POV: Ravenna
Everything happened too fast and too slow at the same time.
One moment Lucien and Havoc were circling each other, both wounded, both exhausted, locked in honorable combat. The next moment everything shattered.
Lucien turned away from Havoc—away from the opponent he was SUPPOSED to be fighting—and lunged toward the royal box. Toward Solace. Toward me.
Breaking every rule of combat. Breaking every law of honor that dragon-shifters held sacred.
The crowd gasped. A collective sound of shock and horror that rippled through thousands of people simultaneously.
"NO!" Father roared beside me, lurching to his feet.
But Lucien was already in the air, his torn wings carrying him up despite the damage, his claws extended, aimed directly at Solace where she perched on the edge of the box.
Solace tried to dodge.
She was small. Fast. She launched herself away from the box, her silver-white scales flashing in the dying sunlight.
But she wasn't fast enough.
Lucien's claws caught her wing—the delicate membrane that dragons needed to fly. I felt the tear like it was happening to my own body. Felt the pain lance through me sharp and bright and wrong.
Solace fell.
She hit the edge of the royal box with a sickening crack, then tumbled down into the arena below. Her wing was shredded. Blood—bright red against white scales—was already spreading. She tried to get up but couldn't. Just lay there in the sand, crying out in pain and fear.
My dragon. My MATE. Hurt. Bleeding. Vulnerable.
I screamed.
Didn't even realize I was doing it until I heard my voice—raw and agonized—echoing through the suddenly silent arena.
Father was shouting for guards. Master Veyron was yelling something about rules and violations. The crowd was in chaos.
But I couldn't hear any of it through the roar in my ears. Through the RAGE pouring through the bond from Havoc.
I looked at him across the arena and my blood turned to ice.
He'd seen Solace fall. Seen his mate—the small silver dragon who'd chosen him, who'd calmed his berserker rage before, who represented everything he'd thought he'd never have—bleeding in the sand.
Something broke inside him.
I could FEEL it through the bond. The moment his mind went from calculated combat to pure instinct. From Theron the Warrior to something older. Something primal.
His eyes went black.
Completely black. No amber left. Just darkness and rage and the absolute imperative to destroy the threat to his mate.
He'd gone berserker.
"Oh gods," I breathed.
Lucien realized his mistake too late.
He'd turned back to face Havoc—probably thought he could finish the larger dragon while he was distracted by Solace's fall. Probably thought he was clever. Strategic.
He hadn't counted on what happened when you threatened a bonded dragon's mate.
Havoc moved faster than something his size should be able to move.
One moment he was across the arena. The next he was there. Slamming into Lucien with the force of a landslide. The force of thirty-one years of rejection and pain and survival all focused into a single point of fury.
The impact shook the entire arena.
Sent sand flying in a massive cloud. Made the stone seats shudder. Made thousands of people flinch back from the violence of it.
Lucien went flying. Hit the far wall hard enough to crack stone. Crashed down into the sand in a tangle of wings and claws.
He tried to get up. Tried to recover. Tried to fight back.
But Havoc was already on him.
Nothing calculated about his movements now. Nothing strategic. Just pure instinct to destroy. To eliminate the threat. To protect his mate.
His jaws closed on Lucien's wing—the one that was already torn—and RIPPED.
The sound was horrific. Flesh tearing. Bones breaking. Lucien's scream cut off mid-note as agony overwhelmed him.
The crowd was screaming now. Not cheering. Not excited. Actually screaming in horror.
"STOP HIM!" someone yelled. "Someone STOP him!"
But nobody could stop a berserker dragon. Not with weapons. Not with magic. Not with anything except their mate.
Havoc threw Lucien across the arena like he weighed nothing. Lucien tried to breathe fire but it came out weak, desperate. Havoc walked through it without even slowing.
Because he was beyond pain now. Beyond reason. Beyond anything except the primal need to destroy the thing that hurt Solace.
"Mercy!" someone in the crowd was shouting. "Show MERCY!"
But berserker dragons didn't understand mercy.
Havoc's jaws closed on Lucien's throat.
I should look away. Should close my eyes. Should be horrified.
But I couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. Could only watch through the haze of pain from Solace's injured wing as Havoc shook Lucien like a rabbit caught by a hound.
Blood sprayed across white sand. Turned it dark and wet and terrible.
Lucien's struggles weakened. His claws scrabbled uselessly at Havoc's scales. His tail lashed once, twice, then went still.
Someone was screaming in the stands. A woman's voice. High and desperate and breaking with grief.
Seraphine. Lucien's sister.
"PLEASE!" she was shrieking. "PLEASE STOP! PLEASE!"
But Havoc couldn't hear her. Couldn't hear anything except the sound of his own rage and the echo of Solace's pain through the bond.
He tore into Lucien with claws and teeth. Savage. Brutal. Making absolutely certain the threat was ended.
"He's going to kill him," Father said beside me. His voice was steady but I could hear the shock underneath. "He's going to tear him apart completely."
"Good," I heard myself say.
Father looked at me sharply.
But I meant it. Lucien had attacked Solace. Had broken every rule. Had gone after a bonded mate in front of everyone. He deserved this. Deserved the berserker rage he'd triggered.
Except—
Except Havoc wasn't stopping.
Lucien was already dead. Obviously dead. His body torn and broken and scattered across the arena. But Havoc was still attacking. Still destroying. Lost so deep in the rage that he couldn't find his way out.
This was how berserker dragons died. Lost in the rage until they burned themselves out or had to be killed to stop them.
Theron would die too if someone didn't pull him back.
And suddenly I knew what I had to do.