Chapter 46 #2
Blaze had started down that sandy slope without hesitation, but Rosyln was a lot stronger than she looked. Then Luc and Xavier joined her, wrestling him to the ground for the sake of “the plan.”
Selene, though, wouldn’t be stopped. She’d run, twisted, ducked, done literally everything, including punching Roman in the jaw—a new favorite memory—to reach that beach in time.
Now, all that was left was to focus on the rest.
The aftermath.
The ships were handled. Omar’s family—the sneakier lot—had seen to that. Most of Thorne’s fleet was either on fire or floundering. The rest were caught between cannon fire from six Triarius ships and their own panic.
That battle wouldn’t last long.
The men who stayed behind now darkened the white cove beach, armed and bloodthirsty.
A tide of vengeance pushing toward the narrow gap that would soon spill them out in small chunks onto Thorne’s beach.
Those sands pocked by hoofprints and littered with the bodies of their crewmen and family. Contorted and silent.
Thorne deserved whatever was coming to him.
Augustus and Selene had more than earned their revenge.
Maybe they all had. For the dead on the beach. The slain inside the Akias and in Warian Bay.
But Thorne had made it personal. Especially for the two on that beach. Standing shoulder to shoulder in the heart of the chaos, framed by wreckage and sand, locked in a slow, terrible standoff.
Augustus stood bloodied but tall, sword in his hand. Selene, sharp and bright at his side—not unlike seaglass, capable of cutting a man open if he got too close.
From the cliffside beside him, Roslyn met his eyes. “We’re ready.”
Blaze exhaled. Steady. “Let’s go.”
Augustus’s chest filled with warmth—and hope.
He released Selene’s hand, Cassia’s rings flashing on her fingers, right where they belonged. And the Poignard knives…
Cassia had died with those in her hands.
His mother had always sworn she’d draw Thorne’s blood. Even from the Valley, she’d found a way to fulfill one last promise.
Feet away, Thorne tilted his head, smiling faintly. “Let’s end this.”
Something shifted. Not in Thorne, but in the air.
A sound—no, the absence of it. The sharp inhale of a world preparing to roar.
And so, it did. From a narrow slip of hidden shoreline. From the cliffs. Feet pounded on sand. Voices raised in fury. Blades and axes lifted toward the sky.
Survivors.
Crew.
Family.
Mettius shouted in victory, fist raised.
Perched on the weathered board beside Mettius, Little Gus flapped and bounced.
Thorne’s pirate charged Mettius, blade ready—
Augustus’s worst nightmare flared to life. Another parent slain right in front of him, and he was too far away.
Again.
But Little Gus turned, neck bowed, mouth glowing. A streak of flame exploded from his jaws, catching the man’s pant leg on fire.
The beach was in full-blown chaos. Thorne shouted orders to his remaining men. The elk stampede had sent most off the beach. They could return, but it wouldn’t be fast enough.
Charging down the elk-ravaged slope, the Rangers weren’t quite the same threat as the rest, but just as furious and ready for battle. Blaze at the front, Roslyn to his side, and Luc and Xavier just behind, grinning like devils.
They’d come.
They’d all come.
Even Roman, though Augustus wouldn’t waste gratitude on him. So long as his sword cut through Thorne’s men and not his, he didn’t give a damn.
Next to him, Selene flipped her knives.
Gods, she was perfect.
“Selene.”
She turned, breathing hard. “Yes?”
“Remember that fool who told you that you weren’t ready or skilled enough for war?”
Selene snorted a soft laugh. “How could I forget? He was an incredible idiot.”
Augustus yanked her against him, arm around her narrow waist, and kissed her hard. “You didn’t really have to go to this extent to prove me wrong, i psychi mou.”
Her laugh broke through the chaos like bells. “I missed you.”
He kissed her again, softly.
Around them, his people hit like a wrecking wave.
“Let’s get this over with,” Augustus said.
“After you, my love.”
He surged into the fray, blade flashing, a roar ripping from his throat.
The sands were alive with the clash of steel. Thorne’s boundary of men was broken, their blood spilling in rivulets.
Augustus ducked under a swinging sword. Selene spun beside him, catching the blade mid-swing. Together, they moved in perfect understanding. As if they’d practiced this same choreography their entire lives.
He couldn’t count the number of men he killed. Any exhaustion he felt before had turned into fire. Rage. Fueled by the memory of every friend he’d lost to Thorne’s revenge. His misplaced cruelty.
Mettius watched from behind the barricade of wreckage. Safe under Little Gus’s care. He’d gotten a blade somehow and held it steady, watching. Watching him.
For the first time in his life, Augustus felt it. That thing he’d wanted from the beginning.
Worth.
Augustus wrenched his sword free from a man’s stomach and whirled to cover Selene’s back.
She didn’t need it.
Maybe she never had.
Selene turned to him, her chest heaving and blade slick with blood. “Where’s Thorne?”
His smile faded.
He scanned the beach. Scanned again.
A breath left him in a gust. “Son of a bitch.”
The bastard fled.