If this is me—if this is my innate—I can’t stop this.
I can’t—they’re going to die.
“Get them out!” I force the sound through air-starved lungs.
“Pull the researchers!” Cyran’s distant commanding voice bellows across the courtyard. “Do not lower the ward!”
Steel clad boots drum against the stone as Royal Guards storm the ward, the ground vibrating under their step. Their fingers dance as they slip through the ward, into the growing pit of thrashing vines. Fire, ice, and blinding streaks of lightning shoot through the air, sending a painful buzzing sensation down the back of my neck.
The once placid courtyard transforms into a nest of writhing vines and screams rise. Blue-silver runes ripple like the surface of water as vines slam into the ward. They swing wildly, shearing veilflowers from other vines—wakingthem.
Screams become gargled as thrashing vines grow coated in crimson.
There’s no euphoric rush, no tensioned release, not with these deaths. Not like it had been with my shadows.
I feel nothing… but cold.
My body growsheavyand the urge to shrug off my mortal coil consumes me. Desperate to fill my lungs,I listen.
And plummet into the comforting call of darkness.
The cold… it tugs at me.
Demands my attention.
Beckons to meet.
Eve shouts—her voice echoing as if she’s realms away.
But her panic, her fear—it rings clear.
Strong arms stop my free fall and warmth rushes into my chest. The ice around my heart subsides, melting away, and a bright white light forces back the darkness.
The thrashing, the screaming—it all stops as my chest heaves.
“That’s it,” Ryc urges in a whisper. “Breathe, little love.”
Glimpses of Ryc hovering over me, his hand pressed to thecenter of my chest, slip through my lashes.
“Eve, find Drunina,” Ryc orders. “Quickly.”
“I can’t—”
“You can. You must,” Ryc interjects.
Hellish heat bursts on my left as crimson light flashes over Ryc’s features. For the shortest moment in time, I become weightless as Ryc stands. Warm lips press a kiss to my brow.
“You’re here, with me,” he says, cradling me against him.
The warmth of his body against mine feels like sunlight upon my skin—it carries the promise of the living realm,of life—and needing to chase away the lingering chill, I grasp his shirt with trembling fingers.
“Death can no longer have you,” he says softly.
It’s a promise.
And as much as I want to, I don’t argue. He should know better than to make promises impossible to keep.
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