She wasn’t popping into the next village to oversee a birth or mend a bone. She wasn’t foraging for mushrooms, or swimming in the lake, or lying in a field beneath the aurora.
This was another pissing realm.
When she finally convinced herself to move, to clear the stairs and hit the path, the ground seemed to tremble beneath her feet.
At the bend, she spared a single glance behind. Her cottage faded into the endless gloom of the Evesong with every vibrating step, until all she could see were the shadows and branches crowding her between the glowing flora and twinkling dust.
That was when she turned ahead, towards the portal hidden amongst the trees.
Thaddeus was already holding the toll in his hand when she approached him. “Ready?” he asked.
Not even a little bit.
“Ready.”
With a nod, he tossed the small piece of Straelon into the undulating surface in front of them and held out his hand for her to take. Lunara’s last thought as she reached out and followed him in, as spectral fingers caressed her skin for the briefest of moments and transported her body away from Nachthelliae, was a desperate plea.
Sweet Sisters, let this not be a mistake.
The first thingLunara saw was the blood.
Rivers and puddles of it stained an alarming area of the marbled brown flagstones—which meant she should haveknown better than to dive straight for the mangled creature at its center without being more sure of her footing.
As she slipped and her feet went out from under her, Lunara could only be grateful that Thaddeus had taken her bags and she wasn’t forced to chuck them every which way to catch herself.
Except, just before she went arse-over-teakettle, a massive pair of arms banded around her middle and saved her from the indignity of ever hitting the ground.
“Shite,” a deep voice rumbled, craggy and soft at once. “Are you?—”
She lifted her gaze and followed a strong, straight nose upward to meet hazel eyes in a kaleidoscope of earthy colors, wide with surprise beneath an elegant arch of thick brows.
Weeping Sisters. The Demon holding her was the most beautiful male she’d ever seen in her life.
“Th-thank you,” she murmured, trying to catch her breath. “I wish I could say that I wasn’t always so clumsy, but then I would be lying.”
More lies were the last thing she needed.
He blinked down at her, silent, and Lunara didn’t quite know where to look anymore—or why he was still holding her instead of setting her upright.
Hearing her name being uttered in hushed tones snapped Lunara from her frozen state, wrenching her focus back to the task at hand. Scrambling from the Demon’s hold, she pushed him from her mind as she twisted and fell to her knees beside the creature on the floor.
All of the confidence she possessed burst to the fore at moments like these, when Lunara knew without a shred of doubt that someone’s life was depending solely on her.
She called power from within herself, the threads of magic venturing out between her and the male. His heartbeat reached her ears in an instant—weak, wavering, barely there.
Without a thought, she placed her hands on his ravaged chest and funneled magic into him, detaching his mind from the agony of feeling. She knew just from looking at him that he’d long-since gone into a state of shock, his body precariously close to a point of no return.
It was going to take everything she had to heal him. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had to expend that amount of power, and the realization daunted her.
No, she had enough. She could do it.
He had to be moved from the floor first—if for no other reason than Lunara’s own bones wouldn’t be able to take hours upon hours of crouching in this position.
“I need a room and a bed, now,” she said.
Shouts sounded in response, but she didn’t understand a word. Her only focus was on forcing the Demon’s heart to move, to pump, to keep him alive.
“Shall we lift him, my lady?”
