Page 14

14

LIORA

D ain’s wings beat against the night, each stroke more strained than the last.

His breath comes sharp, ragged. The warmth of his blood seeps through my fingers where I clutch his side, the wound deeper than I first thought. He is struggling.

The wind howls past us, the mountain peaks stretching below in jagged, endless ridges. He flies, but not well.

He wobbles.

My stomach lurches as his body lists slightly to the left before he corrects it with a sharp growl. His grip on me is still iron-clad, as if he refuses to drop me even as his own strength fails.

My pulse slams against my ribs. This isn’t good.

I don’t even know where we’re going. We’re just fleeing.

Below, the world is a dark blur, shadowed valleys and twisting rock formations. No shelter. No safety. No time.

The others will come. They’ll hunt us. Him.

They want me dead. But him?

A betrayer. They will make him suffer.

He fought for me. He killed for me.

I grip the fabric of his torn leathers tighter, pressing against his chest, feeling the way his muscles lock in pain.

I did this to him.

The thought nearly suffocates me. I can’t just sit here, clinging to him, watching him break apart. I have to do something.

Magic.

The word echoes in my head.

I don’t understand it. I never have. But it listens to me.

It reacted before. It saved me.

I close my eyes and press my forehead against his shoulder, barely breathing.

Please.

I don’t speak the word aloud, but it pulses through me like a prayer.

Help him. I reach for Dain.

The magic stirs, shifting like something half-asleep, something hesitant, uncertain. It tastes my desperation.

It moves. A slow, spreading heat flows from my chest, down my arms, into him. My hands glow faintly where I press against his ribs, the wound beneath them reacting, mending.

Dain stiffens.

His breath hitches, his whole body tensing violently beneath me.

“What are you?—”

I focus harder.

His heart thunders against mine, fast, erratic. The magic is weak, I can feel its limits. I won’t be able to heal him fully, but I can keep him steady.

We fly faster.

His wings beat stronger, no longer faltering, no longer threatening to send us plummeting to the earth below. The wind cuts sharper, the world blurring as we soar through the clouds, past the edges of the known mountains.

His grip tightens on me, but this time, it is not from strain.

The flight is shorter than I expect. The moment I feel the change in his body, the slight shift in his direction, I realize he’s going to land.

The ground rushes up to meet us, a rocky stretch of terrain near the base of a deep valley, surrounded by thick twisting trees and jagged cliffs.

Dain’s wings flare wide, catching the wind as he slows, dropping us down onto the earth with a heavy thud.

The moment my feet touch solid ground, my knees buckle.

His don’t.

But he does stumble. Just slightly.

The moment he releases me, he slumps against the nearest rock, one knee hitting the ground, a hand braced to steady himself. His breath is deep, controlled, but still uneven.

Blood still stains his side, but the wound has closed.

My magic did that.

I did that.

He stares at me, golden eyes burning, sharp with something I cannot place.

“What did you do?”

His voice is rough, low.

I swallow, my throat dry. “I—I healed you.”

He doesn’t react at first. Just keeps looking at me, searching, hunting. Then his lips curl slightly, not in amusement, not in relief.

But in frustration.

His head tips back slightly, exhaling as if this is the last thing he wanted to happen.

“Of course you did.”

I flinch. “You’re welcome.”

He snorts. It’s a harsh, rough sound, but his fingers twitch against his knee. I realize he is shaking.

He never shakes.

Something tightens in my chest. I almost lost him.

He pushes himself up, shoulders rolling, wings shaking off lingering tension. His movements are slower, measured, as if he’s calculating every next step.

“We can’t fly again,” he mutters, wiping his forearm over his face, smearing the leftover blood.

I frown. “Why?”

His gaze snaps to mine.

“Because they will be looking for us.”

My stomach turns cold. “You think they’re already hunting us?”

He tilts his head slightly, a movement that reminds me of a predator. “They are gargoyles. They are hunters. Of course, they are.”

The words are a low, dark warning, not just about them.

But about him.

I fold my arms over my chest, exhaling through my nose. My body is exhausted, but I ignore it. “Then what do we do?”

His eyes don’t leave mine.

“We walk.”

I stare at him. “Through the mountains?”

A slow nod.

I bite my lip, hesitation warring with reason. I don’t like it. But I don’t argue.

Not when he gazes at me like that.

Not when I still feel the warmth of his skin beneath my fingers, the echo of his pain inside me.

Not when I can still taste the moment he almost died.

I lower my gaze, inhaling deeply, steadying myself.

He steps forward, closer than I expect, towering over me, his presence heavy, unshakable.

“This is not over, Liora,” he murmurs. “Do you understand that?”

I lift my head. “I never thought it was.”

Something flickers in his gaze, unreadable.

A mystery.