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“She was six when we had heard about the prophecy, and Strolguil told us he wanted to obtain what was foretold she would give birth to. He thought since she could carry such a thing that she would be powerful.”

He followed Rurik into the alcove where Amalia would usually cook her food.

“When her mother and I ran with her, we knew he would search for Amalia. I would often scout the land to make sure the cottage we'd fled to had not been compromised. I was discovered. He was hoping to use me as leverage to get her to bond with him if she refused.”

Leverage? So it had never been set in stone that she would bond with the Vast.

Rurik laid the Witch against the stone dining table and lifted the tunic she was in to expose her wound.

She made sure it was deep.

He filled his hand with magic, feeding it before he blew a fireball at it. He made sure it stayed lit with flame.

“Please, WitchSlayer! She did not know anything. You promised me you would not harm her.” Her father leapt forward to grab his arm in a futile attempt to stop him. “When she first came to my cell, she did not know who Strolguil was. She had not regained her memories yet. Please, I swear this to you.”

Had she truly not known before today?

Rurik elbowed him out of the way as he placed his hand over her chest to feel her heart beating beneath it.

“Do not command me, Witch,” he bit. “I told you I would heal her.”

He shoved his flaming hand into her wound. She was too far gone to know he was doing something so horrendous to her.

The wound began to cauterise as her skin and organs melted around his hand when he pressed it deep. He wouldn’t have been able to heal her stab wound, but he could heal a wound from flames.

Rurik was changing her injury to one that he could save.

His eyes widened, and he moved his non-flaming hand from her breast.

“Pump her chest. Her heart has stopped beating.”

Her father immediately ran forward. Pressing his hands just above her breast, he pushed against her ribcage to massage her heart.

After he removed his flaming hand, he shook it in the air to remove the fire and then he placed it over the wound he’d created. He couldn’t understand why his hand was shaking when usually it was so steady, but his mind was too rampant with her safety to fixate on his thoughts. He had to chant the spell he needed to fix her before he could do anything else, needed to utter the words out loud.

He concentrated, keeping his hand over it until he could feel the magic flowing. He could see the reversal of his flames lighting inside her and feel the warmth of it.

Keeping his hand against the lower part of her stomach to keep the magic fuelled, he leaned over and blew into her mouth. He gave her his breath mixed with magic.

He was thankful her father was here to help him pump her chest. He wouldn’t have been able to do all three on his own, and if he moved his hand from her wound, it would stop healing.

When he could feel that her wound was no longer there and he could no longer feel warmth or his magic being used, he lifted his head to check and make sure.

Like the spell had done to her legs, he managed to heal her completely.

Not even a scar marked her beautiful body.

Rurik had saved Amalia of her wound. Now he just needed to bring her back to life like once before.

With the wound gone, her heart should start beating. She should take a breath.

Yet, even after he gave her more of his own, she didn’t.

The silence between them only aided to highlight their attempts in saving her. The horrible thumping noise her body gave as her father repeatedly pressed into her chest. His subtle grunting, and the sound of Rurik taking in a deep draw of strong breath so he could give it to her.

“It is not working, WitchSlayer,” her father said, and Rurik could tell he was losing his enthusiasm for the task. When he didn’t respond, just continued to breathe into her mouth, the man shook his head. “She has given up. She told me she did not mind dying.”

His hands slowed, his brows creasing into sorrow and grief, before he started to retract them.