Page 56 of Jeweler to the Blessed (Champions of Chaos #1)

He’s a force to be reckoned with. If he chooses her, she’ll be safe.

— FROM CHAMPIONS OF KAVIOS

I knew a blade would strike with my step, but I couldn’t stop it. The noise of shifting feet alerted me too late that someone lurked in the shadows, waiting for our passage. I may have been unprepared, but Hart wasn’t. Swift movements allowed him to slide between me and the blade.

He grunted in pain.

I shouted in protest, finding my footing as he shoved me back. Prepared for another attack, I pulled my dagger from my waist.

“Run,” Hart gasped.

His sword was out as he faced his attacker. Even in the dark, I recognized the short blond hair and the scar on the right side of his face.

I didn’t run.

“Dammit, Hart. Don’t do this,” Soren hissed.

As angry as his words were, they still held a plea. He didn’t want to fight Hart. He only wanted me. Something soured in my stomach. I didn’t want to die, and I didn’t want the Feared to take me.

“I told you I would,” Hart said. “You want her. You go through me.”

Soren’s face held regret as he pulled the blade back. It was coated in Hart’s blood. I couldn’t see from my angle where he’d struck. Soren’s lips pressed in sheer determination as he readied another swing.

As if remembering something, he glanced down. I was unsurprised to see R. Lourd’s ring on his finger.

The adamas glowed green. “You don’t want to do this.”

Hart laughed. “That won’t work on me.”

With effort, he swung his blade at Soren. Steel clashed, the sound echoing through the Oldwood.

“I wasn’t sure I believed that,” Soren replied.

The ring glowed red as he changed tactics, using strength.

I didn’t know what to do. Hart winced. He was clearly in pain. How deep had the blade gone? Why didn’t he heal himself? Surely, he knew healing himself was necessary to protect me in this moment. I didn’t think I could fight Soren.

Another terrifying thought crossed my mind. Hart might not have more anger stored. What if he’d used it all at the mine cave-in?

“I thought you understood.” Hart sounded genuinely disappointed, but he didn’t lower his blade.

Soren laughed, but it was hollow. “I did. Until that advisor came in with a better proposition. ”

Hart paused momentarily.

Vaddon? He had finally made his way into the Feared. Soren charged Hart again. Their blades connected with a clang. Hart kicked Soren back and swung. The red of Soren’s adamas cast an eerie glow in the Oldwood. His power surged as he fought with a ferocity that had likely earned him his scar.

I could tell Hart was fading as he took a step back.

There was no clear path for me to help. I’d only be in the way if I tried to intercede with my dagger. Any skill I had lay in one-on-one defense. So, I stood helplessly on the sidelines as a magicless Hart fought a rage-fueled Feared.

The blade meant for me must have cut deep.

His moves were slower than I’d become used to.

Feigning left, he must have known Soren’s anger would drive him to overcommit.

Hart withdrew another dagger from the sheath at his lower back.

A groan tore from Soren as the dagger slid into his exposed right side.

Soren fell to his knees.

Instead of attempting another swing, a dagger I hadn’t seen soared across the distance of trees—heading directly for my chest.

Hart, again, was there before I could think.

The careening blade pierced Hart’s chest instead of mine. Horror flooded me, icy and pointed, as he pulled it out and threw it back.

He fell to his knees. “Dammit, Soren.”

Soren was too slow to avoid Hart’s return throw. The dagger lodged in the side of Soren’s neck, and he fell back with a final grunt.

Somehow, Hart stood. He crossed the distance to Soren to check that he was actually dead. Whispered words fell from Hart’s lips, and he closed our attacker’s eyes with a soft touch. I wanted to say something—apologize—or yell at him for not letting me take the daggers aimed at me.

None of the words would do.

Again and again, Hart had put me first. Before I could process that in its entirety, his knees buckled. I ran to his side, attempting to shoulder his weight as we fell together to the forest floor.

“Hart.” My words were garbled, my eyes rimmed with tears.

He grunted.

“Can you heal yourself?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Go get Ava. Tell her where I am.”

His breathing was ragged. My gaze shot to his wounds. Blood soaked his right side from the first strike. Each beat of his heart appeared to bring forth more blood from the second chest wound.

Even if I could leave him to get Ava, he wouldn’t be alive when we returned. His eyes fluttered closed. He was fading too quickly. The answer was so simple; I mentally lashed myself as I realized what my hesitation had cost.

Hart’s words from the other day’s attack rang in my head: That was you, Chaos.

“I can heal you.”

