The demon staggered, tail snapping. The crimson ribbons running from demon to mage shuddered, and they panted harshly.

“It feels …” Ezra gasped unsteadily. “It feels like it’s pulling my heart out.”

Eterran bared his teeth, revealing predatory canines. Crimson flashed up his arm and six-inch talons formed on his fingers, magically extending his claws into deadly weapons.

The demon lunged again. Wind burst from Ezra, and the demon’s talons raked across the dense barrier of air. As the wind blew outward, Ezra slashed with the knife.

Eterran twisted aside, and his tail slammed into Ezra’s legs. He fell. Eterran pounced, stabbing downward with his glowing talons, and Ezra rolled, kicking out. Another boom of wind.

The threads of magic linking them writhed, and Eterran’s talons flickered, half dissolving before they solidified.

Gulping air, Ezra rolled onto his hands and knees, the knife in his fist clattering against the floor. He shoved up, stumbling for balance as the soul link fluctuated wildly.

Eterran raised his arm, palm pointed at Ezra. Crimson spiraled out from his wrist—and the link between them blazed. Pained gasps rushed from both of them as Eterran’s attempted spell broke apart.

“Eterran,” Ezra panted. “We can’t do this. We can’t—”

“Nailēris!” the demon roared, the deep boom of his voice shocking me. “Do you only want life if it is easy? If it tears your soul to fight me, then tear your soul. While your heart is still beating, do not tell me you can’t fight.”

He raised his arm again. The demonic spell flared around his wrist, and the threads of their link burned again. This time, Eterran didn’t flinch. The spell solidified, the distorted runes igniting with power.

Shuddering with pain, Ezra cast his arm out in an arc, the dagger flashing.

A howling gale hit Eterran as his spell unleashed. The crimson power exploded, throwing demon and mage backward. They crashed into opposite ends of the barrier, the invisible dome shimmering on impact.

I hammered my fists against it. “Zak, do something! Break the circle! Help him!”

For a second, he didn’t move. Then he stooped, grabbed the dropped grimoire, and started flipping through it. Searching for the ritual—for the key to breaking the circle.

Wings stretched wide, Eterran clambered up. The soul link frizzled. Its glow had grown fainter, and I didn’t think that was a good thing.

“Stand,” he growled.

Ezra braced his elbows on the floor, shoulders heaving with each rapid breath.

“You are weak. You want life, but you do not need it.”

Ezra’s head came up, his teeth bared. He shoved to his feet, one hand pressed to his bloody side, the movement making the threads of power dance sickeningly. “I survived being a demon mage for ten years. I’m not going to die now.”

“Then fight.” The demon’s eyes burned. “Hold back nothing. Rip your soul out to kill me, so you can die with pride.”

Air whistled through Ezra’s clenched teeth. Eterran’s crimson talons reformed—and they charged each other.

They met in the circle’s center. Flashing crimson. Howling wind. Eterran drove into Ezra, slashing with his talons. A buffeting gust. A thrust of the knife. Talons grazed Ezra’s side. Ezra raked the knife across Eterran’s ribs, but the wound did nothing to slow the demon.

The soul link flashed and writhed, and demon and mage staggered and stumbled even as they fought. Battling through the link. Battling through the pain.

Battling desperately for survival.

Snarling, the demon smashed his forearm into Ezra so hard he slammed into the barrier directly in front of me. He slid down to the floor, legs sprawled in front of him.

“Ezra!” I shoved against the invisible wall, trembling from head to toe.

He pulled his legs in and pushed himself up, back pressed to the dome. Across the circle, Eterran raised his arm and magic flared out from his hand. A seething orb of demonic power blasted from his palm.

Ezra dove for the ground and the magic exploded against the barrier right in front of my face. Lunging up, Ezra charged. His knife slashed the air, and a gust shoved Eterran back a step.

Demon and mage clashed again. They were slowing. Weakening. Their lives draining away as the soul link leeched the strength out of them. In a minute or two, maybe less, neither would be able to continue.

And they knew it.

Gasping, Ezra threw a burst of wind at the demon—but it was weak. Way too weak. Instead of being driven back, Eterran snapped his wings out, repelling the gust.

With a roar, he launched at Ezra, his talons flashing for the mage’s chest.

Ezra should’ve ducked. Blocked. Countered.

Instead, he clutched his blade and lunged to meet the demon. They slammed together, and my scream rang out—a cry of anguished terror.

Blood splattered the floor.

In the center of the circle, demon and mage didn’t move. Ezra held Eterran’s wrist. He’d forced the demon’s arm down, deflecting those lethal talons away from his heart—but not far enough.

The six-inch talons were buried in his stomach, right on top of his old scars.

