Chapter 55 A Vow Broken
A VOW brOKEN
GRAVES
The throne room was in utter chaos.
Graves arrived just in time.
Azgorath roared as he seized an Umbra with his bare hands, then tore the Umbra’s arm clean from the socket, throwing it to the side in a spray of red.
Graves’s wings snapped open, propelling him forward. He cut right in front of Bastian, swooping low, wings catching him as he slid across the gore-soaked floor.
Graves slashed his dagger at the tendon at the back of the Umbra’s heel. The Umbra crashed to the floor, allowing Bastian to shove his boot on the Umbra’s chest. The vampire raised a hand, met Graves’s eyes, then made a fist. The Umbra spluttered as blood sprayed from his eye sockets.
"Ruptured brain," Bastian said, breathless—not a fighter. "Thank you." The vampire used the collar of his shirt to carefully wipe the Umbra’s blood from his neck.
Before arriving, Graves had ripped part of his shirt away and tied it over his lower face. He unknotted it and held it out to Bastian. "Here."
Bastian didn’t take it. "I’ll be okay."
An Umbra roared, charging, but before he could even get close, he fell, writhing on the floor as blood pooled from his ears, eyes, and mouth. Bastian didn’t even appear to be fazed as he used his Mind magic.
Graves pressed the makeshift cowl into Bastian’s hands.
Bastian needed a mouth covering more than Graves did. In the heat of battle, surrounded by all of this blood, he could fall into a frenzy. The last thing they needed was for him to turn Umbra.
Graves told himself that was why he fought—and not that he didn’t want to lose anyone else.
They were herding the Umbra to one central location—the prison island. It was the only way they could contain the spread.
It felt like a losing battle.
Graves was exhausted, but he didn’t stop.
His back muscles ached from overusing his wings, and his arms trembled as he twisted, shoving the blade of his dagger straight up into the stomach of an Umbra. The Umbra’s shadowed eyes flickered as she fell. Graves hadn’t known the female, but every death hurt.
He couldn’t help but feel this was all their fault.
When he wanted to give up, to give in, he thought of Luella, and suddenly he was filled with such intense determination he felt as though he could fight for eternity.
He felt her inside him—her fucking fear. At least that meant she was safe.
He’d rather her be terrified and safe than next to him and dead.
He fought until the Umbra’s numbers dwindled, never asking himself how they had gotten in. He saw the others sometimes, eyes meeting, before they were tugged back into battle.
His mother was safe. Soro had taken her immediately, along with Sorill and Sora.
Opulus had gone with them after Graves had forced him.
Soro alone wasn’t equipped to protect the three of them.
That was Opulus’s charge—protecting the royal family and his mother.
Graves couldn’t lose any more of his family.
The hilt of his dagger was slick with sweat and blood as he tried to drive it into the shoulder of an Umbra. He missed.
Graves never missed.
He growled in rage as the Umbra laughed lowly. A Fallen with long, blood-splattered hair and flickering dark eyes.
"You should try harder, Sorren," the Umbra hissed as Graves used his free hand to grab the Umbra’s neck, shoving him away. He was careful not to let the Umbra’s mouth anywhere near his forearm.
He slammed the Umbra against a wall, vibrating from the beating of dragon wings above. Vale was waiting for them to deposit more of the Umbra on the prison island so he could burn them all.
Graves didn’t even try to speak through their mind link. When Vale was like this, he was far beyond their reach, had no rationale besides death and possession. Only one thing would keep Vale going now, and it was the same thing that strengthened Graves’s steps:
Luella.
Graves didn’t bother speaking.
The Umbra kept goading him, however. "So quiet all of the time. I bet you won’t be quiet when your little toy’s screams fill the air.
" Graves drove the Umbra harder against the wall.
"I bet she screams so beautifully." The shadows in the Umbra’s eyes darkened.
"He wonders if she tastes as sweet as she looks. "
Graves twisted his right arm up, shoving the dagger into the underside of the Umbra’s chin. The blade pierced his jaw and went straight up into his brain, silencing him.
It was a grisly sight. Graves let his gaze linger. He wished he could fucking bring the Umbra back and kill him all over again for those words. Rage coiled inside him like a living thing.
No, the only being who deserved his true anger was the Tenebrae.
He fell back into battle.
After some time, he saw Emarelia. The female was lithe as she raised her hands, sending tangles of vines throughout the room, cracking the floor as they shot from the very ground.
Merath was by her side, fire sweeping from one hand as she expertly wielded a sword in the other, protecting Emarelia as she used her magic to ward off the Umbra.
Graves met their eyes, then nodded.
