The Darkest Destiny (Lords of the Underworld 15.50)

McCadden remained in the abandoned realm, interrogating anyone Brochan brought to him. Meaning, anyone Viola had spoken to in the past who might know her whereabouts today. He’d gone from one realm to another, visiting all her favorite places and rounding everyone up.

The abandoned realm missed her greatly—and protested mightily. The oasis had already dried up.

Farrow spent the time tracking Forsaken, unwilling to let them find the goddess first. Her dedication remained unwavering.

Brochan braced to flash to a world he had yet to search. Only forty-two others to go. A familiar noise caught his attention, and he paused. His eyes widened. Fluffy? Heart drumming, he appeared in different hallways until he found the devil-dog racing through a bedroom, frantic.

When Viola’s pet noticed him, it halted, though awful sounds continued to leave it. Blood splattered its fur, both wet and dry.

Panic infused his every cell. “Where is she?” Brochan turned left, right, shouting, “Viola? Viola!”

The devil-dog spun in circles, the only response Brochan received.

She wasn’t here? “Please, take me to her. Let me help her. I need to help her.” The animal always seemed to understand Viola, obeying her wishes. He prayed the same was true for him. “I’ll protect her. This, I swear.”

He had hated this creature for so long. Now, he had to rely on its—his—mercy.

“Please,” Brochan pleaded.

Fluffy lunged at him, sinking sharp teeth into his calf. Brochan let him, unwilling to harm the—the fortress vanished, a forest surrounding him only a second later. The devil-dog had flashed him?

Relief morphed into alarm when he spotted blood but not Viola. He scented…multiple vampires and a berserker. Males. His claws extended, sharpening as he leaped into motion. He followed the blood.

Fluffy raced ahead of him, taking the lead. If the males had harmed his goddess…

Rage overtook him. They will pay with their lives.

Leaves and branches slapped his arms and grazed his wings. His bare feet stomped upon rocks, grinding them into powder.

His ears twitched. Gleeful laughter. Cheers. Eight distinct voices. There! Brochan picked up speed and burst through a wall of thorny foliage.

A group of immortals came into view. Twenty-two individuals, mostly male with only a few females. An assortment of species. The vampires and berserker Brochan had scented before, plus a handful of shifters, warlocks and banshees. They stood in a circle, surrounding something—or someone—too enraptured by whatever was happening in the center of the circle to notice him.

“Not so boastful now, are you?” a banshee called, earning multiple snickers.

Brochan didn’t stop to ask questions. He struck. The banshees, the most dangerous beings, dropped first. He slashed his claws through their throats, silencing them before they could scream. As they collapsed, the others noticed him, gearing to attack.

Too late. He swiped with his wings, knocking half the group to the ground—in pieces. To his astonishment, Fluffy fought at his side, preventing a vampire from sneaking up on him.

A pale form capped by twig-tangled blond hair came into view, and Brochan nearly lost it. Viola was on her knees, her arms tied to a stake behind her back. Her head hung low, a gag stuffed into her mouth. Dirt and blood smeared her from head to toe. Her gown remained on her body by only a few threads.

His confident goddess looked…broken.

His knees shook. The urge to go to her assailed him. Resisting tore him apart but resist he did. These people had harmed her. They must suffer.

Vision redlining, he attacked with renewed vigor, slashing through their numbers without mercy. Laughter and snickers became screams. He ensured every blow caused maximum pain and damage.

The last of the immortals ran, bolting for their lives.

“Let them go,” Viola seemed to say behind the gag. He must be hearing her incorrectly, because he would have sworn her next words were, “This is deserved.”

Brochan shook his head. He didn’t want to believe her, but her watery eyes convinced him. She actually requested mercy for her tormentors.

He complied—barely. Though his rage remained high, he flashed to his goddess. His kitten. Tears stung his eyes when he cataloged her injuries. As gently as possible, he freed her from her bonds. Her body sagged against his.

A lump grew in his throat, choking him. “I’m here, kitten. I’m here. Everything is going to be all right.” Cupping her cheek, he angled her face toward his.

Feverish eyes glazed with pain struggled to focus on him. With his free hand, he removed the gag. All the while, Fluffy ran circles around them.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t remove the cuff. So sorry I pushed you to this.”

“No need to save me anymore.” Her voice was broken, her words slurred. “No key. Just a rumor. I can’t save McCadden. Not the way you hope.”

“I’d already begun to suspect. We’ll talk about it when you’re well.” She would get well. He refused to accept anything less. He stood as smoothly as possible, doing his best not to jostle her. “Let’s go home, yes? Let me take care of you.”