In Ezra’s other hand, he held the hilt of his knife, the full length of its blade rammed between Eterran’s ribs, a few inches too low to strike his heart.

Their chests heaved for breath. Blood spread over Ezra’s shirt. A line of thicker, darker blood ran from the knife in Eterran’s chest.

The aeromage’s gasping inhalations slowed. His stare locked on Eterran’s and his hand, clutching his weapon’s hilt, tightened.

Time seemed to distort, one second dragging into the next. Mage or demon. One of them had to act—was about to act—would deliver the killing blow. Whoever moved first would survive.

Ezra sucked in a deep breath, gathering the dregs of his strength. Steeling himself.

A final instant, a heartbeat, a reckoning.

Then he twisted the knife.

A spiral of air blades tore through the demon’s chest. Wind burst from Eterran’s back, carrying a mist of dark blood, and the demon lurched away, his talons tearing from Ezra’s stomach.

A gory hole in the center of Eterran’s chest wept blood down his front. His limbs quivered faintly, and the demon sank to his knees. As the glow in his eyes dimmed from crimson to dark scarlet, he slumped onto his side.

Ezra dropped onto his hands and knees. Ripples of transparent power shivered between him and the demon as they stared at each other—then Ezra leaned forward. Reached out.

He grasped the demon’s hand, holding it tight. Eterran’s eyes darkened from scarlet to black as blood pooled beneath him. Bitterness flickered across the demon’s features, then softened into weary peace.

“Vh’renith vē thāit.” The unfamiliar words rasped from his throat. “Never forget.”

His eyelids slid closed over ebony eyes, and the shudder of his body stilled. As quiet fell across the room, the faint radiance of the soul link dissolved into nothing.

“Victory,” Ezra whispered, “or death. I’ll remember.”

Chapter Eighteen

I knelt on the floor with both hands wrapped around Ezra’s. Crouched opposite me, Zak dribbled a gray potion into the puncture wounds in Ezra’s stomach. The druid had elevated Ezra’s legs, thrown his jacket over the mage’s lower body to keep him warm, and fed him three potions—but Zak was neither a true healer nor a surgeon.

All he could do was try to keep Ezra alive as long as possible.

My limbs rigid, I watched Ezra’s chest rise and fall with short, rapid breaths. He was conscious, but his stare was frighteningly blank and I wasn’t sure if he knew I was beside him.

I clutched his hand tighter. “Hold on, Ezra.”

Bang.

I jerked around. The small back door to the warehouse bounced off the wall, and a man swept through the threshold. Tall, fit, salt-and-pepper hair, piercing gray eyes. Darius gave the room a brief, assessing look, then strode toward us. On his heels, two mythics hurried inside, both carrying large fluorescent-orange cases.

Elisabetta and Miles, our guild’s healers.

Leaping up, I backed away to make space, and Elisabetta knelt in my spot. Miles, a well-built man with a shaved head who looked like he should be crushing rogues on a combat team, crouched beside her and unzipped his case to reveal bundles of medical supplies and Arcana paraphernalia.

“Five puncture wounds to the abdomen,” Elisabetta observed brusquely as she took hold of Ezra’s wrist, feeling for his pulse. “His lips are cyanotic. No radial pulse. Miles, prep an IV while I get him on oxygen. You, keep pressure on the wound.”

The second order was fired at Zak, and he pressed both hands to the punctures in Ezra’s stomach while Miles dug into his case. Elisabetta opened hers and pulled out a zippered bag. In it was a lunchbox-sized device with a mini oxygen canister. She strapped the plastic mask to Ezra’s face and turned a knob on the device.

“How’s that IV coming, Miles?” she asked as she clipped a small electronic gadget to Ezra’s finger. “His O2 sats are”—she peered at the gadget—“eighty-nine percent.”

“Almost there,” Miles murmured as he prodded Ezra’s forearm, then inserted a needle. “Get a vasoconstriction potion on those punctures.”

“I already did that,” Zak said. “It’ll last another five minutes at most. I also fed him a blood replenisher, blood-loss stabilizer, and high-potency vitality draft.”

Elisabetta looked surprised for less than half a second. “I need to suture these wounds before we begin the healing. Can you assist me so Miles can prep the array?”

“Yes.”

She and Zak gloved up. As Zak wiped a yellowish-orange liquid from Elisabetta’s supplies over Ezra’s stomach, she flipped open a case to reveal rows of shiny surgical tools. I scrunched my eyes shut, fighting a wave of nausea.

A hand settled on my shoulder. Opening my eyes, I found Darius standing beside me. How long had he been there?

He nodded toward the other end of the summoning circle, and I followed his gaze to Eterran’s body, untouched since his death, a pool of dark blood surrounding him.