"Get Jaro," Azrail ordered Ark. "Don't let anything happen to him."
That thought alone was enough to make him come undone, let alone if Maia got hurt. But she was handling herself; when one of them fell, she attacked the next, a whirlwind of rage and—fury.
"Oh," he choked out. No wonder Maia was unstoppable, no wonder she was so violent it made Az's head spin. She was caught in the mate fury.
The creatures towered over her, full of muscle and the corrupt power of saints, but Maia’s claws shredded them like they were paper. Az's heart genuinely stopped when she tore out the throat of a monster when it lurched towards the central stone—towards Jaro.
"Maia," Azrail said carefully, reaching for the link between their souls and finding a raging storm. Wing sliced her soul sharply enough to kill, unstoppable and merciless. Uncaring.
"Maia," he repeated, not daring to touch her, and jumping out of the way when she lunged for another creature and punched her claws through its middle.
It was an effort to keep pushing more of his own power into the earth, to direct it toward those cracks, but at least Bryon had plugged three of them. Sweat rolled off Az's chin as he battled to shore up the crack with death magic at the same time he kept an eye on his mate, ready to leap in if she needed him.
She was growling, low and threateningly in the back of her throat. It didn't waver, let alone stop as she killed four creatures, then five, then ten. But more still were pouring through the cracks Az and Bryon hadn't yet sealed. There were too many of them. This was fucking impossible, and he knew it.
Azrail sent another rush of power into the next stone, this one taller and crooked, the stone dark and mottled, and he wavered on his feet. Drained and weak, but still demanding more from himself. His eyes never once left Maia as she mutilated and dismembered monsters that had been innocent people. He wondered if she was shutting out that truth as hard as he was.
"Please!" Jaromir said loudly enough that Azrail faltered and Maia's breath hitched, the icy rage in their bond hesitating for a second before it renewed with three times as much fatal power.
He knew every creature here was doomed the second he felt that, and watched as she ripped out the throat of one with her fangs at the same time her claws punched through the heart of another, and three vines forced through the ground and gored another beast, their too-human eyes emptying of life.
He could feel it, feel every drop and wisp of death around him, and it made him shaky. He remembered Evrille’s warnings—that if Maia’s iron poisoning was untreated, it would corrupt her soul into something dark and unknowable. Azrail was looking at the proof.
He thought he'd die at the palace when Ismene's Vixens had cornered them, but now he sensed true, unyielding death. There was no way to escape it, only to plough into its path in defiance and rage. He knew that was Maia's plan, knew she had no thought to spare for herself, only for Jaro and her mates. So Az would make it his job to put her first. If anyone was dying today, it would not be her. Never her.
Azrail swayed on his feet as he hauled more smoke from his core, more than he should have rightly possessed, and had to grasp the tall standing stone beside him. Some saint he was, to be defeated as easily as this. He'd barely lasted ten minutes, and his only foe was shattered stone.
But he could feel the makeup of the stoneresistinghim, trying to push his power out the way he'd forced it in. As if the stone was more than simple rock.
His hand slid down the stone, his legs giving way all at once, and he met the muddy grass on his knees, cold soaking through his clothes into his skin and bones.
The oppressive press of the island thumped through him, louder, heavier. His head spun. But he’d closed five stones.
"Azrail!" Ark yelled, but his voice was muffled, and sounded even more faraway when a deep, shattering quake went through the ground, toppling Az onto his side.
He couldn't feel his hands, could barely feel his face. He'd taken too much magic, and far too fast. He didn't know the limits of this power, had never trained or tested them like Ark warned them all to. He knew it was bigger than this, capable offarmore, but he'd been too clumsy, too desperate. He'd let it rampage through him, and hadn't realised it would do damage.
Shit, he swore, but his mouth didn't form the word.
The ground rocked again, and he was just conscious enough to hear Ark's breath hitch as he dropped beside him, to hear the word he growled, not in exclamation but in greeting:
"Saints."