It’s still night outside as we race through the castle to my father and Rina’s chambers. My heart thunders in my chest and I pray we reach them in time.
The torches that normally light the hallways are dark. Caelen clasps my hand firmly, guiding me down the nearly pitch-black corridors as I tell him how many turns and doors until we reach our destination.
Light shines dimly up ahead, casting just enough illumination that I no longer fear tripping over my own feet as we rush to my family.
A soldier wearing Prince Fredrik’s colors rushes toward us. Caelen shoves me behind him, barely avoiding the edge of the man’s blade as he attacks.
Caelen roars and charges forward, twisting to avoid another swing of the sword as he barrels into the man, slamming him back against the stone wall.
Lightning fast, he rips the soldier apart with his claws. His lips peel back in a feral snarl as he bares his fangs, rending flesh from bone. I watch as the man collapses to the floor, blood pumping.
Caelen takes the soldier’s sword and then grabs my hand, towing me behind him as we rush down the hallway.
We find an Elf on the floor, his back propped against the wall, and his body surrounded with obsidian blood.
Caelen drops to his knees with a gasp, clutching the man’s hand in his. “Ruvaen. What happened?”
“Caelen,” he rasps. “Prince Fredrik and his men… they did this. Get the princess to safety. You must hide. You must go.”
“I will not leave you.”
Caelen helps him up, and I notice the dark blood that covers his clothing as he sags against the wall. “I am injured. I will only slow you down. I do not have much strength left. You have to leave me.”
“No.”
A shout rings out nearby, and Caelen’s head snaps toward it.
“Go!” Ruvaen shouts. “Now! I’ll hold them off as long as I can.” With a battle cry, he rushes down the hallway to intercept one of Fredrik’s soldiers.
Caelen grips my hand. “Where are your parents’ chambers?”
“Down there.” I point down a long hallway. “We have to hurry, Caelen. Please.”
When we reach the doors to my father’s chambers, he pushes them open, and we rush inside. “King Gareth!”
My heart stops as I take in the scene before me. Prince Fredrik stands over the still form of my father, crimson blood dripping from his sword.
“No!” An agonized wail rips from my throat.
His head snaps up, eyes feral and glowing yellow now instead of gray. With teeth bared in a snarl, it is easy to see the terrifying wolf within. The muscles of his arms rippling beneath his skin as if readying to fully shift into wolven form.
My heart stops with desperate fear for Rina. My eyes dart around the room, searching for her even as Fredrik stalks toward me like a predator closing in on its prey.
“Out of the way, Elf Prince. This is nothing to do with you. The princess must die.”
Panic tightens my chest as Fredrik’s feral gaze holds mine.
Caelen grips my forearm, pulling me behind him. “She is my mate.” A growl rumbles in his chest as he bares his fangs, and deadly claws slide from his fingertips. “You will not touch her.”
Lightning fast, Caelen rushes Fredrik. They clash in a flurry of fangs and claws and fall to the floor in a tangled mess of limbs, ripping into each other’s flesh with savage brutality.
A high-pitched, animalistic yelp rips from Fredrik’s throat as Caelen stabs his claws deep into his side. He throws Fredrik back, slamming him against the wall with a sickening crack.
Fredrik crumples to the floor in a broken heap, panting heavily as Caelen advances.
The doors burst open behind us. A dozen guards rush into the room—all dressed in the yellow coat of arms of Fredrik’s house.
Caelen’s arms whip out and wrap solidly around my torso. He pulls me tightly against his chest as he rushes to the balcony. “Hold on to me!”
Instinctively, I wrap my limbs around him as he vaults over the balcony railing and grips the thick, heavy vines that trail down to the gardens below. He descends with dizzying speed. Once we reach the earth, the pounding of dozens of booted feet rends the air.
“Follow me!” I take his hand and guide him toward my secret escape in the garden wall.
To my surprise, he takes the lead, dragging me instead. We’re not quite there when arrows begin to rain down all around us, and panic grips me in an iron vise when I notice a boulder blocking the exit.
I turn to Caelen. “How did they know where—”
My eyes fly wide. I track an arrow heading straight for him. “Caelen, look out!”
He turns, but not fast enough. Without hesitation, I throw myself against his chest, knocking him out of its path.
Sharp pain explodes across my side as the arrow sinks deep into my flesh.
Lightning fast, Caelen snaps off the feathered end. He gathers me in one arm and scales the wall with the other. My eyelids flutter as I struggle to stay conscious despite my agonizing pain.
“Rina,” I gasp. “We cannot leave her.”
He says nothing as he jumps over the wall. We hit the ground hard, and a wail bursts from my throat when the impact jostles the wound in my side.
Caelen wraps both arms around me, tucking me into his chest as he races through the forest at blinding speed.
When we’re far enough away, he skids to a halt and drops to his knees. Groggily, I recognize where we are. The Dwarves’ mountain stands proudly over Caelen’s shoulder. Gripping my face, his panicked green eyes search mine. “Lyana, you must stay awake.”
The light of the sunrise filters through the forest, casting just enough illumination that I can see the obsidian blood covering him. My mind floats in a fog-filled haze as darkness dances at the edge of my vision. I reach up and touch his chest where claws have slashed through his tunic and skin. “You’re hurt,” I barely manage.
“I am fine,” he says quickly. “Lyana, the Dwarves. Where is the entrance to their mountain?”
Sleep beckons. It is difficult to talk, but I force the words past my lips. “I cannot find it without Bran’s help.”
Caelen lifts his head and makes the bird call the Dwarves taught me to let them know a friend has arrived.
A trilling call returns a moment later, followed quickly by an arrow whizzing past Caelen’s head. “Stay where you are, Elf,” a menacing voice commands. “The next one will go right between your eyes. What are—” He inhales sharply. “Lyana!”
“The princess! Save the princess!” Voices ring out, but I cannot focus long enough to identify them.
Caelen presses a hand to my side, and I peer down to see the deep-red blood pooling around my injury and blooming across the fabric of my dress. “So much blood,” I barely manage.
I watch in horror as Caelen extends his fangs and bites into his wrist. He pushes the dripping wound to my mouth. “Drink.”
“No.” My lips curl in disgust. “I—”
He presses his wrist to my mouth, and I’m too weak to pull away. The bitter taste of blood touches my tongue before he lifts his arm away.
A thud sounds beside me, and I lift my eyes to find Bran staring at me, frantic and out of breath. “Lyana!”
Unable to fight the darkness beckoning me, I close my eyes and fall into the void.
