/> And swung the bag so the blessed water splashed over Lora’s face and throat.
The screams were like rusty razors slicing through Blair’s brain. There was smoke, the nasty stench of burning flesh. She stumbled away from it as Lora ran shrieking.
A weapon, Blair thought, fighting to see, just to stay on her feet. Everything, anything was a weapon.
She grabbed a low branch of the tree as much for support as a last-ditch effort. Calling on whatever she had left she pulled at it, felt it crack. With something between a sob and a scream, she swung it at the three vampires who charged toward her.
The dragon dived out of the sky, tail lashing. Blair saw one of them fly headfirst into the trap as the man stood, drawing the sword from the harness that spilled around his feet.
The last thing she saw before she fell was the bright flame of it cleaving through the dark.
He fought like a madman, without a thought for his own safety. If they landed blows, he never felt them. His rage and his fear were beyond pain. There had been three, but if there’d been thirty he still would have cut through them like an avenging god.
His dragon had swept one into the stakes, and now he hacked through the shoulder of another. The arm that fell went to dust, and the creature that was left ran screaming across the field. The third rushed to retreat. Larkin swept up a stake on the run, flung it. And sent it to hell.
With his sword hand ready for however many more might spring out of the dark, he crouched to Blair. The words poured out of him, and were all her name. Her face had no color but the blood that streaked it, and the bruises already going black.
When her eyes fluttered open, he saw they were glassy with pain.
“My hero.” Her voice was barely more than a thick whisper. “Gotta move, gotta go, could be more. Oh God, oh God, I’m hurt. You gotta help me up.”
“Just be still a moment. I need to see how bad it is.”
“It’s bad. Just…is the light coming back or am I heading into that stupid white tunnel people talk about?”
“The sun’s coming back. It’s all right now.”
“Ten, there were ten, and the French whore makes eleven. My head—damn it. Concussion. Vision keeps doubling on me. But—” She couldn’t bite back the scream when he moved her shoulder.
“I’m sorry. A stór, a stór, I’m sorry.”
“Dislocated. Don’t think broken, just out of joint. Oh God. You have to fix it. I can’t…I can’t. You have to take care of it, okay? Then…Jesus, Jesus. Go get a wagon. I can’t ride.”
“You’ll trust me now, won’t you, my darling? Trust me to take care of you now.”
“I do. I will. But I need you to—”
He did it quickly, bracing her back against the tree, pressing his body hard to her as he yanked her shoulder back into place.
She didn’t scream this time. But he was watching her face, and saw her eyes roll up white before she slumped against him.
Ripping the sleeve of his tunic, he used the material to field dress the gash on her thigh before checking along her torso for broken ribs. When he’d done the best he could for her, Larkin laid her down gently before springing up to gather the weapons. After securing them in the harness, he draped it over himself and hoped it would hold.
Shimmered from man to dragon.
He picked her up, cradling her in his claws as if she were made of glass.
“Something’s wrong.” Glenna gripped Moira’s arm as they stood on the practice field working with a handful of the more promising students. “Something bad, big. Wake Cian. Wake him now.”
They both saw the black boil of the sky to the southeast, and the rippling curtain of darkness that fell from it.
“Larkin. Blair.”
“Get Cian,” Glenna repeated, and began to run.
She didn’t have to shout for Hoyt; he was already sprinting toward her. “Lilith,” was all she said.
“Midir, her wizard.” He took hold of her arm, pulling her toward the castle. “This would be his work.”