I stopped, dropped to my knees, clumsily slid and skidded into rough, leaf-littered earth. I choked on a sob as the pain sank its teeth into me and shook me in its iron jaws.
I took several deep breaths, as though that could somehow return me to myself and make this pain go away.
It didn’t work.
My flesh screamed where it had been torn open by dragon scales. My back was ablaze with a fire I could not control—one that actually wounded and crippled. A wholly different kind of burn. It was not the good fire. Not the fire that fed me and strengthened me.
I could do nothing to mend my flesh. None of the magic that I relied on, that lived in me—that was me—could heal this.
Perhaps in the pride, under Brenna’s care, I could be mended. Yes, yes. Of course. I had to get to the Crags.
I exhaled and released myself, giving myself up to the dragon, inviting it to take over, waiting for the brilliant, tingling flash to happen that always accompanied my transformation. I waited.
And waited.
Twisting my torso, I looked over my shoulder as though I could see wings appearing, unfurling there as they should.
Nothing.
Nothing but aching, stinging prickles that woke up my wounds and sent fresh blood down my back like water rushing from abucket. There couldn’t be so much blood in a body. I felt empty … hollowed out, a husk of misery.
I took a steadying breath and shoved back the creeping edge of panic. Very well. I couldn’t turn in this condition. I would do this as a human. Naked and bleeding and broken and covered in ash, I would do this. First step: get back on my feet.
With another breath, I flattened one boot to the ground and tried to stand. Grunting, I strained, thighs quivering, weak as a newborn. My legs failed me, and I collapsed, broken rubble on the cold forest floor.
I bowed my head, sobbing, and punched the ground in fury, cracking knuckles, but I did not even feel it. Notthatpain.Thatpain was insignificant, a drop in a waterfall.
Tears sizzled down my cheeks, and I knew that my dragon was with me even if I couldn’t turn. Gathering myself up, I breathed. In. Out. In. Out. I would take a few moments. Rest and try again. Give myself a little more time.
Suddenly hard hands were on my arms, lifting me.
I snapped my head up with a cry of rage, certain they had caught up with me, certain it was Stig or one of his men. Opening my mouth, I set loose a screaming blast of flame.
Instantly the hands let go, accompanied by a quick curse.
I dropped and landed hard. Scrambling to my knees, I tensed, ready to breathe fire again.
I didn’t need to, though.
Vetr, unmaimed, stared down at me. Apparently, he’d gotten out of the way quickly enough.
My body went limp at the sight of him, tall and virile, his chest and shoulders filling out his leather over tunic, pushing at the seams. I sagged, relieved, the fight leaving me.
His hands stretched toward me, wide palms spread out as though approaching a feral animal, and I realized I must resemble that. An injured animal caught out in the wild, defensive and ready to bite the first hand that dared to touch it.
“It’s me.” He glanced behind him where Harald and Arran stood, their eyes wide, expressions anxious. “It’s us.”
I sucked in a breath, sucked in my fire, and managed a single nod.
He took my shoulders carefully in his hands, and a dam broke. I started shaking. I couldn’t stop. He made a shushing sound between words, his voice softer than I’d ever heard him speak before. “It’s all right. You’re safe. You can relax. I’ve got you. I have you.”
I’ve got you. I have you.
The words wrapped around me like the softest blanket.
“Vetr.” The sound was a broken gasp, unintelligible, but he seemed to understand me as he pulled me up.
He brushed his hand against my cheek. “You’re so pale.”
