As I watch Adair scream and flail, my mouth scrunches onto one side of my face. This is what you call a ‘classic moral dilemma.’ On the one hand, I have Walker, clearly injured and struggling to open a portal so he can save himself, me, and the man that I love. On the other hand, I have Adair, who walked into this situation like a dumbass and arguably deserves to die. On top of everything, I’m part demon. Nobody really expects me to do the right thing here. I could grab Lincoln, shove us both through the portal, and easily talk my way out of it later. Uh-oh, I totally panicked. My bad! Inside my soul, my wrath demon growls, encouraging a fast exit.

A fast exit? Not a bad thought, really.

Once again, Adair screams like her head will explode and, damn it, I feel sorry for her lame ass. Nitwit or not, she doesn’t deserve to die alone on the Arena floor.

Crap, I’m about to do the right thing again, just like I did for her father at the Winter tournament. Hopefully I won’t live to regret it.

I motion to Walker. “Close the portal. We have to get Adair.” Walker nods, the black door disappears. He stands still for a moment, grips his belly tighter and then crumples onto the Arena floor.

Hells Bells.

I kneel at Walker’s side. “Are you alright?” My hands anxiously flutter near the general area of his belly. Playing nursemaid isn’t exactly my strong suit.

Walker speaks through gritted teeth. “I’ll be fine. The Crini demon caused some–” he winces “–internal damage. I have the gift of self-healing from my grandmother. I just need a little time.” His face looks milky-pale.

Archangels have list of powers a mile long, their offspring usually inherit only one or two of them. I let out a long breath. If Walker can self-heal, he’ll be fine. I only wish Lincoln or I had that ability too.

I give Walker’s hand an awkward pat. “Take as long as you need.”

The Prince taps my shoulder; I rise to my feet. “What’s up?”

He points across the Arena floor. “Tinea demon.” A muscle twitches along his upper lip. “And it’s heading straight for Adair.”

“Of course, it is.” My heart sinks. The Tinea’s a humanoid worm about five feet tall with a sinewy body, greasy brown skin, and a great gaping hole of a mouth. Its head is an eyeless lump covered with fine, hair-like quills. Diamond-sharp claws shaped like rotors spin at the end of its rope-like arms and legs.

This thing is so badass, it isn’t even funny. And I’ve never even heard of someone killing one. Knots of tension crawl up my legs and back. We are so screwed.