Cason clenched his jaw and dropped onto his back. He didn’t want to think about where Brela had chosen to sleep—withwhomshe’d chosen to sleep next to, considering they weren’t coming back here any time soon. He also didn’t want to think abouthowthat coupling would work since Oni had mentioned the difficulty of it.
Cason must have misread Brela’s behavior toward the sand sprite, and he hated that he felt a whisper of jealousy about it when he hadn’t felt anything about her sleeping with Elias and Farrah.
Okay, it wasn’t a whisper. It was a gods-damned—
Brela’s scream pierced the night. Not a brief, wake-from-a-nightmare shriek, but one laced with blood-curdling agony.
Lightning was crackling up Cason’s forearm, sword drawn before his feet hit the sand. Farrah started half a step behind him, but he was faster. Sprinting toward the archway, he didn’t let the sand slow him down.
Not when Elias’s trembling voice began shouting for Serill to run faster.
Not when Brela’s scream became wet, choking, and then stopped.
Even with his senses flaring at full power and he could hear everything within at least a mile radius, the minute Brela’s shriek ended, he only felt silence. Terrifying emptiness that threatened to buckle his knees and send his dinner roiling.
It was nothing compared to what he found under the archway.
Brela’s limp body had collapsed in the center of a perfectly round trench, a pool of blood soaking the ground and her torn clothes. It flowed out of the corner of her mouth and puddled around dozens of punctures in the fabric around her body and left arm, like some beast had clamped down on her with a jaw that should have swallowed her in two bites.
Cason slid to his knees, hands immediately trying to stop the bleeding. Her pulse was too weak. Blood—cold blood—soaked everything, and the coppery scent overpowered his control. He could taste the smoke on his tongue, fire churning in his lungs as he scanned for the animal that had done this.
There was nothing except endless sand.
What in the four hells happened?
Seconds after Cason dropped to his knees next to Brela, Oni took shape with a crystal spear in his hand, black eyes wide and swirling violently as he studied the desert.
“It got away,” the sprite ground out, sand settling around him.
“What did this? Why did neither of us sense it?” Cason asked, frantically pressing his hands against her stomach and chest.
Too few hands. He had too few hands to stop the bleeding that seemed to be running endlessly. How did her body have any blood left? How was it cold?
Oni’s glass throat bobbed, but he didn’t answer as Farrah choked on a sob, dropping to her knees and splashing blood as she shouted for Serill to help with the larger punctures. Her hands were immediately on Brela’s cheeks, turning her head carefully, fingers running over her bloodied lips as more red spilled from them.
Somehow, Farrah gasped out an order. “She’s bit her tongue and lip. Serill, stop the bleeding first so we can turn her, heal it fully later.”
“Case, move,” Serill snapped.
Cason blinked once at the prince. Not at the order, but that he’d somehow not noticed his friend arrive.
He clearly didn’t move fast enough because Elias yanked him up and away. Even with a powerful grip, Cason could feel the trembling bones of the earth-blessed man. Saw the fear in his eyes.
Serill jolted back. “What the hells?”
It could have been silence or a deafening ring in his ears, Cason couldn’t be sure. He only stared, jaw hanging open as Serill wiped the blood off Brela’s abdomen.
Not a single puncture marked her skin.
* * *
Elias pressedhis forehead into Brela’s, silently thanking every god, even Ryia, for somehow keeping her alive. Not a scratch marred her body except for where her own teeth had pierced her tongue, a quick fix for Farrah’s healing magic. The cause of those rips in her shirt, though? The unknown cold blood she’d been drowning in? A much bigger problem.
They hadn’t even made it to Valisea. This wasn’t even supposed to be the dangerous part of the trip, yet the celvusa had found her. Elias knew that was the only creature who could do this. Farrah and Oni knew, too. Explaining to Cason and Serill that the mythical beast was no longer mythical would be a new challenge.
Elias had moved Brela to a crystal slab inside a tent to keep prying eyes away. Changed her shirt and pants and cleaned her of the blood while she remained unconscious. She hadn’t let out a noise or any sign she was aware of what was going on around her. Hadn’t flinched or had her breath hitch when those non-punctures had turned into deep, gray-black bruises that even Serill’s magic couldn’t heal.
The rest of the sprites were patrolling the area for danger, Oni off to ask the older sprites about the wounds. Farrah sat on the other side of Elias, one hand clasped in his and resting on Brela’s stomach, the other tracing their friend’s hairline in gentle patterns. Serill stared blankly into the distance, his legs folded underneath him in the sand. Cason hadn’t moved from the corner, the only sign he was not a statue coming from the slight twitch of his fingers on Brela’s torn and bloodied shirt in his hand.
