The Iron Dogs were mounting.

“They’re not expecting a charge. I want you to take everyone else into the tunnels. The mrogs will try to come through the top windows. The metal grates won’t hold them off for long. Eventually they will rip through this door, too.”

She couldn’t go with him. She was their best defense against the mrogs. “No.”

“Elara, this is about survival. Either I kill him, or he will kill us.”

“No,” she told him.

“This is what I do,” he said. “This is why you married me.”

“Hugh, don’t go out there.” She grabbed his hands. “Please, don’t go.”

He leaned forward and kissed her, hot and desperate. She tasted blood.

“Bar all of the doors on the way down,” he said. “Slow them down as much as you can.”

He took the helmet from Sam and put it on.

He was going out there. There was nothing she could do. The awful realization hit her, robbing her of the ability to speak.

This is what I do. This is why you married me.

Elara found her voice. “Johanna!”

People looked around. An Iron Dog turned around, reached out to tap someone on the shoulder, and stepped aside. Johanna squeezed out of the crowd.

“Please help us,” Elara signed.

Johanna bowed her head and walked up to the door. Stoyan gave her a wild look from the back of his horse.

“Her power is a one-off,” Elara told Hugh. “When she is done, she is done until she can recover. Stay behind her.”

He mounted Bucky. The huge stallion bared his teeth. Hugh raised his sword and drew it over his left wrist. The blood coated the blade and snapped solid. A blood sword. Roland made blood weapons. She never realized Hugh could.

Something scraped the door. Mrog shrieks echoed through the room, muffled by the wood.

Johanna raised her arms to the sides and closed her eyes. Thin wisps of black smoke spiraled from her hands over her arms. Barely five feet tall, slender, blond hair spilling over her back, she stood there, before a huge door. Behind her, Hugh towered on his huge stallion.

Elara’s heart squeezed itself into a hard rock.

“Come back to me,” she ordered, her voice vicious. “Come back to me, all of you.”

Two Iron Dogs unbarred the door, holding both halves of it.

Johanna leaned her head back. The dark smoke wrapped around her whole body now. She opened her eyes and they were solid black and filled with despair. Her hair streamed, moved by a phantom wind.

“Open the door!” Elara ordered.

The door swung open, revealing a mass of mrogs gathered before it.

Johanna shot up into the air two feet off the ground. The smoke splayed out behind her, trailing her like two wings. She opened her mouth and wailed. Every desperate sound, the shriek of a widowed swan, the howl of a dying wolf, the gut-wrenching cry of an orphaned babe, all of it echoed within that wail. The impossibly high-pitched scream tore through the mrogs. They fell aside, dead. The Black Banshee shot through the gap she’d made and the Iron Dogs rode out after her, breaking into a gallop.

The doors slammed shut. More Iron Dogs barred them.

“Into the tunnels,” Elara ordered.

The Black Banshee’s wail severed the drawbridge chains. It crashed down and Hugh rode across it, Bucky’s hoofbeats like thunder. The stallion aimed himself at the line of soldiers and charged it like he was born to be a war horse.

The Banshee cut a path through the ranks, precise like a laser. All Hugh had to do was follow it. Regular banshees wailed and drove you mad, but black banshees killed with their screams. Another resource he wished he’d been aware of. When he finished here, he and the Harpy would have to have a long discussion about keeping things back.

The first line of soldiers blocked their path and fell, cut down by the wail.

He was still detached from it, watching it as if it were happening to someone else.

The second, third, and fourth lines followed.

She screamed and screamed.

The fifth and sixth lines collapsed.

The Banshee shot upward and right. Her smoke wings vanished, and she plunged down.

Only four lines between him and the commander.

Bucky tore into the armored soldiers like a battering ram, ripping his way through. Hugh swung his sword, slicing skulls. Blood sword met metal and metal gave way.

A moment and Bucky and he were through, out in the open, the commander on his horse in front of them, charging at full speed.

“Kill the other horse,” he ordered.

The stallion screamed and broke into a desperate charge.

The world snapped into a crystal-clear focus. The colors turned vivid, the smells sharp. He saw everything, he was aware of everything, and he knew with one hundred percent certainty that when the two horses collided, the force of it would unseat them both. He knew exactly where they would land.

He stood in the stirrups and pulled his left leg back, riding on the side of the horse.

The two stallions smashed into each other, screaming. A fraction before they collided, he let go, letting the full force of the gallop fling him into the air, giving power to his swing.

Below him, the commander rolled to a crouch and spat fire, but the heated arc of flames was too slow.

Hugh landed sword first. The blood blade cleaved the commander from skull to breast bone. The two halves of the man smoked.

Hugh turned and ran.

He didn’t see the fire, but he heard it, roaring like an animal behind him. He chanced a single look back and saw a tornado of flames coming straight for him. The world became heat and fire. He wrapped his magic around himself, healing blisters as they formed. The concussive force smashed into him, as if Erawan had returned and kicked him with his colossal foot. Magic plowed into him and all went dark.

The light returned in a rush of agony. Hugh blinked at the twin stabs of pain. Broken legs. He must’ve been thrown by the blast and landed badly. He tried to move his arms and couldn’t. The bones and muscles functioned fine, but something was restraining him.

The light darkened as something blurry blocked it.

Hugh blinked until the blurry thing came into focus and stared at the vampire’s face.

The undead opened its mouth.

“Well, well,” it said in Nez’s voice. “Today is not a total loss.”

Fuck.

Elara stared at the door. Behind her, hundreds of people waited. If the mrogs got through, she would stop them.

So much time had passed. It had to be hours. It felt like hours.

Someone pounded on the door. “Open!” a familiar voice yelled.

Stoyan.

Elara grasped the bar. People moved to help her, and the door was pried open. Stoyan ran in, carrying Johanna, limp like a ragdoll. “Help her!”

Savannah put her ear on Johanna’s chest. “She doesn’t need help. She needs time.” She jerked her head and Nikolas ran up to take Johanna from Stoyan’s arms.

“What’s happened?” Dugas asked.

Stoyan stared at him, his eyes wild, his skin smeared with blood and dirt. “Hugh killed the commander. The guy exploded. The mrogs ran away and the soldiers walked off.”

“Walked off where?” Savannah demanded.

“Into the woods. We killed some that were left between us and the castle, but the rest of them are either standing around or wandering off into the brush. As long as you don’t go near them, they don’t attack.”

Elara grabbed Stoyan’s arm. “Where is Hugh?”

“Nez has him.”

Ice rolled over her. “How?”

“He was thrown by the blast,” Stoyan said. “The undead got to him before we could.”

Thoughts rushed through her, coming too fast. “Is Nez still out there?”

“No, he cleared out as soon as they captured the Preceptor.”

She’d been right. This battle was never about the castle. It was about Hugh.

Stoyan bared his teeth. “I need volunteers. We’ll get him back.”

“You won’t,” Dugas said. “Nez has only fielded a small part of his force. He still has most of his undead. There isn’t enough of you.”

“Your job is to protect us,” Savannah said. “With the Preceptor gone, whose orders are you supposed to follow?”