Page 68 of Kingdom of Chaos (Creatures of Chaos #2)

Forty-Four

Talon applies pressure to my wound, trying to stop the blood, and a scream tears from my throat because it feels like a blade stabbing me all over again.

“Hold on, Freckles. Hold on. It’s okay. Imogen’s going to get a healer.”

Imogen? Was she here? I didn’t see her. But my vision is as fuzzy as my brain.

“You’re going to make it,” he says, but when I look into his eyes, I see something there I’ve never seen in Talon before.

Fear.

Behind him, I catch sight of Kerrim lifting Shadow Striker into the air. He watches my fresh blood slide down the blade, dripping from the tip.

“Finally,” he murmurs, his own blood staining his skin as a wide, maniacal smile splits his face. He looks like a predator savoring his victory as he watches each red drop fall to the ground.

Talon ignores him, his full focus on me. He keeps the pressure on my wound, whispering that I’m going to be fine, even though we both know it’s a lie.

With what little strength I have left, I lift my hand, fingers trembling as I trail them over Talon’s cheekbone. His eyes lock on to mine, the depth of his pain shining back at me.

“Had to,” I whisper. “A sacrifice. It was the only way.”

Talon shakes his head, clearly not understanding.

“The Vampire King’s love. Only a sacrifice can counteract the blade’s dark magic.”

His eyes widen with sudden sharp understanding, but before he can say anything, Kerrim’s panicked voice breaks through the night, sharp and raw.

“What? No. No!”

A silent gasp leaves my lips as black mist erupts from Shadow Striker. It curls through the air like smoke, only thicker, darker, until it surrounds Kerrim, wrapping around him like writhing tentacles.

He stumbles, swiping at the mist in a panic, but it clings to him, seeping under his skin, sinking into his flesh.

His screams tear through the night, raw and desperate, as he tries to bat it away, but it’s no use.

The mist pulses, drawing tighter around him, almost as if it’s feeding off his life force.

His body convulses, spasming in place. His frantic cries turn to gurgles, then ragged gasps, before they’re gone altogether.

Kerrim collapses to the ground, motionless.

Before the shock of it can fully register, a deafening boom shakes the clearing. A pulse of power erupts from Shadow Striker, still clutched in Kerrim’s lifeless hand.

The blade glows red-hot, then cracks appear before it shatters in a burst of black smoke that spirals upward, twisting and writhing like a living thing. The air vibrates with a terrible, almost feral energy.

It feels . . . ancient. Dangerous. Wrong.

For a second, I think I hear a deep, guttural rumble, like a distant roar carried on the wind. Then the smoke vanishes, unraveling into the night like a shadow melting into deeper darkness.

In the sudden, breathless quiet, I catch sight of something crumpled on the ground near Kerrim’s body.

A figure.

Pale, gaunt, motionless.

His body is skeletal, his eyes sunken; he’s barely breathing, if he’s breathing at all.

A rustle of footsteps breaks the eerie stillness, followed by urgent voices. Imogen, Kade, and the healer, her bag already swinging from her shoulder, burst through the tree line in front of us, breathless and wide-eyed, as if they’ve only just caught up with the aftermath.

“Locklyn!” Imogen’s voice is sharp with alarm as she spots me lying in Talon’s arms.

She skids to a halt, but it’s the healer who moves first, dropping to her knees beside us, already pulling supplies from her bag.

Kade follows, his gaze sweeping over the area, taking in Kerrim’s lifeless form, the shattered remnants of Shadow Striker, and the unknown figure crumpled on the ground.

“Who on earth is that?” he mutters, but there’s no time for answers.

“Help her!” Talon snaps, voice tight, as the healer moves to press gauze against my wound, sending another spike of excruciating pain through me as she works with practiced speed to stem the bleeding.

I catch Imogen’s gaze dart nervously toward the figure lying near Kerrim as Kade turns to stand guard, tense as if ready for whatever this new threat might bring.

For now, the crumpled figure is ignored, though none of us can shake the wrongness that clings to the air.

It’s like the night itself is holding its breath, waiting for something to shift.

I feel myself slipping away. My eyelids grow heavy, and a gentle force tugs at me, promising peace as it drags me under.

“Don’t you dare,” Talon orders, shaking me.

My eyes snap open, but even so, the edges of my vision start to darken.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he says, his voice rough, his face tight with worry.

Above me, I catch the look the healer gives him.

“What is it?” Talon asks.

She hesitates. “I can try to use my magic to save her life, but I don’t know if she’s strong enough to endure the healing process.”

