Page 133 of The Blood Rites

He groans into my mouth, then breaks the kiss with a breath that rattles his entire body.

He stares at me like I’m not real. Like I’ll vanish if he blinks.

“You’re here,” he says, but it’s not a question.

“I am,” I say. “I found you.”

He pauses, looking me over. “Your arm—”

He grabs me before I can resist. He takes my left arm, finds the joint, and yanks my shoulder back into its socket with a single twist. I scream. The pain is so pure I swear I see the sun explode behind my eyelids.

He holds me through it, his fingers tight on my forearm, his lips at my ear. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I let you go.”

As if any of this could be his fault.

He kisses my forehead, soft and gentle, and I want to cry. I just might.

Behind him, Nyxen slumps sideways and Vaelis looks barely conscious. The dome trembles.

Kael tries to stand, but his legs buckle. He looks up at the ceiling of the dome, as if reading something in the shadows I cannot see. “If this dome falls,” he says, voice small, “the light will shred them. Blinded, likely dead.”

He looks at me, the fear finally showing through. “We’re trapped, Luceris.”

“I’ll handle it,” I say, and I mean it.

“If you go out there—” He shakes his head. “You can’t.”

“How do you think I got in here?” I snap. “Alaris is out there right now. Fighting for you.”

He closes his eyes, letting his head fall forward. “He’ll die.”

“Not if I go now.”

There is no time for goodbye. I press my hand to his cheek, and he leans into it.

I push to my feet and stride towards the inner wall of the dome.

It barely resists me, as though it remembers me as a friend. The darkness splits around my body, and when I step through, the world slams into me: blinding, burning, all the violence and pain and memory returning at once, magnified into a single searing instant.

I am ready for it.

I will not look away.

White and gold crash into black, searing every cell. I blink, but it doesn’t help. The wind is wild now, a predator let loose. It rakes my skin and fills my ears with a scream that never stops.

In the centre of the dais, Alaris has Atheron by the throat.

Not literally, but he might as well. They stand only a few feet apart. Alaris has one hand outstretched, the other clutching his stomach as blood runs down his sleeve. Atheron staggers, battered by a wall of invisible force. The Fireborn heir is scorched, his once-pristine uniform burned away in places, hair unruly, eyes wild. He grins through broken teeth.

“You think you can kill me with a breeze?” Atheron spits, flames curling off his tongue.

Alaris doesn’t respond. He doesn’t need to. His focus is absolute. Every part of him is fixed on holding Atheron inside the eye of the storm he has created—and keeping everyone else out. Around them, the winds shriek.

Atheron tries to step forward, but the wind tightens, pinning him in place and stealing the breath from his lungs.

I sense what Alaris is about to do.

And I don’t intervene.