Forgoing magick altogether, Theo gave him a hard upper-cut to the chin, stunning the creature. He extricated himself and faced the Atrika, ready to fight once again. Raising power, he tossed it at the daaeman, who only partially blocked it. The beast staggered backward, at the same time gathering a bolt of daaeman magick to launch at him.

Like all the Coven witches, Theo was growing weary and his magickal stores were badly depleted. Soon he’d have little power left to shield himself. Soon the Atrika would simply wear them all into defeat, and one by one the magick ball of death would pick them off. The warlocks could just sweep them up after that, like empty, bland refuse strewn on the floor.

He blocked the blast and rolled to the side, coming back to his feet to see something at the end of the corridor that he shouldn’t be seeing.

Rue, the Cae of the Ytrayi, stood there . . . and Sarafina was beside him.

“Theo!” Sarafina cried, glimpsing him.

He blinked.

Something hard hit him from behind. He went sprawling forward, catching himself on the floor with his palms and rolling quickly to one side to avoid another blow.

“Theo!” Sarafina screamed again.

He didn’t have time to answer. He raised power—the little of it he had left—and readied it to throw at the Atrika coming at him.

Distantly, in the foyer, the intensity of the ruckus increased. Sarafina was still at the end of the corridor, but Rue was gone. It was only something Theo noticed out of the periphery of his awareness since he was pretty busy dodging a bolt of demon magick. Perhaps Rue had jumped to the foyer. That would definitely cause a stir.

Theo grabbed his sword from the floor and swung around, hitting the demon in the chest. The Atrika moved back, stunned by the surprise attack, and Theo charged forward before the demon could regain his ability to put up an offensive. He caught the demon right in the neck.

Theo whirled, avoiding the acidic spray of blood. Gods, he was getting better at this. The body fell thickly to the marble floor.

Theo rested by the beheaded body, bent over with his palms on his knees, his sword held loosely in one hand. He needed a nap.

“Theo!”

He raised his head to see Sarafina running toward him. He dropped the blade and caught her, swinging her up into his arms. Her clothes were ripped, bloodstained, and dirty. Bloody scrapes marked her arms, legs, and face. A yellow-green bruise bloomed on her cheekbone.

All Theo wanted in the world was to kiss every single inch of her precious body. He wanted to spend the rest of the week, the month, the decade . . . his life just with Sarafina.