Dagny’s eyelids twitch gently, and a moment later, I’m blessed with the beautiful warm brown of her eyes. She stares unblinking, the silver ring around her iris gleaming with the same power as the sun.

“You’re so beautiful,” I whisper, my voice cracking. “So mine.”

Her lips part, but no words form. Instead, she reaches up, placing her little hand over mine with a look of wonder as the bond purrs in contentment. I’m about to lean in and kiss her when Malice’s voice sounds out, breaking me from my trance and dragging me back down to earth.

“I hate to break up the warm welcome, but we don’t have much time.”

I tear my gaze from Dagny, looking past the horizon to the spot where Slaine’s castle used to be standing. Sure enough, from the depths of the chasm, beneath the rubble and destruction, hundreds of bodies are starting to rise, dazed and hurt but still alive—calling out to the skies with promises of pain and revenge. Whether Slaine survived the chaos matters little—if he’s alive, he will want someone to answer for the destruction of his castle. If he’s dead, his remaining army will want someone to pay for their lord’s demise.

Malice shuffles over to Kaebl, pressing his palm to Kaebl’s shattered wing as a weak golden light flares to life. The skin begins to knit together, forced closed from the healing magic sputtering from Malice’s veins. But then the light dies—the wounds half-mended and bone still broken—and Malice falls back on his heels, his chest heaving and the color rushing from his face.

Sweat beads across his forehead as he leans forward, his face pinching as he attempts to fix the wing again. “Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He shakes his head, trying a third time only for the golden light to sputter out faster than the last. “No. This is not supposed to happen…”

“What’s wrong?” Dagny asks, her groggy voice laced with worry. “Can I help?”

“Nothing,” Malice quickly answers. “And no, sweet thing. We can’t risk you using too much of that wonderful power too soon. Your mind is already so close to breaking.”

His brows furrow as he pushes the last of his magic into Kaebl’s wing, his skin growing paler the longer he tries. And with each passing moment, the cries of Slaine’s army grow nearer, rising from the depths of the rubble with the promise of revenge and death. We don’t have much longer before they’re on top of us, but we can’t leave Kaebl here. If he dies… we all do.

“Why isn’t it working?” Cyprien asks.