The lead rider's patience ended when one of his men reached for the short bow.
Aiden moved first.
The incubus power rose in a single clean surge—denser, more ordered, no longer the raw flood of the early vaults. He left the saddle in a controlled leap, hit the ground running, and closed the distance before the archer could finish drawing.
One hand locked on the man's wrist; the other seized the front of his jerkin. Vitality-stealing force poured through the contact. The archer convulsed, strength leaving him in a rush, and toppled from the horse already half-conscious.
The remaining three reacted at once. Selene met the nearest with blade and precise footwork, driving him back toward the bank so he could not flank. Aiden turned into the other two. The lead rider was good—fast, disciplined, no wasted motion—but he had never faced a devouring bloodline that had just stepped up a rank.
