Page 53 of Stormvein

“Is this it?” I ask the creature, not really expecting a reply. “Is this what he needs? Will it help him?”

It makes that odd vibrating sound again, and nudges my hand, its enormous head dipping in what almost seems like a nod.

I examine the ring in the faint light, turning it around between my fingers. The black stone isn’t just dark, it’s like looking into a void where light doesn’t reach. Questioning my sanity, I carefully slip it over the tip of his finger. It adjusts in my grip, and I almost drop it as it changes size to slide over his knuckles despite the swelling.

I stare at it, holding my breath, waiting for …something. A miracle? A sign?

Nothing happens.

Disappointment crashes through me, so intense it hurts.

“What did you expect? It’s just a stupid ring!” Tears escape, despite my fight not to shed them. I swipe them away angrily, and glare at the mist stalker. “What do you want me to do? What do I need to do?”

The animal looks at me, its expressionmocking me. I look back down at the ring. If it’s important, if it could have helped him sooner, what kind of idiot does that make me? I’ve been hoarding this piece of him like a talisman while he suffers.

Sacha’s breathing hitches, then continues its labored rhythm. His skin remains cold beneath my touch. The infection continues to spread visibly beneath the surface of his skin, angry red lines tracking up from the sword wound.

I place my palm over his hand, covering the ring. “You wanted to get this ring back. It must dosomething!” Silver sparks through my fingertips. Despair builds up in my chest until I can’t breathe.

“I don’t know what to do.” The confession is a ragged whisper, torn from someplace deep inside. “I don’t understand any of this. This world. The silver light, the storm.You. Nothing makes sense. I’m a nobody from Chicago. I shouldn’t be here.”

Outside the cave, the wind picks up, sending howling moans through the passageway to the cavern we’re in. It sounds mournful, like the wind itself is grieving the coming death of the man lying before me.

The mist stalker changes position again, moving around until it’s between me and the rest of the cavern, blocking the cool wind from reaching me with its body. As it moves, the light from the lantern falls over the restraints around Sacha’s wrists. The symbols carved into them glow faintly.

An idea forms. A crazy one. One that makes no sense or comes from any logical place. It’s pure desperation. A need to be able to say I’ve tried everything.

Checking over my shoulder, I scan the dimly lit cave to see where the rest of the fighters are. Most are gathered near the entrance, speaking in hushed tones that don’t quite reach me. With the mist stalker’s new position, I’m hidden in this recessed section of the cave, sheltered from their view. Chewing on my lip, I strip out of my outer layers, hands shaking, while I question what I’m doing.

What I’m about to try feels private, intimate in ways I can’t articulate, and yet something deeper than conscious thought drives me forward. But this feels like crossing a boundary, offering something I can’t take back.

If the others saw me now, what would they think? That I’m desperate, pathetic, clinging to a dying man?

Once I’m down to my underwear, common sense reasserts itself.

What am I doing?

I’m acutely aware of the vulnerability of being almost naked in a cave full of people, of what I’m about to do. Before I can change my mind, I slide beneath the rough blankets covering him. He’s naked except for the bandages wrapped around the worst wounds, most of which need changing again. The contrast between us is stark and heartbreaking. My skin is unmarked except for the faint lines of light tracing my veins. His is a roadmap of torture, a testament to how far the Authority will go to break someone they fear.

His skin is ice-cold against mine when I stretch out beside him, shocking after the burning fever of earlier. The dichotomy makes no sense. His body is at war with itself, unable to regulate even the most basic functions.

Light flares everywhere our skin makes contact, sudden and unnatural, throwing distorted shadows across the cave walls that writhe like living things, twisting and reaching.

“I’m here,” I whisper. I drape one arm across his chest, trying to avoid the worst wounds, but making contact with as much of his skin as possible. The cold of him seeps into me immediately, bone-deep and frightening. I don’t know why, but instinct is telling me that I need to achieve as much skin-to-skin contact as I can.

The silver current flows from me at every point of contact, spreading across the space between us to dance over his chest, his arms, his face. Where it touches, his muscles seem to ease slightly, although his breathing remains shallow, and his skin is cold as death.

“I don’t know what I’m doing.” I shift slightly, resting my head against his shoulder, the only place on his body that isn’t covered in wounds, my eyes on the weak flutter of his pulse at the hollow of his throat. “I don’t understand any of this. But something connects us. It has since the beginning.”

I close my eyes and concentrate on the sensation of the power flowing through me. Instead of containing it as I’ve tried to do since it first manifested, I encourage it outward, toward him. With each beat of my heart, I focus on sending back his familiar, imagining it traveling through me and back into him.

“Take it back.” My lips brush against his skin. “Whatever part of you has been with me, take it back. You need it more than I do.”

I’m shivering from the cold emanating from him, with the effort of trying to direct this power. Every muscle aches, every nerve ending fires with silver-bright pain. The mist stalker moves closer, making that strange sound again, its eyes fixated on something I can’t see.

Something moves against my hand, and I lift my head to see the restraints around his wrists vibrating, the symbols carved into their surface glowing brighter. The metal grows warm against my skin where it touches, hot enough to be painful. I should pull away, but something holds me in place. That same instinct that made me lie beside him, that told me this was necessary.

“Sacha.” His name is both a plea and a command. I touch my forehead to his shoulder. “Please, come back to me.”