But it kept screaming and something inside her couldn’t walk away. She didn’t know what was wrong with her, but she simply couldn’t do it.

So Annwyl turned around and went back. She moved in close and reached her hand out to pet its belly. The fur was hard, a few individual hairs sticking into her hand like splinters. But she ignored that and kept petting.

“Shhh,” she said. “It’s okay.” She studied the claws, looking for something that could be causing the animal pain, but they looked clean. Nothing between the pads either. She then checked its belly, chest, and groin. Still nothing.

“Come on, big boy. You’re fine. Nothing to cry about.”

Annwyl heard footsteps behind her and she turned to see a group of armed demons.

“Move!” one of them ordered. “It’s ours. We feast tonight.”

“He’s not even fighting. Fuck off.”

“Move or we’ll take you down with it.”

“Find something else to eat, demon.”

“It’ll eat you, human.”

Annwyl shrugged. “Probably.”

“Just move.”

“I can’t. I heard his pitiful cries and I . . . I just can’t.” She petted his stomach again. “He may be dying anyway. I can’t find any wounds. He’s clearly in distress. Maybe he’s just old. Why would you want to kill and eat something that’s old?”

The lead demon shook his head and the entire group began to back up. “It’s not old. It’s a baby.” He pointed behind Annwyl. “And you should run.”

Which was what the rest of them did. They ran.

But Annwyl couldn’t bring herself to move. Even as the ground shook beneath her feet and what she could only guess was the mother of the crying animal leaned her head around him and focused on Annwyl.

Annwyl stepped back, her gaze moving up to see the back of the mother as it towered over her offspring.

Then she moved to the side and saw more of the animals. This was a herd . . . that had come when they heard the youngest of their number crying for help. That’s what had drawn Annwyl. Just as her own children’s calls would pull her to them.

Of course, if Annwyl found some strange, armed woman standing over them . . . petting their stomachs . . . no. That would not end well. So probably not for her either.

The mother let out a threatening snort-snarl that had Annwyl quickly moving away. Then she nudged at her offspring until he got up. When he was on his feet, she pushed him toward the others of her herd before returning her gaze to Annwyl.

All Annwyl could think to do was raise her hands to show she meant no harm. “Sorry,” she said. “Just trying to help. Meant no offence.”

The mother leaned in close and sniffed Annwyl from head to foot and back again. Then she nudged her with her snout, sending Annwyl flying back about a hundred feet.

Annwyl hit the ground hard, but she didn’t complain. She saw that those fangs were much bigger than the babe’s. So the fact the mother didn’t bite her head off . . .

Annwyl pushed herself up until she was standing again and nodded at the She-beast.

“Thank you,” she called out. “For not killing me.”

Turning, Annwyl started back the way she’d come, but the beast made a noise and she glanced back, half-afraid she’d find it charging her. But it was moving its head to the side.

She changed direction and went where the She-beast indicated. Maybe this was the way out. Or just another entrance to another hell. Annwyl didn’t know. But why not try? It wasn’t like she had many choices at this point.

* * *

First there were only a few of them, watching her. But then more were drawn here from the other hells toward this place where they could look down from a high vantage point and watch what she did. Where she went. They’d all sensed her here, in this place. She was alive while they were all dead. It wasn’t fair and something they would not stand for.

She was always supposed to end up here, they all knew it, but it never occurred to them she’d end up here still alive . . . and vulnerable.

She headed away from the herd of corpse-eater cattle and they began to follow.

Because they’d waited long enough, lost in their brutal hells. And it was now her time to know suffering. To know true pain and horror.

Now she was here, and they could settle it.

Settle it and end it. For eternity.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Aidan woke up on his back, coughing dirt, sand, and water out of his lungs.

When the coughing subsided, he let out a breath, relieved he was alive. Until he remembered that he’d had Zoya Kolesova on his back.

Moving fast, he rolled out of the crater his body had created when it landed and turned back to look down into it.

Half-covered in dirt and sand was poor Zoya Kolesova, on her back, her arms and legs bent. Probably similar to the position she’d been in when they’d landed.

But Aidan lurched back when Zoya suddenly coughed, a plume of sand exploding from her mouth.

Shocked, Aidan leaned into the crater again and called out, “Zoya?”

The Rider coughed again . . . and sat up, shaking her head in an attempt to remove the dirt and sand from her eyes.

“How . . . I don’t . . .” Aidan was beyond words at this point.

“I am Zoya Kolesova of the Mountain Movers of the Lands of Pain in the Far Reaches of the Steppes of the Outerplains,” she announced. “And sometimes, when you move mountains, the mountains, they fall on you. If you cannot survive a few thousand pounds falling on you . . . what kind of weak Mountain Mover are you?”

“Uh . . . excellent point?”

“Of course it is.” She stood. “Now get me from this pit.”

Aidan reached down and grabbed Zoya’s arm, lifting her to level ground. Once she was safe, he concentrated on helping the others. He had to walk a bit across the beach until he reached them and the craters in the sand where each of the dragons had landed.

Caswyn and Uther were already awake and alert, doing their best to get their bulk up. The Riders were all alive, including Kachka.

Branwen, though, was still buried in the dirt, not moving. Keita knelt beside her.

Aidan arrived quickly at her side, standing opposite Keita.

The lightning bolt had torn open a spot underneath her right wing. It wasn’t bleeding, though, because the heat from the lightning had cauterized the wound.

He knelt beside her and pushed her hair off her brow. “Brannie? Brannie, can you hear me?”

She growled in response, her front claws digging into the sand, but her eyes remained closed and she didn’t get up.

“Aidan?” Keita said softly.

He looked at the princess and she was staring up. He followed her gaze and saw the women standing on the cliffs looking down at them. There were many of them and they didn’t seem disturbed that there were five dragons on their beach.

These women were all Eastlanders. If they knew dragons, they only knew Eastland dragons, which were very different from Aidan’s kind. So, at the very least, they should be reacting to that. But they weren’t.

“Who are they?”

“Warrior witches,” Keita replied. “Like the Kyvich and the Nolwenn.”

“What are they called?”

“Heaven’s Destroyers.”

Aidan admitted, “Their name suggests we might have an issue with them.”

Keita snorted. “If they wanted to kill us, Mì-runach . . . we’d be wet, sticky spots in the sand by now.”

“That information does not make me feel better.”

“I’ll handle them,” Keita said, “and you, Aidan, take care of my cousin.”

Keita shifted to human and stood, her long red hair covering her naked body. She motioned to the witches and walked away from Branwen.

Aidan snapped his claws at Uther and Caswyn and pointed at Keita. The two males shifted to human—their Rhona-provided chain mail shifting with them—and rushed after her to keep her safe.

Taking Brannie’s claw in his own, Aidan held it and watched the witches make their way down to the beach. Armed with swords and bows and arrows, the witches also carried staffs made from bamboo, each individually adorned with jewels and gold chains and items from nature, like large feathers from predatory birds and fangs from jungle cats. They used those staffs like they were walking sticks but Aidan knew better.