Forty-One
Race gently laidAsh on the bed at Talonhold. Though justice had been carried out, fury remained, pounding like another heartbeat as he looked at his broken mate and at how close he had come to losing her.
Despite his lethal powers and quick self-healing, Gaia hadn’t granted him the ability to fully heal others with grave injuries.
Carefully, he ran his fingers over her arm. The bone had snapped, a piece jutting beneath the skin. His jaw locked as his gaze traced the bruise on her left cheek. From a slap?
He scanned her for further injuries, picking up a fractured rib, a swelling on her head, and talon gashes across her side. Every wound was a blade through his control, and he wished he’d killed Vaesarra himself?—
A knock sounded. The door opened, and Bregga entered. “Sire? Elder Healer Meliora and her assistant.”
Two females followed him inside, their robes and faces smudged with ashy residue from the city battle. Both bowed.
“Sire,” Meliora said softly, setting down her satchel. “We came as soon as we were asked.”
They set to work, cutting away both Ash’s sweater and t-shirt, leaving her in her bra. At the raw, bleeding slashes, hismouth tightened, and he prowled the length of the chamber, so he wouldn’t put his fist through the wall.
Ash cried out as they set the bone in her arm, her sounds of distress gutting him.
In a flash, he was at her side, dropping to his knees and willing her to sleep. He gently held her damaged hand with its bloody knuckles and broken nails, evidence of how fiercely she fought to stay alive.
His saliva had healed her similar minor wounds all those weeks ago…
He licked the scrapes on her knuckles once, twice, and the wounds slowly mended.
Soft voices drifted as Meliora and her assistant worked, binding her arm, her ribs, and her clawed side with swift precision. The healer murmured chants that vibrated faintly in the air. Magic stirred, low and steady, heating the air and seeping into Ash.
Race lowered his head, his eyes shut. “Hold on, heart-fire. Just hold on…”
The room grew silent, only the crackle of the fire sputtering and Ash’s uneven, raspy breaths. Race didn’t move from her side. His hand cradled hers, his thumb gently tracing the delicate bones of her wrist as though touch alone could anchor her to him.
“Sire?”
Race looked up with a blank stare, then realized he was in the healer’s way. He jerked to his feet and prowled around the other side of the bed.
“Come, lass, awaken.” Meliora roused Ash and helped her sit, and his mate moaned. “Hush, child. This will aid you.”
She put a steaming cup to Ash’s lips, murmuring something low and ancient. Bitter aroma filled the air—herbs, smoke, and dragon magic.
Ash coughed weakly, swallowed, then grimaced. “Bloody vile…”
His chest tightened at the sweetest words he’d ever heard.
Her pain-darkened, champagne eyes met his. Her lips trembled. “Y-You caught me…”
The stark reality of what she’d done to save him strangled him. He could barely get the words past the knot in his throat. “I will always catch you, my heart.”
With a soft sigh, her lashes fluttered closed. His gaze lingered on the purpling bruises on her face, the sweep of inky lashes against golden-brown skin, the fragile rise of her chest. His heart shuddered.I love you, heart-fire. You are the only one who anchors me. I lose you, I’ll burn this world.
A flicker of warmth stirred in his chest. Race froze.
The faint warmth, so familiar and precious, sputtered again.
Ash?
There was no response, and the truth struck like lightning.
She hadn’t severed their bond entirely. No, she couldn’t have, not with her body so broken. She must have passed out before finishing it.
