Marc bolted upright. “Trystan!”
In the light of the predawn, it was a little difficult to see. Something black, almost like ink, appeared to seep through the vessels beneath his skin as Trystan sucked in air. The panic in Trystan’s gaze sliced through Marc’s chest like a knife.
Trystan’s face paled as the black substance spread outward. “M—” Trystan’s lips moved as he tried to speak. “C…t…br—”
Trystan’s chest burned. He felt faint. His body trembled as a cold sweat broke over his skin.
A web of black cascaded down and across his chest, quickly spreading. “Emrys,” Marc said. “We need Emrys.”
“I’m here.” Emrys fell to his knees beside Marc, carelessly dropping the basket with the linen robes on the ground. Trystan immediately clawed at Emrys, terror in his eyes.
“He just rolled over and started gasping for air.” For the first time, Marc was grateful for Trystan’s connection with Emrys. His heart raced as Trystan’s lips took on a shade of blue. “What’s happening to him?”
“I don’t know. He’s breathing, but suffocating. And it looks like some sort of poison in his blood.”
“It’s spreading fast. He’s healed through poison before.”
“Not like this. This is dark magic. It’s killing him.” The last words dropped from Emrys’ lips as a whisper. Emrys placed his palm against Trystan’s cold cheek. “His powers aren’t strong enough.”
His vision blurred, Trystan stared at the emerald eyes he sensed were fixed on him. The blood in his veins burned as though on fire. His chest burned, desperate for air. He begged his body to heal, to fight whatever was causing the debilitating pain raging just beneath his skin and to purge the suffocating mist from his lungs.
Mist.
Emrys heard Trystan’s voice in his mind. “Mist.”
“Mist?” Marc didn’t understand.
Emrys placed his palm on Trystan’s bare chest as the black poison lining his veins spread to his arms and legs. He focused his magic on Trystan. A blue glow flowed from his hands, permeating Trystan’s skin. The spread of black beneath his skin slowed but didn’t stop. His own energy waned, but Emrys pressed on.
“Fight, Trystan,” Emrys growled.
Trystan’s fingertips dug deep in Emrys’ thighs. His body convulsed and as it did, his attempt to breathe weakened. Then it stopped, and Trystan’s body went limp, his grip on Emrys falling away.
“No!” Emrys roared. The glow from his hand intensified.
A mist departed from between Trystan’s blue lips, and took the shape of a woman just steps away, a crown of gold adorned with a scorpion on her head.
“The Shade of Selqet,” Emrys breathed.
“The one you love most in all the realms will die in your arms,” the shade whispered in Morgaine’s voice then scattered into the wind.
“No.” Emrys shook his head, squeezing his eyes closed. “No!”
“Is he?” Marc asked, his voice hoarse.
“No. No, he’s not.” Trystan was not going to die in his arms. Not this day.Don’t leave us, angel.
Trystan heard a distant voice in his mind. He focused on one word. Angel. Only one person had ever called him that. Myrddin. The man he’d fallen in love with against fate’s will.
I love you, angel. Don’t leave me. Help me to heal you.
Tears formed behind Trystan’s watery, vacant gaze. He didn’t understand the voices in his mind, but he ran toward them.Myr.
Trystan willed his body to fight, to heal and push away whatever it was that had afflicted him, be it poison or magic or both. He knew this was Morgaine somehow. He couldn’t let her win. He couldn’t leave the men he loved.
Emrys heard Trystan’s voice call to him.I’m here, angel. Come back to me.
Slowly, the poison in Trystan’s veins dissipated. Tears flooded Emrys’ eyes as the dark magic receded from Trystan’s body and his chest rose and fell. His skin returned to normal. His lips returned to their normal shade of pink. Emrys pulled his hand from Trystan’s chest, stopping the flow of his own magic.
