POV: Ravenna
I should look away.
Should close my eyes. Should be horrified at what I was watching.
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. Painted the arena in shades of violence that would stain my nightmares for years.
Lucien's struggles weakened. His claws scrabbled uselessly at Havoc's scales, finding no purchase. 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 that connected us all.
He tore into Lucien with claws and teeth. Savage. Brutal. Primal. Making absolutely certain the threat was ended. That the thing that had dared to hurt his mate would never threaten anyone again.
The crowd was silent now except for Seraphine's screams. Silent with shock. With horror. With the terrible realization that they were witnessing something that shouldn't happen in civilized kingdoms.
"He's going to kill him," Father said beside me. His voice was steady but I could hear the shock underneath. The disbelief. "He's going to tear him apart completely."
"Good," I heard myself say.
Father looked at me sharply. Like he didn't recognize his own daughter.
But I meant it. Lucien had attacked Solace. Had broken every rule of combat. Had gone after a bonded mate in front of everyone. He deserved this. Deserved the berserker rage he'd triggered. Deserved everything Havoc was doing to him.
Except—
Except Havoc wasn't stopping.
Lucien was already dead. Obviously, brutally dead. His body torn and broken and scattered across the arena like he'd been put through a meat grinder. But Havoc was still attacking. Still destroying. Still 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. Until their hearts gave out from the strain. Or until someone had to put them down like rabid animals.
Theron would die too if someone didn't pull him back.
And suddenly I knew what I had to do.
"Ravenna, NO—" Father grabbed for me but I was already moving.
I shifted.
Pain exploded through me as Solace's injured wing manifested on my dragon form. The torn membrane screamed agony. Every nerve ending on fire. The kind of pain that made you want to curl up and surrender.
But I'd learned from Theron. Learned that you pushed through pain when something mattered more than hurting.
And he mattered more.
I launched myself over the edge of the royal box—Father shouting behind me, guards trying to stop me—and hit the sand badly. My injured wing crumpled beneath me and I cried out. The impact jarred through my small body.
But I dragged myself forward. Toward Havoc. Toward the massive red-black dragon still tearing at what was left of Lucien's corpse.
"Theron!" I called through the bond. "THERON, PLEASE!"
Nothing came back except rage and darkness and the primal need to destroy. No recognition. No Theron. Just the berserker.
I limped closer, every step agony. My wing trailing uselessly behind me. Blood dripping onto white sand that was already soaked with it.
The crowd had gone completely silent now. Watching. Waiting to see if the princess was about to die too. If the berserker dragon would turn on his own mate.
It had happened before. In the old stories. Dragons so lost to rage they couldn't tell friend from foe.
I pushed the fear down. Kept moving. Because if I didn't reach him, he would die. And I'd just told him this morning that I wanted a future. That I was choosing him.
I meant it.
Havoc paused. Lucien's broken body still in his jaws—or what was left of it. He turned toward me and for a horrible second I thought he might attack. Might see me as just another threat to eliminate.
His eyes were completely black. No amber. No recognition. No Theron.
Just rage.
"It's me," I said out loud, my dragon voice rough and scared and small. So small compared to his massive form. "It's me. It's Solace. Your mate."
He took a step toward me. Dropped what was left of Lucien. His jaws were stained red. His scales painted with violence.
The crowd gasped. Someone screamed.
But I held my ground. Tilted my head up to meet those black eyes even though my entire body was shaking with pain and fear.
"I'm safe," I said. "She's safe. Solace is safe. You protected me. You did what you needed to do. But I need you to come back now."
Nothing. Just that black stare. Calculating whether I was friend or foe.
"Please," I whispered. Pressed forward despite my injured wing screaming protests. Despite every instinct telling me to RUN. "Please, Theron. You promised me this morning you'd come back. You promised."
I touched my forehead to his.
The bond between us—already stretched so tight from Solace's pain and Havoc's rage—flared bright and hot. I pushed everything I had through it. Every ounce of calm and safety and desperate, terrified love that I hadn't admitted to him or myself until this very moment.
"Come back to me," I said against his scales. "Come back. I choose you. I choose this. But I need you to come back."
For a long moment nothing happened. He was so still I thought maybe I'd failed. Maybe the berserker was too deep. Maybe Theron was already gone and all that was left was rage wearing his shape.
Then I felt it. The tiniest flicker of recognition through the bond. Like a candle lighting in absolute darkness.
"That's it," I breathed. "That's it, come back. Follow me back."
Slowly—so slowly I could count my own heartbeats between each change—the black began to drain from his eyes.
First just a spark of amber. Then more. Then recognition flooding back like dawn breaking after the longest night.
He made a sound. Low and broken and full of horror.
Because he was seeing what he'd done. Seeing Lucien's body—or what was left of it—scattered across the arena. Seeing the blood coating his jaws and claws. Seeing the crowd's faces twisted with shock and fear.
Seeing me. Small and injured and bleeding but pressed against him anyway.
Havoc released what was left of Lucien's body. It fell to the sand with a wet sound that would haunt both of us.
The arena was silent. Completely, utterly silent. Everyone staring at the carnage. At Lucien's remains scattered across bloodstained sand like broken pieces of a doll.
At Havoc and Solace standing together, both wounded, both traumatized, both alive.
At what happened when you threatened a bonded dragon's mate.
At what love looked like when it was primal and protective and absolutely unbreakable.
"I'm sorry," Havoc said through the bond. His voice—Theron's voice—broken and horrified. "Gods, Ravenna, I'm so sorry—"
"Don't," I said. "Don't apologize for protecting me."
"I killed him. I KILLED him—"
"He broke the rules. He attacked me. He triggered this." I pressed closer despite the pain. "You did what you had to do."
Around us, the arena was starting to stir. Guards moving forward. Healers rushing toward us. Master Veyron shouting orders. Father climbing down from the royal box with murder in his eyes—though whether for Lucien's corpse or Havoc I couldn't tell.
But in that moment, in the center of the bloodstained arena with my mate beside me and both of us broken and bleeding and alive, nothing else mattered.
I'd chosen him. He'd protected me. And we'd survived.