The forest became a battleground, each clash of claw and magic reverberating through the air. Seraphine’s cold, commanding voice sliced through the chaos.
“You can’t fight forever, Lyra. You’re outmatched!” Her silver eyes gleamed with malicious satisfaction as she advanced, her magic swirling ominously in her hands.
Lyra gripped her blade tightly, sweat and dirt streaking her face. Cassian’s wolf form was a blur of muscle and fury, tearing through the Shadowbound soldiers that appeared alongside Seraphine and Eira.
“Stay close to me!” Cassian growled, his voice deep and rough as he threw another attacker to the ground.
But amidst the chaos, Eryon stood still, his eyes darting between Seraphine and Lyra. His muscles tensed as Seraphine turned her attention to him, her expression softening, though her voice carried the sharp edge of command.
“Eryon,” she called out, stepping toward him. “This isn’t your fight. Finish them and prove you still belong to us. Prove you have loyalty—if you have any.”
Her words were a dagger aimed at his heart, but Eryon’s gaze shifted to Lyra. She was battered but unyielding, her silver eyes filled with determination as she fended off an oncoming attack. Cassian’s roars echoed as he defended her side.
Eryon’s jaw tightened. The vampiric strength coursing through his body was undeniable, every fiber of his being vibrating with power.
He could end the battle in an instant, but at what cost? He looked back at Seraphine, whose face was a mask of expectation.
Time slowed as he made his choice.
In one swift motion, Eryon’s claws extended, and he lunged—not at Cassian, not at Lyra, but at Eira. The move was brutal and precise, his claws slicing through her throat before she could cast her spell.
Her eyes widened in shock, her hands clutching her neck as she crumpled to the forest floor, her lifeblood pooling beneath her.
The battlefield stilled for a moment, the silence deafening. Even Seraphine faltered, her expression a mixture of shock and rage as she stared at Eryon.
Eryon turned to her, his crimson eyes blazing. “Leave,” he growled, his voice cold and resolute. “This is your last warning.”
***
The air seemed to freeze as Seraphine stood motionless, her silver eyes fixed on Eryon.
Her magic pulsed faintly around her hands, but she didn’t advance. Instead, there was a flicker of something raw beneath her usual composure—was it pain, regret, or simply fury?
“You’ll regret this, Eryon,” she whispered, her voice trembling, though it was unclear if it was from anger or heartbreak. “You’ve chosen the wrong side.”
Eryon took a step forward, his stance unyielding, his voice sharp enough to cut through her resolve. “I won’t warn you again, Seraphine. Next time, I won’t hesitate.”
Seraphine’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t argue. With a bitter glare, she raised her hands and began weaving a portal of shadow and light.
Her gaze lingered on Eryon for a moment, an unspoken message in her eyes, before she stepped through and vanished into the night.
The moment the portal closed, the tension in the forest seemed to shatter. Lyra dropped her blade and ran to Eryon, throwing her arms around him without hesitation.
“You saved us,” she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion.
Eryon stood stiff in her embrace, his gaze fixed on the ground. “I didn’t do it for myself,” he muttered, his voice low and hollow.
Lyra pulled back, confusion and pain flashing across her face. “Then why?”
He hesitated, his crimson eyes flickering with something softer, almost vulnerable. Finally, he looked at her, his voice steady but distant. “I did it for my child.”
The words hung in the air like a thunderclap, their weight settling on everyone present.
Lyra’s eyes widened in shock, her mind racing as the realization struck her. She wanted to speak, to ask a million questions, but no words came.
Cassian stepped forward, his wolf form melting away into his human one, his expression unreadable as he watched the exchange.
“Whatever your reasons,” he said gruffly, “you made the right choice.”
Eryon didn’t respond, his gaze distant as if lost in thoughts he couldn’t share.