Page 100 of Peacemaker

“The dragon can kill them,” Himself continued, his voice low, fast, and underlined with fear. “But they must be separated from the humans, the vampires, the supernaturals. You will draw them to Byrd Island, Trinity. I will drop the mask from your blood and the rifters will swarm the island to get to you. The elders will help me surround the island to keep the rifters inside until they have been destroyed. The dragon will burn them all. Do you understand?”

I nodded. “My sacrifice,” I whispered.

“You will die. And you will save the world.”

“No,” Angus said, standing. “She will not.” He reached down and ripped me away from Shane and into his arms. His grip was punishingly hard. I didn’t care. I understood. “She is not the sacrifice. Find another way.”

But the King of Everything shook his head. “There is no other way, Angus Stark. We are not winning this battle. You will let her go. You knew from the beginning she would sacrifice herself.”

“I didn’t know I would love her,” Angus whispered.

“You must let her go.”

“I won’t.” Angus stared down at me as he held me, tears standing in his eyes because he knew he would. He would let me go. “I can’t.”

“It is her purpose,” Himself said gently. “And there is no time. My strength is dwindling and there are still things I must do. I am sorry.”

Everything that had happened since Amias had bitten me years ago had been either orchestrated or known by the King of Everything. Maybe from the moment of my birth. He’d seen my beginning, then. And he’d seen my end.

I heard the dragon’s scream, and my grief-stricken mind rebelled even as my body shuddered at the primal sound.

Clayton was numb, dark, closed off. But when I looked at him, I saw his heart. And it was shattered.

“I love you,” I told him.

He gave a raw, agonized moan, and I put my stare back on my werebull. “I love you,” I told him.

“Trin,” Angus cried. “No.”

But not even his powerful arms could keep me from Himself.

“Stay alive,” I murmured. “Fight. I will never leave you. Not really.”

And then I was flung through the air, rising with a broken but powerful old man, and once, I felt something attach to my leg and try to pull me back to earth.

But Himself would not let me go. He bore me through the sky and dropped me atop the dragon.

Oh, the dragon.

I slid my palms over cold scales—blood red, coal black, and emerald green scales that glittered like jewels beneath the moon. The ones I touched became softer, warmer, and curled around my hands, independent of the others.

The feel of him vibrated through my body, sailed through my blood, slid into my brain. He was magical, that beast.

And I was not afraid.

Himself sat behind me, his arms around me, holding me steady as the dragon cut through the dark sky, his wings slapping the air like giant sails, and I did not feel Rhys in him at all.

Shane would be like a deprived kid in a candy store—he was going to want to ride that dragon.

Baby hunter…

“Oh,” I whispered. Then, “He’s gone, Rhys. Shane’s gone.” My voice was loud but broken, as I begged Rhys to hear, to understand, to not leave me alone in the vast sea of my grief. My loss.

My sobs were snatched from my mouth by the cruel, cold wind, and I cried for us all.

I mourned my sweet hunter.

I mourned the girl I’d been, and I grieved for my men.