The clash was instant—no time to breathe, no time to think. The moment Elaria raised her dagger, Veylen struck.

Draven was there, stopping Steel's shriek as his curved blade swept down at her with a roar that rocked the hall. Their weapons clashed, causing sparks to burst and stone to rattle off the walls.

Draven's muscles were tight and slippery with sweat, every line of his body carved into war, and his golden eyes burned with a primal fury. With his claws tearing across his uncle's arm, ...