Dreams of a Dark Warrior

They attacked in a swarm, their claws shredded down the sides of the fuselage, across the wings.
    Declan shoved down the yoke in a sudden dive, trying to shake them free. The stall alarm on engine one blared.
    Brandr clamped the dash as the plane plummeted. “What do they want?”
    Natalya said, “My guess is the magister’s head on a platter!”
    Engine one rumbled, smoked, then died. The starboard wing was trashed, the other barely holding on. Engine two roared, straining to keep the plane at altitude.
    The yoke vibrated wildly as Declan fought to maneuver back toward the runway. “We’re goin’ down.” Though trees grew at one end of the runway, a sheer rock face capped the other.
    Have to slow our speed.
There was nothing else to be done, no steering a plane this disabled.
    Brandr gazed at him, a hint of sympathy in his eyes. Because a mortal probably wouldn’t make it.
    And no man could die with more regrets than Declan. He would never have the chance to make things right with Regin. Would never kiss her or claim her. Too ashamed of his scars to ever reveal them. Too cowardly to risk her rejection.
    Should’ve taken the chance, Dekko.
He almost wanted to believe he’d come back in another life.
    Over the screaming engine, Brandr yelled, “I’m sorry, Blademan. Looks like you’re about to check out. Again.”
    Declan yelled back, “Just get her off this island!”
If
she survived the crash. He glanced back at her. She was battered, appearing so delicate, not the larger-than-life Valkyrie he was used to. How much more could her body take? “Do it within six days!” Before the Order struck the final blow to this island.
    “I almost believe you give a shit about her!”
    “Protect her, berserker,” Declan said. “Vow it!”
    “I already have.” With that, Brandr climbed out of the cockpit into the very back to sit beside Regin, gathering her body up in his arms, clasping her close. To Natalya, he said, “Come, female, I can buffer you too.”
    The fey climbed back, then reached for Thad, pulling him close as well.
    “Natalya?” The boy’s voice broke.
    “You’ll be fine, my lad,” she assured him, but her face was drawn with fear. “If I had a pound for every plane crash I’ve been in …”
    As the ground rushed closer, Declan’s heart began pumping blood, thundering in his ears.
    But he still heard Brandr murmur, “Till we meet again, Aidan.”

THIRTY-SIX

    L othaire stood in the pouring rain watching as the plane came screaming back toward the runway.
    He pinched the bridge of his nose. He’d ordered the winged Volar demons to bring it to the ground
gently
. This touchdown would prove anything but.
    If Chase died, all his knowledge of the ring would expire with him. Lothaire had ransacked his office, but couldn’t find it—
    The craft landed belly first on the last quarter of the track, the initial impact ripping the fuselage in half, severing the tail from the rest of the plane. The cockpit half didn’t slow, barreling toward a wall of rock.
    One wing and its engine separated, exploding into a ball of fire that rocked the night. The blast pitched the cockpit and remaining wing end over end until it crashed into the side of the cliff.
    Lothaire hurried toward it. If Chase lived, Lothaire could drink him, harvesting all of the magister’s memories.
    At the thought, his fangs dripped in his mouth.
Such hunger …
He’d have to take care not to drain the man down.
    When he approached the mangled cockpit, the scentof aviation fuel swept over him; the remaining engine sparked and flamed in the hissing rain.
    Just a matter of time before it too exploded.
    He found that Chase lived. Barely. Blood streamed down his face from a gash at his temple, whetting Lothaire’s appetite even more. The plane’s frame had collapsed around his lower body, metal indentations trapping his legs inside.
    As Lothaire impassively watched, Chase gripped his legs behind the knees and yanked, but he was pinned tight—
    Those winged demons descended all around the crash site like vultures.
    Some of demonkind, such as these from the Volar demonarchy, believed Lothaire was the devil himself, born to lead all demons back to hell. Naturally, he’d fostered this rumor. Now Lothaire bared his fangs. “I said
gently
.”
    One muttered, “He unexpectedly made the craft dive.”
    “Be—gone.” With fear in their eyes, they took off at once, great black wings swooping, fanning the flames.
    Lothaire dropped