Page 141 of Ravenrose

Pain sears and my vision tunnels. I’m on the cusp of burnout when something new swirls inside me.

My eyes fly open at the unfamiliar sensation. The power stretches through me, dark and vast, as though I’ve reached into a starless night. It’s magic—I’m certain—but nothing I’ve previously wielded has ever felt like this.

It should frighten me.

Instead, I want more.

I recoil, releasing it in a rush before the temptation can take root. Whatever that was…

It was powerful. Sweet—intoxicating, even...

I take a deep breath before reaching for it again, careful only to take what I need, letting it fill the nearly depleted stores of my own magic. I pull from the endless well inside me, drawing from it and feeling Ayer’s wound heal completely while taking no more from my flesh.

Jerking back in shock, I stare at the shiny new silver scar under my palm.

That’s not possible.

Panic takes over. Did I go too far? Take too much?

I shouldn’t have been able to heal it entirely. Not with the amount of damage that had been inflicted on his body. I’d be dead.

My hand flies to my side.

The matching wound is there—but shallow. Not anywhere near as deep as his was.

Bloody? Yes

Painful? Seriously.

But not fatal.

The moment my fingers brush my wound, the adrenaline keeping me upright evaporates. The world tilts. Darkness tunnels the edges of my vision, and I pitch forward, barely catching myself before collapsing onto Ayer’s chest.

A flash of steel gray.

I freeze.

Ayer’s eyes are open; the familiar hard glare gone. Instead, he simply stares at me. We’re only inches apart, his confusion laid bare for the first time.

“Please,” I whisper. “Don’t tell anyone.”

My gaze searches his, desperate for a promise, for anything.

It’s all I manage before darkness crashes over me, pulling me under.

Chapter 58

AYER

She saved me.

Why?

The question plays over and over in my mind as I sit beside Rowan’s bed, watching her sleep. Hours have passed since I carried her out of the woods, but she hasn’t stirred. There’s a tension in her face, still guarded even in her sleep.

I lean forward slowly, bracing my forearms against my knees, eyes fixed on the steady rise and fall of her chest as I try—but fail—to make any sense of it.

I took a sword to the ribs—through the ribs. A death wound.