He laughed, but it sounded pained. “Don’t?—”

A gurgled cough sounded, and more blood pooled in the wounds.

I had to try, but there had been no instruction manual. I didn’t know what to do. Champions didn’t need adamas to wield magic, but did we need touch? I couldn’t remember—didn’t have time to think too hard about whether I’d learned.

Quickly, I removed my gloves and searched for accessible skin. My hand hovered over his cheek. I cupped it. Warmth flooded between us at the contact.

“You didn’t have to take both blades, Hart.”

He grinned at that. “Yes, I did.”

“I’m going to heal you.”

Another cough. “Don’t, Chaos.”

I ignored him as I considered what came next. “I just need to feel ...” My mouth caught up with my brain as I completed the sentence: “Lust.”

A half-laugh, half-gurgle sounded beneath me, drawing my gaze back to Hart.

He’d managed to put that stupid smirk on his face, even as he coughed again, pushing more blood from his wounds.

“I’m not sure I’m much of an inspiration at present.”

I clenched my teeth. If he survived, I’d worry about the appropriateness of my actions. Now, I sifted through every lustful thought I’d had of Hart since I’d met him.

There were more than I remembered.

The thrill of Hart’s voice the first time I’d heard it.

His piercing gaze finding mine in Alaric’s workshop.

In his guard’s uniform, Hart pushed me against the wall as he defended me from attackers.

The curl of his lip as he held me against the alley wall at Forest’s Edge.

Hart and I in the tavern, his body above mine. Mine above his. His length thickening beneath me … His hand inches from my skin as I told him my secret.

He groaned. This one didn’t sound like the same kind of pain. “I’m fine.”

“Liar,” I said, sitting back on my heels, assessing what, if anything, had happened. Was the wound smaller? I couldn’t tell. His breathing was still labored. I leaned over him again. My hand returned to his cheek. I let it slide down his neck, extending the contact.

“Ember— ”

I was sure he was about to tell me to stop again, but he choked on what must have been blood pooling in his air passage. My hand rested above his heart.

“That’s enough, Hart.” I crawled closer.

My legs found their way to either side of his.

I hovered over his lap in a move that reminded me too much of Forest’s Edge.

Tonight, his life hung in the balance. His breath hitched with every shift of my body.

It’d be more satisfying if each breath he attempted weren’t interrupted by his choked-off cough as air fought to reach his lungs.

I tilted my head, focusing solely on his face. He was dirty and bloodied from the fight, but it only made him more appealing. He’d used no magic himself and took down the power of a Blessed—even if Soren wielded stolen adamas.

And he’d done it for me.

The shadow of stubble accented the sharp lines of his jaw. I ran my hand along it again. He really was the most handsome man I’d ever seen.

Our eyes locked as my left hand reached for his right and pulled it toward me. Maybe it was better if he touched me too. I didn’t know what else to try.

“Chaos,” he whispered.

I placed his large, calloused hand on the soft skin of my neck. It was such an odd sensation. I didn’t have time to consider it. Rationally, I knew Hart couldn’t take from me. I hoped his touch would help strengthen our connection, so that I could heal him.

But I didn’t know how to use my magic. The times I’d done so had been without thought.

Now, I very much wanted to use it.

His hand lay where I placed it, at the junction of my neck and shoulders. Heat flooded through me again where it rested.

This was so far past inappropriate, but I didn’t need to reimagine any of my lustful thoughts. This connection, his touch, was bringing new ones forward.

I leaned into it.

Fear shot down my spine. If there were an adamas gem between us, it would have flared purple.

My eyes flicked down again to the bleeding wounds just below my eyesight.

Worry mixed with the inferno created by his hand on my skin.

I pushed down my fear. That wouldn’t help Hart.

I focused on his hand, on his touch, letting the fire of our connection burn through me. I sank lower over his lap.

The feeling of his touch consumed me. I held his hand in place, unwilling to give up. But was anything changing? This heat between us was a building inferno, but I didn’t know if it was healing him. My hand slid to his chest. I wasn’t sure what led me, but I was sure I needed my hand on the wound.

My hair fell forward, creating a golden curtain around us. For a moment, I could imagine that it was just me and Hart. And maybe we would close the distance because we wanted to, not because his life depended on it.

His fingers twitched, featherlight against me. “You don’t have to.”

I wanted to.

Everything I knew about being Chaos’s Champion said she had a choice. I hadn’t made a decision. Hart had told me I had magic, but if I were honest, I wasn’t sure I’d accepted it.