring forward. His eyes immediately sought out Tegan, and his eyes widened as he saw Michael stand over the Drakhyn, forgotten about by the one who would kill his sister. Michael swung his sword down. The head flew through the air, spinning several times before it landed on the blood-soaked ground and rolled several feet before it stopped.
On the first fall, the spell over the Drakhyn broke. Leonid sensed the change, and then his Made were chasing the cowards into the trees.
Leonid heard his daughter’s cry of anguish, and he ran with Vampyre speed over the land to reach her.
She would not die this day, even if he had to make her drink her last, he would not lose her.
* * *
Cord heard her scream. The pain in his chest from the bond almost crippled him, but he could not fail. Dusk was falling, the battle had raged for hours. His shield that he had tried to cover most of the Akrhyn with from the bombs took so much energy. The wind to clear the land of the smoke, he was sure would deplete him, and then this, the light to blind them.
His Flare burned inside him, running through his veins, carrying the power to every nerve in his body. He was so tightly strung he felt like he was close to breaking.
To snapping in two.
And still he reached for more.
His body was taught like a string pulled too tight, but he knew he didn’t have enough.
I need more,he said as the power almost overflowed his body.
His jaw clenched as he fought against the euphoria. The Flare was a dangerous drug, every sip, every touch, every taste, made a Castor want more. No Castor had ever held as much as Cord.
His head jerked forward, and he saw the first bearer of the Mark approach him. His steps were sure, his stride confident.
He had been a Lycan, an alpha.
