I avoid Aramastun’s left wing, watch as his right one flips out and slams into Lukain, sending him flying across the rooftop. All the while, Vallan roars and batters his axe against Aramastun’s sword, with the sounds unholy this close to my ears.
I swipe two quick slashes at Aramastun and he peels sideways, flying away from me and making mewhooshagainst air. It’s infuriating because I’ve never sparred against an enemy with fucking wings.
His whip cracks and snaps out at me, forcing me to roll to my side as it lashes against the rooftop. When I jump to my feet, he brings it sideways and sweeps my legs out from under me.
I fall hard on my back, feeling the crunch of my tailbone and wincing. Putting the pain aside, I stand again, the world blurring in front of me.
Lukain is back at it, rushing over, trying everything he can to distract the flying fiend with his saber so Vallan can get a good blow on him. They sidestep and weave, desperately trying to get behind Aramastun—or at least offset him on either side—but his wings make it impossible. Even with three of us.
I slide back from another crack of his thorny whip, not wanting to find that thing squeezing around my neck with the spikes digging into my flesh.
Movement out the corner of my eye distracts me for a mere moment, leaving Vallan and Lukain to the frenzied melee.
A small figure has gained the steps onto the rooftop. She’s half the size of the monolithic vampires up here, and my jaw drops at the sight of her. She’s not wearing her gold dress anymore, either, opting for tight black leathers that make her thin as a broomstick and about as useful as one given the situation.
“Palacia!” I hiss as she rushes over to my side.
Her face is placid, unimpressed. Even at the sight of a demonic vampire flying through the air, wreaking havoc on mymates. Mother on her side, Skar in a pool of his own blood, Garroway with a traumatic head wound.
Placid. Unimpressed.
“How in all that’s True are you up here?!” I wheeze. My arms burn from the intense fight, and my legs are starting to ache.
Vampires can go on forever. Humans can’t. In fact, the little person right next to me has shown me that firsthand.
She has a small sword in her grip that’s practically a twig. She runs a palm over her sickly green-yellow hair and surveys the scene. “Came over after I put Rirth to sleep.”
“Buthow? There’s more than ten stories in this place, probably roving with judgemen!”
I suppose this isn’t the best time for the interview. I’m just too stunned.
“Skartovius kept the Zefyra shadow portal open right under here.” She shrugs. “I want to help. She was startled to find me in her shadow. I think I scared her.”
“We did too.” I love that she wants to help. Sadly, I can only see how she’d get in the way. “No offense, Pala? You can fuck but you can’t fight. This isn’t—”
“You don’t understand, Seph. My bloodline powers came alive after drinking from your blood. Just like every other vampire who’s tasted you.”
I cringe. Hearing Palacia talk abouttastingme, knowing what we’ve been through . . . it’s uncomfortable. “What . . . what does that mean?”
“It’s how I killed Liolen. Get me an opening and I’ll show you.”
My eyes bulge. “O-Okay.”
How can I argue with that? Palacia has shocked me in practically every way, every time. I’m not going to doubt the little goblin has some tricks up her sleeve.
Feeling indescribablysaferwith the vampirex up here, I rush back into the fray. Vallan is getting no closer to landing a hit on Aramastun. Lukain is trying his hardest, using every stratagem in his arsenal, but is also falling short.
Whip and sword wave and weave, beating my mates back further and further on the rooftop. Out the corner of my eye, I catch Skartovius grunting, rolling onto his side.
Healing. Agonizingly, I’m sure.
He watches the fight for a few seconds, grumbles a gout of blood down his chin, and tries to rise to his knees. Promptly falls onto his back again, sliding in the pool of his own blood.
It’s safe to say he’s going to remain incapacitated for the foreseeable future. He saved my mother though, twice in one night, and I can’t ask more from him than that.
I duck the cracking whip, roll up underneath the Night Judge, and try to jam my blades up into his balls.
He skitters to the side, and suddenly a black wall is rushing toward me—