Page 101 of House of the Iron Reaper

No, no, no. No, this is not happening.

I roll Deyanara’s charred body off me with all the strength I have left in me. She rolls onto her back, staring up at the sky with glassy eyes. Her hair is scorched off and she is half a dragon, caught mid-transformation.

“Deyanara?” I sob, holding her head.

She does not respond.

“Deyanara…”

I shake her. Nothing.

“DEYANARA!” Grabbing her shoulders, I shake as hard as I can.

Her head lolls lifelessly to the side. I clutch it wildly on each side of her burned jaw and press my forehead against hers.

“Please,” I beg. “Please don’t leave me. Please, please…”

The world falls away. All I know is ash and smoke and death. I think of Deimos, collapsing to the ground, his soul gone before he even hit the sand. I pull back and look at her—she is still here. I know she is. She has to be.

“Deyanara!” I scream her name from the bottom of my soul. I scream and scream and scream.

Chapter 55

Deyanara

Deyanara!

My eyes snap open. The starless sky hangs high above me, still and quiet. The hands pull me under, under, under.

Deyanara!

There it is again. I turn my head to see the Reaper standing where it was, watching over me. They make no sound. I turn to the other side and see her.

Novalie kneels next to me, frozen. Her mouth is open in a scream, tears streaking the ash on her cheeks. My brow furrows as I look up at her.

Don’t leave me! Her voice echoes even as her mouth does not move.

My eyes widen. What am I doing? The fingers pull at me, pulling me to the earth. I start to resist, trying to stand, and they only pull harder.

No, I say, even as my voice evaporates. No, let me go back.

The Reaper stays quiet, but they move closer. I try lifting my arms, even as they’re pulled down.

Let me go back! I shout in my mind. I cannot leave her!

The fingers grasp tighter, the Reaper moves closer. Frantic now, I resist the pull. I lift my head, fighting free of the hands. They want to pull me away from her, away from Ronan, away from easy laughter and the taste of a hot meal after training and cool water over my toes and people who fight for me because they love me and I love them. I want to go back. I want to live.

I want to live.

With a silent scream, I tear one arm free of the hands and reach over to free my other arm, twisting away the fingers. But they are insistent and strong, so strong. And my body is so weary.

No. No, I need to fight. I need to fight. I need to go back to Novalie.

I thrash against the hands.

I refuse! I shout. I refuse to die!

A figure appears before me. Not a Reaper but something else. A silhouette of a man, black against the arena. No, not a silhouette… someone I know.