Page 170 of In Violent Waves

All she could hear was the roaring in her ears and the heaving of her breath.

Lyra thought through all the worst-case scenarios. What would happen to her if they all died? That thought made her hands shake. She couldn’t lose all of them. That damage would be irreparable.

Her pounding heart and burning lungs were nothing compared to the fear that sliced through every part of her. And that’s when it hit her.

Maelys was standing out there, Ridge, Otto, Dust, and Oak. They were all out there protecting her.

Wilder was out there, facing his worst fears—for her.

He was standing between her and creatures who had held him hostage and tortured him for a decade. Fury burned through her, staining her vision crimson.

Lyra stared down at the dagger gripped in her hand.

The nothingness that was coming from outside set her teeth on edge.

Slow and steady, she squared her shoulders, preparing herself for what she would face on the other side of the carriage door.

The thread of magic flared within her, and she brushed against it.

“Find your mark,” she commanded the dagger, and then threw the door open.

Wilder kept his back to the carriage door. They had surrounded the carriage under his order, which was to protect Lyra at all costs. She was the key to restoring balance, and he felt that if he had more time with her, then he could get her to control that power that flowed through her.

Otto stood on his right, a large ax held out in front of him.

“There are twelve,” he murmured. “They’ll surround us and go for her.”

Ridge stiffened on the other side of Wilder.

“Clan?”

“Igneous.”

Wilder’s chest tightened. It had been years since he had faced his captor’s clan. But there was a debt to settle, and he would gladly exact his revenge.

“Casualties?” Ridge asked, his eyes bouncing from Wilder to Otto. Ridge knew there was only so much he could ask without Wilder stopping him.

“One. Not ours,” Otto replied.

Ridge nodded, lifting his broadsword higher.

Wilder focused on listening. He could hear Lyra’s heart fluttering like a hummingbird’s wing, and the panting of her breath slipping through her lips from inside the carriage behind him. He could hear the twelve wulvers approaching each from a different direction.

Their breathing was steady, except for one. A low, gravelly breathing that signified him as an elder.

Tilting his head to the sky, he inhaled, channeling the wind to swirl around them, stirring up their scents and bringing them to him.

It was the Igneous Clan, and Igneous himself had come to this fight.

They breached the clearing and stood around the perimeter. Smudges of darkness in the shadows of the trees.

The wulver who had captured him stepped one foot closer than the rest. Wilder’s fury stirred, and he bit down on his tongue to keep from yelling at the beast. He gripped his blade tighter but lowered it a fraction.

It was a show of disrespect to the elder wulver, and it was intentional.

“You have something that belongs to the sea,” Igneous spoke.

He was fifty yards away but still spoke as if Wilder had been standing right beside him.