Malachai's POV.
I storm through the chaos of the hunter's camp, my fists clenched and blood still crusted along the side of my face where Hope had cut me. Around me, hunters limp, groan, and shout orders at one another, trying to salvage what they can from the wreckage of our failed attack. Makeshift tents flap in the wind, stained with blood, and the metallic scent of injury hangs heavy in the air.
But I'm not concerned with the wounded.
I am furious.
They ran. Cowards. We were right there—Lucian pinned, Malakar tangled beneath his own weight, and Hope within my grasp, choking on the last of her breath. I had won—and still, they had let it all slip away. My hand twitches, still remembering the feel of her throat beneath my fingers.
“I had them!” I bellow, kicking a broken crate out o
