Page 117 of Demon's Bane

He’s there, I know he’s there.

His scent washes over me with each hard-won inhale.

The warmth of him is the only thing keeping me anchored.

“Joan. Hey. Look at me, Joan.”

I want to. I can’t.

“Take her to the court,” someone else says, voice low and urgent. “We don’t have anyone here skilled enough in healing to deal with whatever this is.”

I don’t recognize this voice, but it hardly matters as the darkness threatens again.

But Rhett keeps me here, keeps me conscious as he murmurs to me. The bond between us pulses, holding me to him, keeping me on just this side of oblivion.

“Stay with me, Joan. We’re going to get you help.”

Time slips and staggers, flickers in and out, and I only catch bits and pieces of the next few agonizing minutes.

One moment, the world dissolves into mist and wind.

Another, and we’re somewhere the air is cool and the sharp scent of herbs in my nose almost masks my mate’s scent.

One more, and someone cries out.

“What happened to her?”

There are more voices. Rhett’s. Allie’s. Others I don’t recognize.

The world tilts again and my whole body is rocked with agony as my back hits something solid. I open my mouth to scream, but nothing comes out.

“I’m sorry, little mate. I’m so sorry.”

Is that still Rhett?

It sounds like him, but the hoarse terror and desperation in his voice make it nearly unrecognizable.

“Joan.” Allie, this time, her touch cool and reassuring against my cheek. “Vayla is going to help you. It’s going to be alright.”

It’s not. It’snot.

How can it be alright when I’m dying?

I want to sob, to scream, but there’s not enough room in my lungs to get a good breath. Liquid—sickly copper and choking—bubbles up nauseating and thick on my lips.

Rhett’s hand trembles where it holds mine, and the other is no more steady as it brushes over my sweat-slicked forehead.

“Don’t try to talk,” he rasps. “You’re alright. I’m here, and we’re going to make this better.”

He keeps on murmuring to me like that while the knife is pulled from my shoulder in another blaze of pain, while my jaw is forced open and something bitter and cool is poured into my mouth, while agony and darkness and fear swirl closer and closer, tighter, until I’m right on the precipice.

“Stay here, Joan. Stay right here with me.”

Hereis quickly slipping away. My eyes won’t open and I can’t move my lips. My body is a useless, broken thing.

I want to say something. I want to squeeze his hand where it’s holding mine.

I want so many things, but my mind can’t hold on to a single one as I’m finally, finally pulled under.