Instead, I slump to the ground beside Koda, my breathing harsh and heavy.
My brother rolls onto his side in the dirt but doesn’t let go of my hand and I’m grateful because the trickle of his power is my only defense against the pain.
Malia casts another anxious glance at me. “We couldn’t get close to you until you struck back. Esta’s power was too great.” Her worried gaze passes across my face, and I guess she’s taking in all of my injuries and what I’m sure is my deathly pale complexion. “Hold on. Please, Nova. As soon as we get you out of here, I can heal you.”
In the next instant, Taniya soars through the narrow gap on our right with Temple, Luca, and Blitz close behind her. Blitz reaches me first, darting around Taniya, his body a blur, the fastest of the three wolves. They all crowd around me, their violet eyes glowing and their black fur backlit by the pearly glow within the dome.
Luca whines and licks my bleeding fingers while Temple’s blazing eyes are narrowed, and she gives an angry growl that tapers off to a soft howl. I reach for them, taking comfort in their presence, their soft fur against my fingertips, before they quickly part for Taniya.
In her harpy form, her long, caramel hair is even more glossy than her human form, and the golden talons at her feet rake the ground. Her wings remain spread, as if she’s preparing to fly again as soon as needed as she pushes forward and drops to the earth in front of me.
“Oh, fuck, Nova,” she whispers, her teal-blue eyes wide as her gaze runs from my hair to my bloodied face, to my broken fingers. Her hands hover over my face and my crushed armor as I sway into her, but she seems afraid to touch me, and I guess she’s worried she might hurt me. “Fuck, I wish I had the power to heal you right now.”
Her expression tightens when she glances at Koda, new tension building in her shoulders, but she quickly focuses back on me. “Malia is harnessing the metal in this earth to create a shield. Roman is lending his power to strengthen the shield and boost Malia’s strength, but it’s taking everything they have to stop Esta’s soul light from getting through.”
Malia is one of the few witches who can weave metal into objects, but I’ve only ever seen her do it with small amounts. The power she must be drawing on right now is… immense. A power that must be fueled by desperation.
“Roman?” I whisper. “Where is he?”
As if I conjured him, Roman soars inside.
His wings are held close to his sides, his dark feathers disappearing in a heartbeat as he drops to the ground, spins, and casts a furious barrage of runes across the gap, drawing the ivory dirt upward and closing the gap.
He turns to me, a boiling mass of rage as his eyes lock with mine. My breath catches at the way everything else fades in his presence—his puredemonpresence that calls to the darkest parts of me. His normally bronzed skin has turned dark amethyst, his blond hair is now charcoal, and his eyes are pure black. So black that I can see my reflection in them once he storms toward me and drops to his knees.
Taniya quickly relocates herself a few paces away but doesn’t go far. She and Malia haven’t spent as much time with Roman as I have and their trust in him is still fragile, but it seems that right now, she approves of his rage.
My reflection in his eyes reveals to me how injured I am and it’s awful enough that I lower my gaze. My face is a mess. Blood everywhere. The force of Arga’s punches cracked my bones, along with the surface of my armor, and the bruises beneath the conjured plates are already spreading, ugly and red like the bruises on my face. Tears burn behind my eyes and I’m not afraid to show them.
I hurt. I’m lucky to be alive.
I’m lucky to have my pack. And Roman.
“Nova.” His deep, rumbling voice hits me right in my heart, drawing my gaze back to him. He speaks with a furious promise. “If Arga could die again, I would kill him a thousand times. And as for Esta…” His jaw clenches as he snarls, “I will destroy her.”
As he speaks, runes swirl around his chest, peeling away from him in a steady stream that pours toward the barrier Malia is creating. He doesn’t even seem to think about them—this steady torrent of power that he’s giving to Malia to keep us safe—and it frightens me a little that I’ve really only glimpsed the surface of his true strength.
“You need Malia’s healing power, but she can’t stop shielding us. I’ll do what I can for you, and then we’re getting you out of here.” Roman casts a sharp glance back at my witchy sister while my wolves edge toward her, sending their growls in the direction she’s facing, as if to lend her their strength, too.
Before the fight began, Roman told me he couldn’t interfere, but that he would do everything in his power to keep me alive. “The Balance,” I whisper.
His snarl drives home to me how much rage he’s controlling. “It’s already in tatters. Crone stepped onto the battlefield and is boosting Esta’s power with her own. I’m no longer following her rules.”
My heart is already stretched, but Roman’s declaration makes me feel stronger.
The collision of Esta’s power against the exterior of the dome crashes around us. She won’t give up easily. And with Crone’s help, she could break through at any minute.
“I’m okay,” I say, groaning as I try to stand, knowing we don’t have time to waste. “I can move.”
I wobble. My arm shakes when I rest my free hand on Roman’s shoulder, pressing only with my palm because of my broken bones.
The contact between us is like a jolt of electricity. All of the power rippling off him is energizing and for a moment, I really believe I can make it to my feet. Until my legs refuse to move another inch.
Roman holds his big palm near my damaged cheek. A new stream of runes flows from his hand to my face, as well as from his shoulder across my broken fingers, these runes settling against my skin and forming a transparent layer around my damaged limbs.
It brings with it the memories of the cocoon he wove around me when I was injured in the Wilds, when he wrapped me up in his healing magic and saved my life. He told me his medicinal power isn’t as strong as his other runes. He’s skilled at the art of death and pain, not healing.
Roman begins to speak. “I’m taking you to the Wilds—”
