Page 123 of Captive of the Stolen Empire

“Unconscious.” Warren’s panic echoed through the mental bond before he adjusted his stance and struck out toward Orson. “I can no longer reach her.”

Fear turned to anger, giving strength to my weakened form.

Blow followed blow in a dance of life and death as Warren and I backed Orson toward the doorway. The frame would block him in and restrict his movements. Victory hummed through my veins until Warren doubled over, his sword arm stiffening before going limp.

He grunted in pain as his knees hit the ground.

His heart. Fuck it all.

Elin screamed and ran to his side. Orson knocked me back with a powerful blow that stung my arm, followed by a kick to the gut that had me seeing stars.

Fire licked out across the ground, hot and furious as Orson bolted for the door.

Ilya’s scream stole my attention. Flickers of red and orange trailed up her skirts, leaving ash in their wake as she furiously beat against the magic. Reyna and Gabriel did the same, beating back the fire where it crept toward Zurina’s limp form upon the ground.

The floorboards beneath my feet shook with the violence of a quake. Lumber cracked and split.

“Warren!”

I snapped my head toward my friend, who gritted his teeth in pain where he lay crumpled upon the ground, Elin’s arms around him as her tears fell upon his armor.

I lost my footing as Orson tumbled into me, spewing grunts of hatred as we both rolled across the still moving floor, metal crashing and grating against wood. Pain lanced through my back. Smoke invaded my lungs. The tang of burning skin and hair rolled even my solid stomach. My palms slipped against the hilt of my blade as I struggled to adjust my grip and rise.

Orson gained his footing as I did mine. Beyond him, the front doors had collapsed, the debris meeting a pillar of sharp rock that skewered between broken boards.

Warren’s magic stilled.

My armor grew stifling as the heat rose.

“I’ll burn you all,” Orson fumed.

He needed to die. Now.

I leaped forward with my sword, feeling the familiar weight slice through the air as I aimed for his neck. He blocked. A burst of flame seared my leg through the armor, sending me off-balance. He swung.

I moved too slowly. His blade slid off mine, the sharp edge grating against the metal before scouring my side between sections of plate armor. A burn worse than flame raced across my skin, but that pain was nothing compared to the sharp stab of worry at what I witnessed.

Ilya crept up behind Orson with the blade I’d given her. One twist of his weapon in her direction, one blast of his flames, and he’d kill her.

Never. I’d never let that happen.

“Is that all?” I grated.

My magic yearned to break free, to be unleashed. It called to me from within, begging me to use it. But drawing it forth now, in my weakened state, might give Orson the chance to end me. Or worse, end the woman I loved.

Instead, I summoned mortal strength, all I had left, and pointed my blade at him as I forced my grimace into a taunting smirk.

One foot in front of the other, I charged. Our blades met in a clash and grind of metal as I pressed forward. My legs ached, my arms more so, but none of it mattered as I stared into his eyes through the slits in his mask.

I knew the moment Ilya stuck. His eyes flew wide. His strength wavered, giving me an edge. Blood bubbled to his lips.

With one last burst of strength, he shoved me back, splaying his arms wide as blood and spittle dribbled down his armor.

Ilya screamed, tossed back into the wall with a heavy thud.

My woman—mine—crumpled on the ground near the broken remnants of the door.

I shoved Orson’s dying corpse aside, Ilya’s blade still sticking from his neck, before falling to my knees at her side.

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