He kept having to wipe his face to get rid of the blood, and wipe his dagger on the edge of his shirt to clean it. He was taking no godsdamned chances—not when so much was at stake.
A loud cry broke through the mist of crimson.
Graves ripped his dagger away from an Umbra, and the male fell to the ground.
With wings tucked to his back, Graves turned to find the source of the noise.
When he did, everything stopped.
"No," Graves breathed.
Soro fought in the corner of the room, a sword in hand as he battled with an Umbra. He was losing. The Umbra held a curved sword. The blades zinged as they met. Soro was forced back against the wall, his wings slamming against it. Feathers fell to the ground behind him.
In a flash, Graves flew to his brother.
The Umbra cackled as he raised the sword, swinging it out and down, heading straight for Soro’s neck. A killing blow—he’d cut it off—
Graves gasped as he used the momentum from his wings to force the Umbra away. Sharp, fiery pain lanced up his side.
He looked down.
The sword was lodged in his ribs. His blood spilled over the silver blade. At least it wasn’t tainted with Umbra blood.
Soro gasped at his back. "Sorren—"
Graves stumbled as the Umbra yanked the sword away. Blood gushed from the cut in his ribs. Hands slick with blood, he twisted, dagger ready, and kicked with everything he had. His boot connected with the Umbra’s chest so hard, he heard a crack. The Umbra fell.
Graves fell forward, shoving his dagger right into the Umbra’s heart. Blood bubbled from the wound, and the Umbra’s head fell to the side.
The roar of the battle grew distant in his ears. Graves collapsed to his knees before the dead Umbra, wings dragging in the gore on the floor.
"Sorren, Sorren." Soro knelt beside Graves, hands fluttering over the wound on his side. "Fuck—godsdammit, Sorren! Why?" Soro’s eyes glistened with tears.
Graves coughed weakly, pain radiating from the wound from the jerking movement. He looked down at the wound. It was too bloody to tell if it was deep. He tried to stand but fell back to the ground, knees weak.
"I couldn’t save Father then—but I can save you now," Graves rasped.
The battle didn’t stop for him.
An Umbra charged. Soro swiped out with the fallen sword, giving an anguished roar as he beheaded the Umbra in one fell swoop. It was messy, jagged. Soro wasn’t a fighter—not like Graves.
Soro wrapped his arms around Graves, tugging him to his feet. Graves gasped in pain. "I know, brother. Fuck, I know." Together, they limped around the outskirts of the room until Graves found himself falling back against something hard—a table.
Everything blurred.
"Graves, godsdamn you."
He blinked up at Tharen, whose white hair was wild around his face.
Graves tried to smile. "Sorry."
Tharen ripped Graves’s shirt open to inspect the wound.
Distant sounds of battle filtered through the room. Too far. Or maybe his hearing was messed up.
Tharen placed his palms on Graves’s chest. His back bowed with pain from his touch. It felt like his nerves were exposed.
"It’s not fatal," Tharen spat as he worked. "Fuck you for this—for getting hurt."
Heat grazed the side of his chest, and Graves gasped, trying to jerk away. Hands fell on his shoulders, stilling him. He looked up to find Soro staring down at him, pain in his eyes.
An orange glow tickled the edges of his vision.
"I have to cauterize the wound," Tharen warned.
Graves gave a jerky nod.
Scorching pain ripped through his ribs. He jerked and thrashed—opened his mouth, but did not let any sound escape. The smell of burning flesh filled the room as Tharen seared the wound shut.
When it was done, Graves breathed raggedly, all his attention on the throb of fiery pain at his side.
Tharen loomed over him. "How do you think the little lamb will feel to know you almost died?"
He gasped out, "Didn’t—though."
"You almost fucking did," Tharen snarled. "I’m not going to be the one to explain to her how stupid you were."
Soro and Tharen both helped him sit up. Graves’s chest and stomach pulled uncomfortably. Sweat trickled down his nape. He eyed the room he was in—one of the kitchens. The very walls rattled from the distant sound of Vale’s dragon.
He swung his legs over the side of the wooden table and stood, leaning heavily against the edge. Soro tried to steady him, but Graves brushed him off. He had to do this alone.
"Is it almost over?" Graves asked.
Tharen wiped his bloodied hands on a cloth resting near the wash basin. "Almost. Seven left before Soro got me." Tharen inhaled sharply. "But the fucking number keeps growing. They’ll never stop." He pinned Graves with his cold blue eyes. "Not until they get what they came for."
They both knew what the Umbra were here for.
Graves swallowed. "They’ll never have her. I would die a thousand deaths before they do."
Tharen gave a violent grin, lifting his twin swords from where they were thrown on another table. He spun them in his hands. "Something we can agree on."