Page 79

Swirling silver turned to glowing white. “Never,” she said, and slammed her palms into his chest.

The world exploded. An eternity passed before him as he sailed through the air, the threads of her magic weaving themselves around his body while his disparate parts continued to wage their war. He leaned into the caress instead of denying it, hoping they might help him hold on to the details he suddenly recalled. The memories⁠—

Brand’s back hit the ground, forcing the wind from his lungs and knocking him out of his reverie.

Clouds overhead. The sporadic clang of weapons. A feeling in his bones that he’d lost something again.

Stars-fucking-dammit. He’d stayed awake, he was certain of it, but it hadn’t made a difference.

He rolled over, sputtering as he righted himself. A quick glance and he found the Sorcerit sprawled out, blinking up at the afternoon sky. Had something attacked them?

There was an angry gash on one side of her throat, a red stain growing down the front of her fastened robe collar. Worry seized him and he scrambled over, hands hovering over her torso.

“Lunara?” The wound was shallow, but she wasn’t moving for some reason. And touching her held the risk of sending him into another episode. “Shite, say something.”

A tear was her only answer, rolling down her temple and into damp curls.

That’s when he saw his sword laying next to her, covered in blood.

Wait…

A boot landed in the center of his chest and he was on his arse again before his next blink.

“Don’t you dare, twig dick.” Damned Fern. “You had one job—don’t fucking lose it! It was all I asked. Shitting seasons, get a fucking hold of yourself, you pixie-brained sack of slug pus. We haven’t even made it into the blimmin’ cave yet!”

Burning Solyrian, it had been him.

Fern continued mumbling insults as she helped Lunara to sitting. “Go on then. Conjure up that flask and have a nice long drink.”

There were no words for his relief when Lunara did as she was told, even if she was still clearly dazed. Once again, though, he had to look away and choke back the twisting in his stomach at the sight of her feeding.

“Oy! Brand!”

He stood on shaky legs and turned to Faldir, happy for the distraction. His Third was huddled with Magnus, Hedda, and Thad—all of them looking slightly worse for wear.

Their injuries were minor, but Brand couldn’t say the same for the monster at the edge of the hill drop. Its broken, rotting body writhed as a pair of Demon warriors gathered its severed legs—talons?—two Wolflords keeping watch. Black ooze gushed from its wounds to puddle around it, the smell of it utterly revolting.

He’d never seen anything like it in his life.

“What the fuck is that?!”

At his demand, every last one of them gave him the strangest look.

“A dreadbeast, lad,” Mag answered slowly.

“That’s a dreadbeast?”

“Aye.” Thad that time. “Are you alright?”

They all glanced at each other, an awkward tension thickening the space between them.

Fuck.

It was written all over their faces—he already saw a dreadbeast today.

Amnesia was one thing. He accepted the ailment, no matter how bitter a tonic it was to swallow. The idea that he might be losing his star-forsaken mind in real time was something else entirely.

If they realized it⁠—