Page 38 of Faeling (Monstrous World #4)

She fell.

Hard.

Her poor wings fluttered madly to break the fall, but it was just too much.

Ravenna hurtled down into the deep gorge, the layer of mist passing over her like a veil. A sudden, cool shock of air that had her dreading— I’ve died.

Her own scream echoed in her ears, dulled only by the furious buzz of her wings. She instinctively threw out her arms, magic gathering in her palms.

From one blink to the next, the stony ground raced up to meet her. Her magic bounded off the ground, buoying her at the last moment. Her whole body groaned with the change in momentum, and she went careening to the side, rolling through the air until the ground caught her.

The breath punched from her lungs, and starbursts dominated her vision. She could do nothing but spread her mouth wide in agony as she felt one of the delicate bones in her right lower wing break. Her right wrist sizzled with pain, and her ribs creaked ominously.

Don’t break don’t break don’t—

—the sea rose up to meet her—salt burned her eyes—one more punch—an agonized howl on the wind—

She skidded to a stop on her side, cheek and shoulder oozing blood from her myriad of scrapes. Ravenna coughed and gasped, desperate for air, but her lungs refused to expand.

For a long, horrible moment, she could do nothing but lay still and shiver, body frozen in shock.

A wave of nausea crashed against her stomach. She’d fallen .

That bastard threw her off a cliff!

It was her outrage that warmed her blood enough to finally begin moving. So, so carefully, she rotated her ankles then twitched her knees. She’d just gotten to her hip when—

A great whoosh and then not far away, a body smashed into the stone. Loose gravel leapt into the air with the impact, and blood splattered across the canyon floor.

Ravenna screamed though she hadn’t any air to, fresh horror biting down on her like the maw of some wild beast. The body lay in a horrible lump of broken flesh, blood leaking from a wicked wound cleaving the head in two.

One eye stared at her from the ruined face.

Ulrich.

But he’d—

“ Ravenna! ”

She gasped, her soul and magic reaching out through the mist to him.

Her fingers scrabbled desperately in the dirt and gravel, the will to push herself up there but not the strength.

Wilted wings collapsing against her back and her right side smarting with agony, it was all she could do to push herself onto her left elbow.

“Vallek!” she cried hoarsely, barely a whisper. Voice raw from her screams, her throat burned as she tried again and again, calling his name.

Perhaps the mist played tricks on her. It blocked out the meager afternoon light, constricting the canyon floor in a preternatural gloom.

The air was heavy with moisture, every breath a fight to take into her battered chest. Sweat and moisture ran down her face to join her tears, stinging every cut and scrape they found.

His call grew louder.

At first, she didn’t believe what she saw.

Sparks burst from the rock face of the cliff behind Vallek as he scaled the slope, using Hormhím’s blade to catch crevices and slow his descent. As deftly as a takin, he maneuvered his big body ever downward, great legs pumping to keep his balance.

Her mouth fell open, an unintelligible, desperate sort of sound all she could manage.

He’s coming for me.

Fat tears rolled down her ripped face, a frantic need to get to him overwhelming her. Through the pain, she tried to lift herself to her feet.

“Vallek!” He’s coming, he’s coming for me. “Vallek!”

“Ravenna!” His voice cracked with relief, his mighty chest heaving. “Stay there!”

Her sobs grew harsher, her body shaking with panic and shock, and she pulled herself along the ground, needing to get to him even a moment sooner.

Hormhím screamed hideously along the stone, more sparks flying from the blade only for the mist to snuff. When Vallek neared the ground, he bound from the rock face onto the canyon floor, casting down his axe as he ran for her.

Falling to his knees beside her, Vallek gathered her into his arms.

Ravenna crumpled against his chest, her sobs uncontrollable and unstoppable.

She blubbered his name, her fingers kneading at his tunic.

The pain was sharp, but she didn’t care.

She wanted to crawl inside him, where she knew it was safe.

Somewhere dark and warm, where no one meant her harm, no one cared who she was.

“I have you,” he murmured, “I have you, sprite.”

When the rain resumed, Vallek gingerly carried her down the length of the gorge in search of shelter. Ravenna did her best not to whine or wince whenever her battered body was jostled, but her azai quickly caught onto just how injured she was.

Picking up his pace, he soon found something of a cave.