“She is.” Talon’s face hardens, his words sharp. “She’s the strongest creature I’ve ever met. This won’t break her.”

But that’s the problem, isn’t it? Because I’m not actually a creature.

I’m human . And I know with certainty that my magic is gone.

Not depleted or I just can’t reach it, there’s an empty void inside where it used to be.

Maybe I should care about that, but I don’t.

In fact, I’m glad. It was never meant to be part of me.

I was enough on my own, and if I’m going to die tonight, I want to do it as myself.

A shadow moves at the edge of my fading vision, and then Becks is there, breathless and wide-eyed.

“I felt it,” he says, voice raw. “My magic came back to me in a rush, and I knew that she’d defeated him, but, what happened?” His face crumples, torn between relief and panic as he takes in my condition.

“She sacrificed herself,” Talon explains, and then turns back to the healer. “You have to do it now. We don’t have any more time.”

The healer nods, her face tight with focus. She places her hands over my wound, and a silvery light kindles between her hands. It’s faint, but I can feel it. The weak spark of her magic trying to knit torn flesh back together, but it’s not enough. My body is too fragile, too drained to respond.

The healer’s breath shudders, her voice barely a whisper. “She’s too weak. I can’t?—”

“Yes, you can,” Talon growls, his voice low and fierce. His tone softens, urgent and raw. “I’ll give her the strength she needs.”

He reaches for me, but Imogen grabs his wrist before he can touch me, her eyes wide with alarm. “Talon, don’t!” she hisses, panic bleeding into every word. “You’ve been lucky so far, but if you give her any more, it could kill you.”

What?

I don’t understand what’s happening. Their voices feel like they’re coming from far away, the edges of their words blurring and slipping.

Talon jerks out of Imogen’s grip, his expression hard as ice. “We don’t know that.”

“Yes we do!” Imogen snaps. “You’ve been feeding her your magic. More than I realized before today. More than you should have. If you push this, you’re risking your life. You’re?—”

“I know what I’m doing!” Talon roars, and for a second even Imogen recoils from the intensity in his voice.

He looks down at me, his jaw tight, breath ragged. His hand trembles as he hovers it next to my face, his voice quieter but no less determined. “If it takes my life to save hers, then so be it.”

Laying his hand against my cheek, I feel his icy magic surge into me, sharp and cold, like plunging into a frozen river. It’s startling at first, an ache that shudders through my chest, leaving frost blooming across my skin.

The silver and gold threads that connect us spark to life, igniting like thin lines of lightning, crackling in the air between us. They pulse in time with my faltering heartbeat, weaving brighter and stronger, wrapping around me like a cocoon.

I gasp, breath catching in my throat as the threads tighten, infusing me with Talon’s magic. It’s not just cold, there’s a familiar warmth beneath it, steady and strong, like a quiet fire buried in the frost.

Talon looks to the side and says, “Try it now,” speaking to the healer, who leans over me again, her magic lighting up her palms as she presses them against my wound.

Almost immediately the ache in my chest starts to ease, the pressure in my head lifting just enough that my vision sharpens at the edges. But Talon shudders, his breath hitching, a flicker of strain tightening his face as the magic drains from him and flows into me.

“Talon,” I rasp, barely a whisper, but his eyes stay on mine, fierce and unyielding.

“Stay with me, Freckles,” he murmurs, voice low and ragged. “Just stay.”

As the healer works, I feel life start to return to me, slow and steady, like a spark catching flame. Strength seeps back into my limbs, my awareness sharpening, the fog in my mind thinning as if a heavy veil is being slowly lifted.

My breath comes easier. My heart beats stronger.

But as the seconds pass, the small relief I feel is overshadowed by the subtle, creeping dread that all is not well.

My gaze drifts to Talon and my pulse lurches.

The color is draining from his face, leaving his skin pale beneath its usual golden tan. His breath rasps, shallow and uneven, his jaw clenched so tightly the muscle flexes under his skin. A faint shimmer of sweat beads across his forehead, and there’s a tremor in his hands, small but unmistakable.

Then I feel it. That uncontrollable pull .

The silver and gold tendrils that appeared back in the creature world when I accidently bonded to the dagger, and that have appeared so many times since, now they sting , like they’re cutting into him. I can feel his magic flowing into me, too much, too fast, like a dam bursting all at once.

I remember the way he coughed at my feet as he lay dying under the ruins after the last Chaos trial. His skin pale, his breath ragged, the way the magic drained from him and into me. How he asked me to get him through the portal before it was too late.