Chapter Twenty-Five #2
Not the throne. Not the games. Not the fake lines people drew around kingdoms, blood, and worth.
This.
The sky.
The beasts.
The fire.
The war.
I level out and glance to my left.
And him.
Legend dips his chin. The dragon he rides knows I need my mate close and stays nearby.
With one last look at Vicente and his men, I let out a small breath.
Good.
Let them protect my mate’s kingdom.
We’ll handle the fucking rest.
I turn my face toward the dark line of the horizon where Exile waits a hundred miles off the shore: old and hungry and full of the answers I need. The wind whips across my face while the black flames fan out behind me.
“Come on then,” I whisper to the night, to the Island—and to the dead and living and whatever the hell else still watches from between them.
Bitch wants a fight?
She’s going to fucking get one.
The cliffs of Exile rise out of the water like broken teeth, jagged and black against the sky. The moment my boots touch stone everything in my body snaps tight. The others follow, jumping off their dragons as the beasts lower themselves one by one.
We’re full sprint over the hillside and into the depths of the isle. I barely have time to catch my breath before someone pops into my path—and charges me.
Legend’s panic and rage shoot through the bond instantly.
“Hey, Haide!” the voice calls, rough and familiar. But his eyes aren’t right. “Miss me?”
I don’t even think. My dagger drives straight through his eye. “She’s controlling them somehow!”
The gifted jerks violently, body arching as the blade punches through bone. I’m already twisting my arm to rip the dagger free and slam it into his throat, but Legend’s hand clamps around my wrist, stopping me mid-strike.
“What the fuck?” I growl.
The man collapses between us with a strangled sound, unconscious but very much alive.
I blink down at him, then up at Legend.
He raises a brow. “Die here,” he says calmly, knocking the guy out properly with a clean hit to the temple. “Wake there. Remember?”
Oh.
Right.
Shit.
My lips twitch and I look to the gifted at my feet. “That’s going to take some getting used to.”
“What is?”
“Seeing them breathe after a fight.”
Legend scoffs, giving my hair a nice little yank, but then chaos erupts behind us.
More exiles pour out from between the rocks with weapons drawn, snarling like animals who’ve just spotted fresh meat.
Sinner cracks his neck.
“Well,” he says with a wicked grin, “this looks fun.”
The next few minutes devolve into an absolute brawl.
There’s no magic or strategy to our methods—just fists, blades, and bodies colliding across the black stone.
One guy swings a rusted ax at Zev, who ducks like he’s dancing, laughing as he drives his elbow into the man’s ribs and knocks him flat.
“Oh, this is great,” he shouts. “I missed this!”
Silver flips someone over his shoulder like the guy weighs nothing.
Creed slams another exile into the ground with brutal efficiency, muttering something under his breath about poor life choices.
Legend moves like a storm beside me, grabbing attackers before they even reach striking distance and dropping them one by one with precise, controlled hits.
Knight catches a blade with his forearm guard and punches the attacker straight in the jaw.
London, meanwhile, fights like she was born in chaos. She drops one exile with a kick to the knee and another with a clean strike to the throat.
None of them die.
They just hit the ground.
Hard.
Eventually, the last one drops and the island goes quiet again.
Sinner exhales and wipes blood from his mouth.
“Gods,” he says, sounding almost pleased. “That shit felt good. Been a while since I’ve had a proper fist fight.”
Knight scoffs, but he grins as he grabs London’s hands and inspects her knuckles. “You’re enjoying this too much.”
“Please,” she says sweetly. “Treat me like I’m breakable some more.”
He snaps his teeth at her in response.
Zev stretches his arms above his head with a satisfied yawn. “We should do that more often.”
I glance around the cliffside. “Focus.”
Legend steps beside me. “We need to find whoever’s here doing the killing.”
“They had to travel by water,” Creed says, scanning the shoreline. “No one else can get in, and even then—”
The cry of birds overhead is our only warning something is wrong.
The ocean moves in the distance, a wall of dark water surging up from the shoreline and rising fast, churning black like the sea itself is trying to climb onto the island.
“Fuck,” I breathe.
The water races toward the cliffs.
“It’s going to drown them all,” Creed says, eyes wide. “They’ll all go back to Rathe at once. She’s starting war on our own grounds. She bet on us coming here.”
Knight turns toward the horizon. “Link Vicente. Tell him to call any strong enough to fight. Time for our people to stand up.”
The water crashes against the rocks below, climbing higher.
Legend faces me. “What do we do, mate?”
“What we came here to do: get to the stones.”
“And then?”
Yeah…and then?
I don’t voice it but, judging by his growl, he heard it just the same. “Time to run.”
We tear deeper into the island, boots pounding over rock and ash while scattered exiles keep lunging at us from behind ruined cliffs and broken structures. We fight our way through, running ahead until my body bounces against some invisible force and I hit the ground flat on my back. “The fuck—”
A warm, salty taste fills my mouth. With a wince, I touch my tender nose, and my fingers come back red. Legend falls beside me, murder in his eyes.
“I’m fine,” I promise.
“You’re fucking bleeding.”
London crouches beside the space in front of us, eyes narrowing.
“It’s a barrier,” she says.
I push myself up. “Same power as you?”
She nods slowly. “Yeah.”
“Can you take it down?”
She rolls her shoulders. “Let’s find out.”
London steps forward and presses both palms against the empty air.
For a second nothing happens, but then her eyes go black as her royal demon, her Ethos born of her bond with Knight, rises.
Instantly, the barrier ripples like disturbed water.
Power surges through her arms, lighting faint black veins across her skin.
The pressure in the air spikes, and she grits her teeth as the barrier trembles. “Almost.”
Blood drips from her nose.
Knight notices immediately. “London—”
She ignores him, pushing harder, prepared to fully drain herself if necessary.
The barrier cracks with a low humming sound and shatters, but London collapses with it.
Knight catches her before she hits the ground. “Hey—hey—” His voice breaks in a way I’ve never heard before. He turns to us with clear panic written across his face, torn between two instincts ripping him apart: Not wanting to leave his brothers in a fight, but needing to protect his mate.
“Mate first.” Surprisingly, it’s Creed who makes the statement. “Always.”
“I’ll be back once she’s healed.” Knight frowns.
“Go.” He doesn’t waste another second. He opens a portal—no point hiding magic now—and steps through with London in his arms.
The portal snaps shut behind him, and silence hangs over the cliffs for half a heartbeat.
“Well.” Sinner cracks his knuckles, looking deeper into the island. “Guess it’s just us now.”
“Let’s finish this,” I say.