Really, it was a glorified depression in the rock face, but with a large boulder shielding one side of the opening and about two body lengths of depth, she was dry at least when he gently set her down.

He left her a dagger from his belt, hefting the half-ruined Hormhím onto his shoulder to search for firewood.

He returned soon with an armful of scrub and twigs, his expression dismayed to find her completely unmoved.

Ravenna watched through heavy lids as he went through the motions of starting a small fire. It sputtered and spat, reluctant to catch fire in the damp air. Finally though, as in all things, Vallek bent the scrub and sparks to his will, coaxing a meager flame from the gnarled branches.

Sitting back on his heels, he glared at the fire, apparently displeased with its small size. “I’ll find more wood.”

“Don’t trouble yourself,” she said through chattering teeth, “I’m not c-cold.”

Peering at her over his shoulder, his lips thinned between his tusks. He sat down before her, one large hand reaching out to cup the less bloodied side of her face.

A low, unhappy rumble vibrated in his chest. “You’re cold as ice.”

“It’s the s-s-shock.” Although knowing that didn’t seem to make her shaking stop.

“Will you let me look?”

She wasn’t enthusiastic about being touched, every part of her feeling like an exposed nerve, but she jerkily nodded.

Moving in closer, Vallek started with her wrist. Holding it so gently in his big hand, she nearly began crying again, she watched as he delicately probed the bones of her wrist. The joint had already swollen and was red, but she agreed with him when he muttered, “I don’t think it’s broken. Not badly, anyway.”

She sat against the cave wall in still silence, tracking him as he assessed her injuries. He filled her vision, lending her just enough calm to begin pushing her magic toward those injuries.

Her father had always warned her about using magic to sustain herself.

Healing oneself with it, consuming it rather than food or drink, relying on it rather than sight or hearing—it bred an unhealthy reliance.

One the fae had suffered from for centuries.

Maxim himself hadn’t realized his unnatural state until he took a human azai, Aine’s blood helping him return to the way he always should have been.

“Use it wisely. Just in emergencies,” he’d always counseled her.

If this wasn’t an emergency, she didn’t know what was. If she moved in a slightly wrong way, which was any way, the stab of pain in her ribs had her worried she might pass out.

The invisible threads of her magic wrapped round her middle, supporting her as it sank into her skin. The relief was immediate, dulling the pain enough to be bearable.

Marking her little sigh of relief, Vallek’s intense blue gaze flicked up to hers. Then to the collection of jagged scrapes on the left side of her face. She wondered if it looked like she’d been clawed by some wicked beast as much as it felt.

“I have nothing to cleanse the wounds with,” he said, his tone regretful. “I have nothing at all…”

“It’s all right. I’m using my magic.”

His brows rose. “You can do that?”

“To an extent. Never had this bad…” She grimaced. “It would be quicker if I was full fae.”

As it was, it took all her concentration and magic to begin knitting her ribs back together. Her mind shied away from looking too long at the breaks—three ribs were broken. That’s all she needed to know. Her magic would handle the rest.

“Ravenna…” An agonized look passed over his face, and his hand hovered over her, as if he didn’t know where it would be safe to lay it. “I’m sorry. So, so sorry.”

Fresh tears stung her eyes. A part of her wanted to be angry—what was he thinking, openly treating her like his mate in front of everyone? What did he think Ulrich would do? Just because he was king didn’t mean everyone would agree with him, even those closest to him.

But as she watched him, saw the look of desolation in his eyes, Ravenna realized he knew. It was a discovery that cost him in blood and regret, and his shame emanated from him as surely as his body heat. Heavy lines underscored his eyes and bracketed his mouth, and she hated the sight of them.

She was too tired to be truly angry, and, as she sat still while her magic worked, Ravenna couldn’t help feeling that what really mattered was, “You came for me.”

“Always.” Leaning over her, he cupped the side of her head. “I will always come for you.”

Ravenna tried to swallow past her dry throat and only remembered at the last moment not to nod in acknowledgement and irritate her head.

His thumb passed gently over her unbroken cheek, his gaze forlorn as he watched the small movement. “I can’t do much for you like this, but…can I hold you?”

She wanted to say yes, but the idea of being moved filled her with dread.

“I’m told the purring of a mate is soothing. Even healing.”

“All right,” she found herself saying. It was less for herself and more for him.

That’s what she told herself, anyway.