Chapter 21
TWENTY-ONE
HANNAH
“Turn it around; we have our way out!” Ksenia yells, one hand clinging to Kharon’s arm while the other clutches her wailing newborn against her chest.
Layden doesn’t hesitate. He swings the helicopter around in a sharp banking turn, the whole aircraft tilting at a sickening angle. The backend is heavy—dragging—from our extra passenger still clinging to the entrance ramp with those massive claws.
We wobble violently, the helicopter shuddering like it’s about to shake apart.
Another claw suddenly lodges into the side of the helicopter right above my head with a metallic screech that makes my teeth hurt.
The talons—each one as thick as my thigh—pierce straight through the reinforced metal like it’s aluminum foil.
I can see the tips inside the cabin now, gleaming black and razor-sharp, just inches from my skull.
Oh god, we’re not going to make it!
Those things are going to drag us down out of the air before we can reach the portal. We’re going to fall into this darkness and whatever’s waiting below—
We tilt wildly backward, the whole helicopter pitching up at what feels like a forty-five degree angle. My stomach lurches into my throat.
The snout of the beast holding onto the ramp comes into view, sliding up over the edge of the opening.
My breath stops completely.
His head is absolutely huge—easily the size of a school bus.
Scaled in obsidian black that seems to absorb what little light we’re giving off.
The snout is long and reptilian, ridged with bony protrusions.
Steam or smoke billows from massive nostrils.
And the eyes—god, the eyes are the worst part.
They glow a deep, malevolent red, like coals in a forge.
Slitted pupils focus directly on us with an intelligence that’s terrifying.
Rows of teeth—hundreds of them, each one as long as my forearm—line the partially open mouth. They’re yellowed and stained, some broken, some curved backward like fishhooks designed to hold prey.
But even as massive as this creature is, it’s clear he’s still much smaller than some of the other shadows we saw silhouetted in the distance. Those were the size of mountains. This one is merely the size of a house.
The entire helicopter tips further backward, now at nearly sixty degrees. My body strains against the straps, gravity pulling me toward the open ramp. Toward those teeth.
Hannah, Ksenia, and I would have tumbled out the open back and fallen into the darkness if not for the harness straps holding us in.
Even buckled, I can feel myself sliding, the straps cutting into my shoulders and hips.
Hannah has one arm locked around Raven, who’s screaming in terror, her little wings beating uselessly.
Kharon clings to the walls with four of his six hands, the other two holding his newborn daughter protectively against his chest. His feet have left the floor.
He’s horizontal now, held in place by sheer strength and determination, muscles straining visibly in his arms. The baby in his arms wails—high, piercing cries that somehow cut through even the wind and engine noise.
“Get the fuck off my bird!” Layden shouts from the cockpit, and I can hear the edge of real fear in his voice for the first time.
A stream of fire erupts from his fingertips—brilliant white-blue runes that shoot down the center of the aisle like a flamethrower. They pass within inches of Kharon, so close I can feel the heat even from where I’m strapped in. The air crackles with power, smells like ozone and lightning.
The runes strike the dragon square in the face.
The creature’s eyes widen—the pupils contracting to thin slits. Its mouth opens wider in what might be surprise or pain, revealing even more of those nightmare teeth and a throat that glows from within like there’s fire in its belly.
It releases us.
The helicopter drunkenly rights itself in a stomach-dropping lurch, spinning slightly as we tip forward. My head slams against the headrest behind me with enough force to see stars.
We plunge toward the shimmering white portal ahead—that pearlescent mirror created by the newborn baby’s power. It’s maybe a hundred feet away now. Fifty. Twenty.
We hit it.
The sensation is like being turned inside out for a split second. A feeling of wrongness, of being in two places at once, of—
Then we’re back in brilliant afternoon sunlight, and it’s so bright after the darkness that I’m temporarily blinded. I squeeze my eyes shut against the sudden glare.
Hannah and I scream in unison as the helicopter continues bobbing like a cork in rough water, then spins wildly. The whole world is rotating outside the windows—blue sky, green forest, blue sky, green forest—
My stomach roils violently. I clap a hand over my mouth, tasting bile.
I try to glance at the ground through the floor window to see if the tanks are still there—my stuttering, shocked mind finally remembering the threat we were running from when we stumbled into that nightmare dimension.
