I stroke my hand along Blaze’s neck again and he lands us carefully on the cold stone floor of whatever this place is. I’m sliding off his back in an instant, despite Beaufort’s attempt to stop me.
“Briony,” he cries. And I know he’s right to be cautious. How many times have I refused to listen to him? How many times have I run headlong into trouble? But this is Fox. Every fiber of my being knows it, feels it. I can’t wait a moment longer. I need to know that he’s safe. I need to help him.
I call out the professor’s name a third time as I sprint towards him. But he doesn’t stir, doesn’t move at all, doesn’t even seem to realize that a giant dragon has just landed in the space beside him.
Every hurried step towards him seems to take an eternity, as if I’m running through thick treacle, but finally I’m by his side.Still, he lies there motionless, his body torn to shreds, his back a mangled mess of wounds.
My stomach drops. My blood runs ice cold.
Does that mean … does that mean I’m too late?
Fox is gone.
I wasn’t quick enough. I should have disregarded the others’ warnings. I should have jumped right on board Blaze’s back and flown here straight away.
A sob bubbles up from my chest and I’m already crying as I fall to my knees beside the heap that was once the professor.
I press my hand against his torn flesh – so many wounds, too many to count. I wouldn’t even know where to start to heal them.
“Fox,” I whisper again. “Fox, please be alive, please.”
I hear Beaufort’s heavy steps behind me. I hear Blaze’s snorted breath. I hear nothing from the professor, no sound at all.
The tears skid down my cheeks and drip onto the hard floor and onto the body of my mate.
“Is he…” Beaufort starts, trailing off.
I don’t answer. I can’t. I can’t believe he’s gone. Not Fox. Not Fox Tudor. Immortal. Strong. Brilliant. Beautiful. That couldn’t be possible.
“I need to unbind him!” I scream up at Beaufort. “Help me!”
Beaufort jolts and then he’s streaming his shadows towards the cords that bind the professor’s limbs. I almost smack my palm against my head. I have magic of my own. Why didn’t I think of that? But I’m too hysterical, too wound up.
Beaufort’s shadows struggle with the binds.
“They’re magical,” he tells me. “Strong magic. I suspect it’s Bardin’s.”
He frowns and I can see the concentration etched in his features as he struggles to untie them. I sweep my gaze around this strange space. It’s like a concrete prison cell. No windows,no furniture, no blankets, and only that strange swirling mist above us.
“Beaufort,” I say, “please hurry.”
And in the next moment, with a huff of release, the binds on the professor’s wrists snap open and his arms slump towards the ground. Next, Beaufort’s magic is sawing away at the binds by the professor’s ankles and when those release too, together, carefully, we roll the professor over. He’s not as badly injured on his front. Whatever has attacked him was unable to cut into the flesh on this side, which means his face, always beautiful, is as beautiful as ever. Pale, porcelain-like, his eyes closed shut as if he’s simply dreaming.
“Fox,” I sob, brushing my fingers against his cheek, because I can’t believe it. I can’t believe he’s gone. His skin is stone cold, but that tells me nothing. He was always cold. And though his heart isn’t thumping and his lungs aren’t working, well, they never did. “Fox,” I say again. “Can you hear me?”
My body shakes with angry tears and I slump over him, hugging his limp body to mine, cursing the world and fate and every damn star up there in the sky. Wishing I hadn’t been so stupid. Wishing I’d killed the Madame like I should have back in that grotto.
“I’ll do anything,” I sob, “anything, I promise, just please, please…”
“Briony,” Beaufort whispers, resting a hand on my shoulder. “Come away, sweetheart.”
“No!” I say, “I’m not leaving him! I’m not ready for you to go, Fox. Please stay. Please come back to me!”
And then by some miracle – some crazy, unbelievable miracle of fate or the stars or some unseen gods – a movement.
I rock back on my heels.
I imagined it.
