“But that would mean?—”
“I would be the one to do it,” he said firmly. “Not you.”
I bristled. “Why not me? It’s my magic being targeted.”
“Cyrene.” The way he said my name, soft but insistent, made my skin tingle. “The backlash could be dangerous. I heal faster.”
I knew he was right, but the thought of him bleeding for me made my stomach knot. “There has to be another way.”
Quandary chirped in my ear.What about joy magic? If blood magic can be used to counter blood magic…
“Wait.” I grabbed Kieran’s wrist before he could move toward the sigil. “Quandary has a point. What if I use joy magic to counteract it?”
Kieran frowned. “How would that work?”
“I don’t know exactly, but…” I let my gaze wander over the intricate pattern. “This sigil is designed to drain joy magic, right? What if I overload it?”
“That could be even more dangerous than blood.”
“Or it could work perfectly.” I met his gaze. “My magic against theirs.”
He studied me for a long moment before nodding. “But not alone. We should do this together.”
“What do you mean?”
He sheathed his dagger and held out his hand to me. “Your joy magic, my blood protection. Combined.”
My breath caught. Other than when we fed magic into the onyx stone, I’d never combined my magic with anyone else’s before. The intimacy of sharing my power, my very essence, made my heart race.
“Are you sure?” I asked.
He squeezed my hand. “I trust you, Cyrene.”
Three simple words. Trust was rare in Kieran’s world. The fact that he was offering it to me now, in this moment of danger, meant everything.
I nodded. “Tell me what to do.”
His fingers closed around mine. “We need to break the sigil at its focal point, which is the altar. I’ll create a shield around us with blood magic while you channel your joy magic directly into the center of the pattern.”
“And that will break it?”
“In theory.” His thumb brushed over my knuckles, sending sparks up my arm. “Either way, we’ll need to move fast once we start. The backlash could be intense.”
I tightened my grip on his hand. “I’m ready.”
Together, we stepped onto the edge of the sigil. Immediately, I felt it pulling at me, a cold, hungry sensation that tried to leech the warmth from my core. Quandary hissed, his claws digging into my shoulder.
Kieran drew his dagger with his free hand. “Stay close to me.”
We moved toward the center of the room, the sigil’s pull growing stronger with each step. By the time wereached the altar, my knees were weak, and it felt like my skin was being slowly peeled away.
Quandary fed bits of his own magic to me, the vital role of a companion. It strengthened me and renewed me enough so that I could keep going.
“Now.” Kieran released my hand and drew the dagger across his palm. Blood welled from the cut, dark against his skin.
He pressed his bleeding hand to the altar and began to speak in the strange language again. The blood on his palm glowed, spreading outward in a crimson dome that surrounded us both.
“Cyrene,” he gritted out. “Your turn.”
