Dorian‘s pov.

I fought like the rest of them—boots in blood and blades in hand.

Chaos reigned. The kind of chaos that eats strategy for breakfast and drowns hope in a blink. Between the clash of steel and gnashing of teeth, there were arrows. Too many damn arrows—each one poisoned with Freya’s blood.

How much had they taken from her?

I cut down a hybrid and spun to block another’s strike, mind racing. The speed of transformation from arrow to hybrid was ...