This was too much for him to handle alone.

“Layne!”

Nothing.

How could he have done this? His control was no better than when he’d killed his parents. And it was going to happen again.

He swept the aisle, going from side to side, using his hands to learn if she’d collapsed in here somewhere. He found all kinds of items he couldn’t identify—no Layne. He heard a crash, and before he could identify the source, something heavy ran into him, knocking him aside. Hooves hit his rib cage; his head hit the wall. Metal horseshoes scrabbled at the concrete flooring, and then the animal was gone, tearing into the sunlight.

Gabriel coughed and rolled back to his knees, ignoring the new pain in his chest, the starbursts flaring in his eyes. He deserved a broken rib or two. A concussion.

He deserved to be trampled. To death.

“Layne!”

Fire rained down more steadily now. Bits of wood struck his back, his cheeks, his hands.

There was only one horse banging now, from what he could tell. Had they all escaped? Or had some died from the smoke, the heat?

Would he find Layne, or just a body?

Stop it.

Larger parts of the ceiling fell behind him, flaming planks of wood crashing into the aisle. Fire leapt onto the walls, into the open stall doors, catching the sawdust bedding and turning it into a carpet of flame.

What if Layne wasn’t in the aisle at all, but inside one of the stalls?

Help me, he begged the fire. Where is she?

But this fire didn’t care about people. It cared about the burn, the destruction, the pure energy.

Metal struck concrete again, and Gabriel scrabbled out of the way. Smoke swelled around the running animal, revealing a white head, soot-covered flanks, and then a tail swallowed up by the smoke.

No more banging.

Someone had let that horse out.

“Layne!” Gabriel dove forward. The horse had come down the center of the aisle, so he didn’t know which side to check first.

This new silence was terrifying.

He started left.

Closed door. Closed door. Open door—but no Layne. Maybe it had been pushed open by one of the earlier horses.

The heat was scorching his lungs. He refused to think of what it must be doing to Layne’s.

He scurried across the aisle. Closed door. Closed door. Closed—where the hell was she?

And then his hand came down on something solid.

A body.

She wasn’t moving. Wasn’t breathing. When he put his hands on her face, he felt something wet—blood, running from her hairline. Gabriel was choking on smoke, on tears, on saying her name. He had her in his arms, but it was like clutching a doll.

Power breathed in the air around him. A fierce contradiction to the lifeless girl in his arms.

He wanted to lie down and die beside her.