Page 206

Her mind was covered in clouds and heavy fog, unable to form audible noises, let alone sentences. But she looked into his eyes that had begun to glow once more while his hand held her cheek and the back of her neck. She looked into them as his thumb softly brushed the soft swell under her eyes, smearing the liquid across her skin.

Smokeshadows slowly hovered under his icy palm at her chest, lingering there as he rasped, “You are alright.F—fuck. Just … breathe. Please.”

His hair was still wet. Through the spinning swirl of clouds in her mind, she could determine that much. Blood moved into her arms, flowing down into limp fingers until they twitched against his leg. That was still soaked too.

How long had she been out? Alora’s eyes drifted, fighting off the heaviness that still sat there and pulled them down, down, down until she forced them up again. Her vision blurred—in and out.

She could barely focus on the buttons of his tunic … and the bubbled, oozing flesh underneath.

Garrik’s eyes followed hers. “It is nothing.” Brushing her cheek again. “I have had worse.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but only air whooshed out.

Another soft stroke of his thumb glided against her cheek, and he bent his knees up, pulling her impossibly closer. “Do not try to speak. Close your eyes, rest. I have you.”

Alora’s eyes were slowly drifting back to that place.No. Please … I want to stay.

There in his arms …

With the Dragons …

With … her High Prince.

Please, let me stay. I want to stay.

Icy lips pressed against her sweat-ridden forehead. “I know, my darling.” Garrik shuddered a breath before sleep found her again.

She told himeverything.

As he held her in his trembling arms, building with wrath and rage, she released every last secret. Every ounce of shame and hurt and vicious lies that held her at ransom.

When her sobs became too much, her mind opened. And once a tightly wound bud, her past and present bloomed, baring itself to him. Allowing him to weave through Kaine who had built such high walls that Garrik willed himself the strength and climbed. Higher and higher, until every piece on that surface, in that chamber of her consciousness, was ruthlessly explored. Until he kneweverythingand she was laid bare before him.

“I should have realized.” He slumped his head back against her bedside table, dried gray hair scratched against the wood.

“I see himeverywhere. With every turn, stalking me in the corner outside my vision. In your eyes. In Thalon’s instruction. I thought I was strong enough when I schemed to leave him. When I did everything to escape. I thought I had let him go—I did let him go. But he won’t leave me.” Alora’s lips quivered.

Garrik pulled away from her, his calloused hand cupped her cheek as glowing silver burned into her eyes. “Come with me.”

Alora pinched her eyebrows, pressing her head deeper into his shoulder.

“I need you to trust me. Can you do that?”

“I never stopped. He”—she sobbed—“he convinced me otherwise. I didn’t mean anything I said. I didn’t mean any of it.”

Garrik banded his arm around her back and lifted under her knees, effortlessly standing, cradling her in his arms. Her strength had returned, though she hadn’t moved from the comfort of his embrace while she revealed her darkest secrets.

“Hold onto me,” he whispered with a reassuring squeeze, cupping a knee.

The tent fell to creeping darkness. Engulfed in swirling tendrils of shadows and misting ash clouds, they turned into nothingness. Like floating, again, Alora raised her hand inches from her eyes and rotated her wrist. It was there—she knew it was there—but it also wasn’t. Her shadow merged with the darkness, sweeping in like a calm dream. Weightless—airless—empty, yet teeming with life. Garrik’s body still pressed against her. She knew he was there only by the pressure touching her skin.

Smokeshadows breezed around them until they misted away in puffs of swirling smoke. They had dawned—but where?

Alora’s eyes adjusted. Her senses locked on to rhythmic drops into puddles and the heavy taste of wet iron mixed with rotting mold and something else so awful she was certain she would vomit. But just as the smell rushed her senses, it was gone, and only the dancing torch lights and stones remained.

It looked like a dungeon cell.

Horrible, rusted iron chains and clasps, terrifying torture weapons, and hundreds of torches hung from the blood-splattered walls. Far off in the corner, a long set of graystonestairs dripping with pools of crimson led up to an iron door sealed shut. Darkness danced behind it.