Tristan’s shoulders were a mass of pain from the Infidel’s rough handling of his wings, and his brain had yet to process the horror he had just witnesses upon the dais, but as soon as his eyes alit on his beautiful beloved, every other thought flew from his mind. She had come. And somehow, she’d found Philippe along the way . . . and magically traversed half the world with him to rescue them. But not all of them. It was too late for François. At Philippe’s cry, it seemed as if the whole room started screaming all at once. Elisa clawed at the guard who held her, desperately trying to reach François on the dais. Christian and the twins pulled at their own burning shackles while using the red-hot cuffs to fend off several more of Mordant’s men. Tristan ripped himself from the Infidel’s grasp, leaving the assassin with hands full of precious feathers. He spread his wings, despite the pain, and launched himself into the air as best he could. He flew far enough to make the dais, landing squarely on the chest of a now unconscious Gana.
