Hades didn't respond.
Because Orion was right.
He'd been using the howl for over two hours—breaking the compulsion on vampires, saving gammas, keeping his forces alive.
But it was killing him.
Each howl drained more energy than the last. Made him slower. Weaker. More vulnerable.
And Orion had been landing more hits because of it.
The claw marks across Hades's back. The bite on his shoulder. The gashes on his ribs.
All because he'd been too slow. Too drained.
But the gammas are alive.
The domes are intact.
Ironwall still stands.
Hades met Orion's gaze.
"Then finish it," Hades said quietly.
Orion's wings spread.
And he lunged.
This time—
Hades didn't dodge.
"Orion."
His voice was tender, wrought with exhaustion.
Orion froze mid-air—wings locked, claws extended, just inches from Hades's throat.
His eyes widened into saucers, even in his shifted state. It was the most expression apart from loathing that he had ever dared to show.
It was the voice .
