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“He's trying.”

“Try fucking harder.”

The gates opened. The mansion appeared ahead. Home. The sight nearly fucking broke me, lights blazed from the ground floor. Guards were already running outside, the SUV hadn't completely stopped before the doors opened.

Cold morning air hit my face. Then everyone started shouting. “Move!”

“Get the healer!”

“Clear the entrance!”

“Where's Roman?”

“COMING!”

Volken tried to lift me. I shoved at him. “I can fucking walk.”

“You're still doing this?”

“Put me down.”

“Fine.”

He let me try. Bastard. My boots hit the ground, for half a second, I stood but then my legs folded. Volken caught me before my knees struck the stone.

“Happy?”

“Fuck you.”

“Later.”

He hauled one of my arms across his shoulders. Draugr took the other as they dragged me upright between them. Lucien jumped out behind us, then Roman came through the front doors. He stopped dead.

I'd seen Roman Dragic face armies. I'd watched him stand before creatures older than kingdoms without blinking. I'd seen him covered in blood, surrounded by bodies, while giving orders in the same calm voice he'd use to request a fucking drink, but I'd almost never seen him afraid.

He was afraid now. His eyes went immediately to the wound, then the blood, then my face. “What the fuck happened?”

“Demon blade,” Volken said.

Roman crossed the distance in seconds. “How long?”

“Twenty-three minutes.”

“Why isn't he healing?”

“Poison.”

Roman grabbed my jaw. His eyes searched mine. “Viking.”

I slapped his hand away. “I'm awake.”

“Barely.”

“Fuck you too.”

Relief flickered across his face for the briefest second. Then he looked down and his expression hardened once again. “Inside. Now.”

“Bryn.”