Neville kicked a pirate off balance. The man stumbled, and he was already driving his blade into another attacker's exposed armpit joint. Then he heard another sharp inhale behind him and turned just in time to see Grayson grabbing his neck again, face contorted in barely suppressed agony.
It was getting worse.
Neville's eyes darted across the battlefield, frantically calculating angles and distances. Grayson needed help. Bryan needed protection. And the star pirates were circling like sharks who smelled blood in the water.
One group was moving toward Bryan's unconscious body. Another was converging on Grayson, whose movements had grown increasingly erratic.
Realization hit him in a bitter note.
He couldn't save them both.
But Bryan was closer and defenseless. He could die in the next thirty seconds if no one protects him.
And Grayson knew it too.
Their eyes met across the chaos, and something wordless passed between them.
Grayson deliberately lowered his guard.
