Page 62 of Wraithwound

Where was Henry, why had he brought her here?

Panic began to creep in at the edges of her mind as she realized she was alone in the scorching landscape with nowhere to hide from the unforgiving sun. The exposed areas of her flesh were turning pink, and she could barely stand to stay upright on the blistering sand.

She took several steps down the shifting sands but found herself standing right back where she’d begun. Lena scanned the area again, squinting against the blazing sun, but there was nothing but sand dunes stretching out into the distance. Her skin had gone from pink to red, and her eyes ached.

“Henry!” Lena screamed.

The pale blue sky and endless sandscape began to fade, the ground shuddering beneath her when suddenly it disappeared completely. Lena landed abruptly on white glossy stone.

She groaned and opened her eyes to brilliant gold light. She lifted her hand to shield her eyes and blinked several times waiting for her vision to adjust. The stone beneath her feet was warm, and the air was almost as hot in this place as it’d been on the dunes. It took a moment before her eyes could tolerate the glare of the golden light from the polished floor. Keeping her hand up, she stood and looked around. There, embedded into the white stone, was a sword.

Lena gasped, pulling her hand from her eyes to find that she was standing inside Henry’s dome, and above it, an enormous black tendril rose, preparing to lash at the structure.

The mass of black descended upon the dome with such force that Lena was thrown off her feet. The resounding boom made her ears go hollow. She struggled to sit up, her body slick with sweat. Lena dared a glance at the sword and saw Henry, but his image was almost completely faded, flickering faintly before her.

“Henry, what’s happening?” she screamed, but he didn’t look up. Knuckles white, Henry clenched the pommel of the sword between his hands while kneeling before it.

Another lash came down upon the dome and an explosive crack reverberated through the air. Lena cried out and tried to crawl towards him, hands and knees slipping on the warming stone beneath. And then fire descended upon them. A multi-layered scream echoed beyond the dome. Lena screamed too as the scorching heat of the fire filled the dome.

A whisper snaked through the air and into her ear. “Lena. Wake up!”

Her eyes flew open and landed on a familiar face. Cross. The relief that washed over her was instant, despite the heat. Except, instead of looking furious or annoyed, like she’d expected, he looked . . . terrified. On instinct she reached for him, but the movement was stopped abruptly. Her wrists had been shackled. She followed the short chain to a stone pillar flanking the fireplace, the intricate designs in the stone ground away where the chain strained against it.

Lena was lying on the plush carpet in front of the hearth, which now held a blazing fire. Her clothes were completely soaked through with sweat, and every inch of her body ached. But it was the blood on her hands that sent her into a panic. Her vision blurred as she focused on the crimson stains blending with the blackened skin of her palms. Her breaths came in short, quick pants, as she struggled to fill her lungs fully with air. Lena couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t think⁠—

“It’s yours, Lena. The blood is yours,” Cross said calmly. Though, the expression on his face did not match his tone.

“What?!” Her brain couldn’t process what he was saying.

“The blood is yours, not anyone else’s,” he repeated.

“What happened?” she whispered.

“The wraith—it tried to take over.”

Getting a better look at the warrior, she realized his hair was disheveled, as if he’d been running his hands through it repeatedly, and he was shirtless, a sheen of sweat covering his body. Clutched in his hand was the dagger he usually wore in his belt.

“You cut your wrists on the shackles; the blood got on your hands as you—it, tried to get them off.”

Lena looked him over again, searching for a scratch, a bruise, anything to indicate she’d caused him harm. She wouldn’t be able to bear it if she had, but he seemed all right.

“Hot,” she whispered once she found her voice again.

Cross got up and poured a bucket of water over the fire, suffocating the flames, and then reached for her wrists, key in hand.

Lena flinched. “No.”

“If I leave you here, you’ll die. We have to lower your body temperature.”

But Lena did not offer him her wrists. Instead, she let her head fall back to the floor and turned onto her side, curling into a ball.

“Lena, please,” he said.

“Just leave me here,” she begged.

“I will not.”

Lena wanted to close her eyes and let the pain sweep her away, but it was the pleading in his voice that made her nod.