Abolisher
52.

Ryle swept to the ground where Syrene disappeared.

Vendrik and Faolin skittered to a pause behind the kneeling prince, equally horrified.

Moonlight shone on them—freed from the hold.

Erauth’s hold.

Erauth—Kavous …

Ablaze Kosas. Vendrik felt his mouth drying.

Distantly, whispers sounded. Fire was instantly at his hand, but … The whispers weren’t of some beast, or the Darkness …

Human whispers. Of the awakening tribes in the forest—the army.

The dead world stirred again—the blackened trees regained their color, the stilled wind twirled and howled around him, grazing his scalp.

The air around them cleared. Untainted. His skin felt as if he’d just bathed all the filth off it.

“She sacrificed herself,” Faolin breathed beside him, her lilac eyes on the freed moon. Darkness still lingered at its corners, as if waiting to consume it wholly again.

Vendrik’s throat felt tight. They were officially under the rule of a true monster—but … alive. Most of them, anyway. He doubted the Vegreka taken hosts were freed.

Syrene hadn’t only sacrificed herself, she’d placed her soul in a monster’s hands so the helpless would live. So they wouldn’t suffer in the way Erauth had been planning for them to—she sacrificed herself to spare them that misery at least.

He looked to his brother—his slumped shoulders—his bowed head. Vendrik touched his shoulder. “Ryle.”

Then the ripper’s shoulders began shaking under his touch. At first Vendrik thought he might be weeping. But … Azryle was laughing. A cold sound without mirth, without warmth.

The sound Vendrik had heard for centuries, just … just not recently. Somehow, this time it was worse—colder—than when he’d been an unfeeling savage leashed to Felset. Vendrik stiffened, hair standing along his arms.

The prince lifted to his feet and turned.

Vendrik stilled. It took all the training to keep himself from stumbling a step back. He heard the snag in Faolin’s breath.

Silver eyes shone in the dark—smoke coiled in them, making him seem no more human than any baeselk they’d ever encountered.

“Azryle—”

One moment the prince was towering them, and the next, a blur dashed past them. A grunt drifted over to Faolin and Vendrik as they twisted around.

Azryle had Maycusen pinned against a tree by his throat. The Jaguar’s feet weren’t touching the ground. He struggled against the hold—choking—but the ripper’s grip didn’t so much as falter.

“Ryle.” Vendrik and Faolin were immediately there.

Pure terror shone in Maycusen’s eyes when he beheld the mercilessness in Ryle’s.

“You brought her here,” Azryle snarled in his face, tightening his grip. Nothing but promise of the worst death imaginable in his throaty voice. A groan sounded as Maycusen’s neck protested against Ryle’s hold.

Vendrik took a hold of Ryle’s arm and pulled with all his strength. “Ryle, release him.”

The tone lashed with warning and threat was directed towards Vendrik this time. “Stay out of this.”

“Maycusen is not the enemy, Ryle,” Vendrik urged, yanking at his arm again. “You’re going to kill him!”

A muscle feathered at his zegruks-marked jaw—those inhuman eyes dropped to Maycusen’s neck.

Understanding dawned on Vendrik like a cold water had been poured over him. This was no longer about Syrene—

Well, it was, everything with Azryle was about Syrene. But …

Azryle wanted to rip his throat.

Craved it.

Vendrik was still processing it when black fog rolled across Ryle’s arm. He looked to Faolin, who was looming at Ryle’s other side. Sweat beaded to her brow when she nodded. Vendrik nodded back.

And they both wrenched Azryle’s grip from Maycusen’s neck and shoved him away.

The Jaguar immediately fell to the ground and began clawing at it—coughing, spraying out blood on the twigs.

Azryle attempted to lunge again, but Vendrik slid between him and Maycusen. “What in Saqa is wrong with you.”

Azryle bared his teeth in a silent snarl.

Then his eyes dropped to Vendrik’s neck. For a moment—as much as he loathed that moment—Vendrik feared his friend … the monster taking over him. He went so far as reaching for his mejest again.

But Azryle’s gaze snapped to Faolin.

Confusion twisted his features as he ran a hand through his hair.

Then, as if he grasped a string of an answer to some hideous question, color leeched from his face. Azryle brought his scarred hands before himself—examined them. His chest heaving. “She … she—” He blinked tight. Not even an ounce of humanity rallied in those eyes.

Vendrik didn’t think he’d ever heard his friend stumble over words before. Now, as fear took the infamous Pall Moira too, Vendrik realized there was no hope left for them. For this world.

“She …” Ryle repeated, still searching for words.

“She freed you,” Faolin finished for him.

Ryle began shaking at those horrible, horrible words.

“She probably didn’t see any future for herself—might have thought that in the best-case scenario, she might be killed. So she freed you.” Her voice was thick with held back tears. “We should hope that Erauth does kill her. If he doesn’t …” Her hand lifted to her neck at the horror.

Azryle let out an incredulous scoff. “She’s a fool,” he spat. “A fool to think I’m going to idly sit here and let her be some lamb for this world. I’m getting her back.” He gained a step towards Vendrik—no, towards Maycusen. Still Vendrik couldn’t help the caution that overtook him.

Ryle looked at the Jaguar over Vendrik’s shoulder with nothing put death in his burning eyes.

“You better run, Maycusen,” he breathed. “And get as far as you can get. Because once I get her back, I’m going to rip open everyone who played a part in bringing her here.”

Then without even a glance back, with every intention to stain the world in blood and ashes, the ripper disappeared behind the trees.