But I only catch a glimpse of black smoke rising in thick columns, of craters in the earth where the castle used to be, before we tilt wildly in another direction.
The centrifugal force presses me hard against the side of my seat.
Puking is about to be the least of my worries because we’re going down.
Oh god, we’re actually going down. The spin is getting faster, not slower. I can hear alarms blaring in the cockpit—shrill, urgent beeping. Layden’s cursing has taken on a panicked edge.
I don’t think he’s going to be able to right us in time!
We’re maybe two thousand feet up and dropping fast. The ground is rushing up to meet us, spinning closer with every rotation. I can see individual trees now, their green canopies getting larger by the second.
Suddenly, Abaddon’s there in the space visible through the open back ramp.
He grabs one end of the helicopter from behind with both massive hands—claws digging into the metal for purchase.
His enormous wings flap furiously, each beat creating gusts of wind I can feel even inside.
The muscles in his arms and chest strain visibly, cords standing out in his neck as he fights against our momentum.
Slowly—so slowly—we begin to stabilize.
Then Remus appears at the shattered front windshield, glass crunching under his hands as he grabs the frame. His face is wild, eyes bright, grinning like this is the most fun he’s had in centuries.
Together, the brothers straighten us out.
The terrible noise of the churning blades from only moments before—that awful grinding, uneven rhythm that screamed mechanical failure—suddenly calms down to the normal, steady whup-whup-whup.
We level out, hovering smoothly now about a thousand feet up.
I breathe out hard and then laugh—a sound that’s half-sob, borderline hysterical. A quick sob escapes before I can swallow it down, and I gulp in a shaking breath.
Maybe this is just another day in their lives, but hello?
Human here. My life is usually boring—spreadsheets and coffee runs and worrying about rent.
I’m definitely not used to multiple near-death experiences within minutes of each other.
Dragons and missiles and interdimensional portals were not in my life plan.
My hands are shaking so badly I have to grip the armrests to make them stop. My whole body is trembling with adrenaline crash. There are tears streaming down my face that I didn’t even realize were falling.
Remus flies around to join Abaddon at the back, and they both enter through the open ramp, landing gracefully despite the confined space. Their wings fold neatly against their backs.
Remus’s eyes immediately scan the interior, taking in the damage. The claw marks gouged into the side of the metal chassis. The bent frame. The terror on our faces.
“What’d we miss?” he asks, almost cheerfully.
He sits down beside me after Abaddon strides toward the front, already pouring a coat of shining blue-white runes around the entire helicopter. They spread like liquid light across every surface—the walls, the ceiling, the floor—until we’re cocooned in a protective shell that glows softly.
“There,” Abaddon says gruffly, satisfaction in his voice. “At least the bastards won’t be able to track us while we fly.”
Everyone seems so calm, like we almost didn’t just die in multiple disastrous ways. Multiple times. In multiple dimensions.
My heart is still hammering in my throat, threatening to break out of my ribcage entirely. I swipe at the tears on my cheeks with the back of my hand, but more keep coming.
“Dragons,” I manage to say, my voice barely a high-pitched squeak. “From another realm, I think.”
I’m still white-knuckling my seat hard enough that my knuckles have gone bloodless and pale.
Remus rubs his hands together enthusiastically and looks at Kharon holding his newborn daughter—now quiet and nursing peacefully at Ksenia’s breast like she didn’t just open a portal to hell. “Ahhh. Excellent. That’ll certainly make the vampires happy.”
All the heads in the back of the helicopter turn toward Remus simultaneously, eyes wide with shock.
I think I choke a little, the word catching in my throat.
“Vampires?” Abaddon says slowly, sounding anything but amused. His golden eyes narrow dangerously.
Layden glares back from where he’s flying, his knuckles white on the controls. “Dammit, Remus, I told you that in confidence.”
Abaddon’s expression darkens further as he stalks up the narrow aisle toward the cockpit, his heavy footsteps making the helicopter shudder slightly. “You’re taking us to the vampires?”
Wait.
I sit up straighter in my seat, wiping my face again.
Are they serious?
I want nothing more than to hurl myself into Remus’s chest and cry for hours until the adrenaline coursing through my body finally calms down. To feel his arms around me and know I’m safe. To just break down completely.