The eastern gate became a meat grinder and Lucian Moon was the blade.
Dark Fae soldiers hit his line in waves. Augmented. Wrong. Their eyes carried the black-veined glow of warriors who had traded something essential for power, and the power made them fast and the power made them strong and the power made absolutely zero difference against an Alpha whose mate was on a battlefield he couldn't reach.
Lucian's sword opened the first soldier from hip to shoulder. The second lost his head before the first hit the ground. The third managed a swing that Lucian caught on his forearm, the dark blade biting into muscle, and the wolf king killed him with his free hand, driving a dagger through the man's eye socket with the casual brutality of a predator whose patience had been exhausted three corpses ago.
Fin watched him fight.
