Page 66 of Sy

“Prove it,” she said and then walked away, leaving him with the storm. The rain continued to fall, but Ashley didn’t feel it anymore.

She had work to do, and her daughter had shown her how to be brave.

Whatever Sy had expectedfrom the Purist attack, it hadn’t been this… calculated. The shuttles punched through the cloud cover, their engines screaming as they descended. He’d barely had time to get everyone into position, the evacuation alarms still echoing across the construction site.

“Hold positions!” His command cut through the acrid smoke as his gaze swept the defensive line.

The first shuttle hit the ground with enough force to shake the earth, its massive frame casting long shadows. The second and third followed, landing struts crushing debris beneath them in a triangle formation.

Perfect. They’d positioned their defenses expecting this—standard Purist assault tactics.

“Steady!” he called as hydraulics hissed and metal groaned. The shuttles’ ramps hadn’t even finished lowering before the first of the enemy appeared, their massive frames filling the doorways. Combat leathers stretched across broad shoulders, traditional long hair plastered wet against faces twisted with zealous determination.

“Remember your positions!”

The makeshift barriers would funnel the attackers exactly where they wanted them. The humans had done well, reconfiguring construction equipment into deadly energy weapons. The Izaeans around him were ready, their discipline evident in their stillness as the horde assembled.

A quick glance confirmed Ashley’s position at the modified plasma cannon with Michelle. New, dark marks around his wrists caught his attention, ivy-like patterns seeming to writhe beneath his skin. His heart stuttered. Bonding marks. They were bonding marks. The gods’ blessing on his mating with Ashley—the same Ashley who’d turned away from his fumbled apology just hours ago, hurt etching lines around her eyes.

He forced the memory down. Later. He’d make it right later.

“For the glory of the pure!” The battle cry rose from dozens of throats as the first wave poured from the shuttles. They moved with practiced precision until they spotted the defenders. Then their tactics shifted, consolidating into a single charging mass.

Exactly as predicted.

His fingers brushed across his wrist, drawing strength from the marks’ presence.

“Hold the line!” he bellowed as the enemy closed the distance with terrifying speed. Energy weapons flared to life, their distinctive whine building to a crescendo before releasing deadly bolts.

The first rank of Purists fell, their bodies creating obstacles for those behind them. More climbed over their fallen, pressing forward with mindless determination.

An explosion rocked the battlefield—one of the human traps detonating. The blast wave washed over them, hot and fierce, scattering Purist warriors like broken dolls. Through the smoke and chaos, the modified construction equipment unleashed streams of deadly energy, cutting swaths through the advancing horde.

“Watch your flanks!” he called as a group tried to break from the main force. His warriors responded in a heartbeat, shifting positions to cut down the flanking attempt before it could fully develop.

The air filled with ozone and the metallic tang of blood so thick that it felt like it coated his tongue. The constant hum of energy weapons filled the space between thunderous explosions, creating a deadly symphony. Through it all, Sy kept his position at the front of the Izaean line, weapon ready as the distance between forces shrank to nothing.

The first Purist warrior crashed against their line like a wave breaking on stone. Sy met him with practiced efficiency, ducking under a wild swing before driving his blade up and through the warrior’s throat. No time to watch him fall as two more took his place, their massive frames moving with unnatural speed.

A Purist broke through nearby, his long hair matted with blood and mud and his eyes wild with something beyond battle fury. Sy spun to intercept, his blade flashing in the strange light cast by the energy weapons. The Purist didn’t even try to dodge—just charged straight into the strike, impaling himself deeper on Sy’s blade to get closer.

Close enough for Sy to hear his whispered words: “The pure… will rise…”

He frowned as he pushed the dying warrior off his blade. This wasn’t normal Purist behavior. They were fanatics, yes, but not suicidal. Not like this. Another warrior took his place immediately, showing the same disregard for self-preservation. And another. And another.

An explosion to Sy’s left cut through his thoughts. One of the Purists had triggered another trap, but instead of trying to avoid the blast, he’d embraced it, taking three more of his comrades with him. The shockwave staggered Sy, but he managed to keep his footing in the blood-slicked mud. To fall was to die, and he had too much to live for.

He had a mate.

A mate he needed to apologize to, and beg to forgive him, but a mate nonetheless.

The battle settled into a brutal rhythm until the last wave broke against their line. These weren’t warriors fighting to win. These were males who’d already accepted their deaths. The realization hit him as he drove his blade through what had to be one of the last attackers.

The Purist grabbed his arm with surprising strength, pulling him close. Blood bubbled at his lips, but his eyes were clear and filled with terrible purpose.

“Purified…” the warrior rasped, mud and blood splattered against his skin, “in heavenly fire.”

Sy felt the words like ice in his veins. Something in the warrior’s tone, in the way his lips curved into a smile even as death took him, sent warning signals screaming through his mind.

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