Aysling had glanced down to speak to her mate, her face glowing with happiness—until it froze in shock.

There, standing at the base of the column, was that thing, the deformed “man,” his body peeling and scorched, his face twisted with unimaginable hatred.

His eyes—if they could still be called that—were no longer human. They were hollow voids filled with nothing but death.

She saw it unfold almost in slow motion.

He raised a golden whip, snapping it through the air with a loud crack, the enchanted weapon wrapping tightly around Azura’s leg.

The next moment, he yanked viciously, trying to drag him down.

“Azura, hold on! Grab me—don't let go!”

“Aysling, keep climbing—don’t waste time, go!”

Azura was fighting the searing pain as the whip burned into his flesh, but it was worse than pain—it was draining him, sapping his strength and magic with each heartbeat.

“I won’t leave you! I won’t! Hold on to me, Azura! Don’t let go, love, please!” she cried desperately, watching in horror as dark