The Beasts That Bleed Us (The Bound By Blood #3)
Chapter 1
R ot stirs behind my teeth.
A damp and earthy thing, like the sutures of the earth ripped apart and slowly leaked out its innards, piece by musty piece. Like a velveted mushroom.
Or my brother’s severed arm.
Eldridge’s smile is one forced through grief. He eyes me where I hover in the threshold, his room vacant except for us. Zorina excused herself a moment earlier but not before nearly rupturing our eardrums when she saw me awake. And, well, alive.
My limbs itch inside their linen bandages, likely from the honey spread across my open wounds beneath. The elven healers mended my physical body just enough to keep me stable while my mind recovered from the aftermath of wielding Adelphia’s power. But now that I’m awake, I need the high priestess to put the rest of me back together. A fair exchange, given I nearly perished from lifting Ephraim’s chaos from the earth when I restored the elves’ connection to Source.
If the physical expression of Adelphia’s power hadn’t killed me, the heartache of watching as black vines slowly choked out the Black Art’s final, ragged breaths would have. Until he, too, was reduced to rot at my feet.
There were no thoughts as I wrapped my body around his failing one, when my head fell back and my scream shattered the heavens. Only anguish. Desperate was my tongue as I pleaded for Sin’s life, and indebted is my heart for his return.
“You’re hard to kill,” Eldridge says.
His brashness almost eases the tension in my shoulders. Almost. More, if I wasn’t so aware of Eldridge’s injury that hovers between us like an unwelcome guest. His arm is heavily bandaged at the base of his elbow, his coverings a sterile blend of cotton and gauze. There is undoubtedly a spate of unsightly stitches just beneath the dressing, the remains of my brother’s left arm being held together by silk.
I cross the room and sit in the now unoccupied chair by his bed. “I suppose we’re alike in that way.”
He’s shirtless—displaying a large, jagged pink scar across his chest—and a few smaller ones stripe his upper arms.
“Could Aeverie not heal the scars completely?” I ask.
Eldridge shrugs. “Kept them. Figured I ought to have something to remember the worst day of my life by, eh?”
“And your severed arm didn’t satisfy that requirement for you?”
Eldridge eyes me boldly, his jaw tightening, and for a second, I worry I’ve upset him. “Morrinne hasn’t been able to shut up about what she saw you do that night. ‘A phenomenon to marvel,’ ” he mocks with a wave of a hand. His only hand. “And yet, all I keep asking myself every time she gets squawking on about it, is Wren had all that power, all that power, and she couldn’t fucking spare a drop of it to heal my arm.”
He shakes his head, blowing out a breath from between closed lips, and I smile, hearing the jest in his words. Eldridge is hurting, disguising it under his mask of bravery and strength, and is looking for a distraction. Banter has always been an escape for us.
“You are sorely mistaken if you think I had any control over where that magic went.”
“You saved every godsdamned tree in the fucking Vale,” he continues. “I don’t have an arm, but that’s alright everyone, because now we have fruit the size of Theon’s head. Everyone bow to Wren, the fucking harbinger of apples.”
I can’t suppress the giggle that bubbles out of me, and Eldridge coughs out a laugh in return. “Are you done?” I ask, cocking an eyebrow and leaning my chin on my raised fist.
“For now,” he growls, but it’s underlined in playfulness.
I haven’t been outside the temple yet, having come to see Eldridge shortly after Aeverie delivered us the letter from King Torin, but Zorina told me that the Vale is ethereal . Burnt trees had their bark swollen with moisture, their limbs unfurling and leaves sprouting from their ends like fingertips. Wildlife has also been abundant. Deer and elk have been traversing the forest, overcome with the rich, tender grasses and budding fruit dotting the bushes.
Scouts report that the verdant growth doesn’t stop at the Vale’s borders either—the new life creeps into the once barren cities of Lostgarde and Baregrove. A touch of poetic justice, given that Ephraim scorched the sister cities in an attempt to drive the elves back into the forest decades prior.
I scoot forward in my chair and take his right hand in mine, placing my other one on top of his. “I’m so sorry, Eldridge,” I whisper, dropping the tease from my voice. Tears prick my eyes, but I order them to remain hidden. He is trying so hard to put on a brave face for me, but it is I that must be strong for him .
We remain silent for a few moments, so much being spoken between us without the need for words. We’ve long been like this—the erratic cadence of our hearts somehow always synchronized.
“I’m glad you’re here.” His words are soft and simple, but I do not underestimate the weight of them, nor how much of Eldridge’s heart they carry. I nod and give his hand a tight squeeze.
“Careful. I’m already a hand down, let’s not get carried away with the one I have left,” he grumbles.
“When can the bandages come off?”
“Priestess says a few weeks. Maybe sooner, maybe later.” He shrugs a wide shoulder.
I scan his body again, as much as I can see that’s not covered up by the blankets draped across his lap and legs. “How much longer are you on bed rest?”
“Until yesterday,” he supplies. When I don’t respond, he eyes me from his periphery, then blows out a sigh as he rolls his neck, emitting a low crack. “I haven’t found it in me to get up and leave yet, alright? Something about walking out of this room, out of this temple…”
“It makes it real,” I whisper.
A deep sigh. “Yes. It makes it real,” he agrees. “Though it’s not like my fucking arm is going to miraculously grow back by me sitting in here on my sorry ass. I guess I best get out there and just try to stay out of everyone’s fucking way.”
“Eldridge,” I begin, but pause when he swings his legs over the bed, the blanket sliding to the floor between us. He runs his hand through his long, unbound hair, and his eyes drop to his ruined arm. I don’t miss the slight lift of his upper lip as he takes in the bandage before quickly averting his stare.
“You will not be in anyone’s way,” I continue. “We need you. Come home—back to the house,” I correct. “You don’t have to leave it until you’re ready, but at least allow us to be around you while you rest. Let us take care of you. For once.”
“Depends. Are you going to be my personal caretaker? I think it’s the least you can do since you decided to grow flowers with your fancy magic instead of—I don’t know—healing my fucking arm.”
My cheeks hurt from how badly they stretch to accommodate the smile he pulls free from me. “It would be my pleasure.”
“ Humpf . You sure you want to commit to that, dear sister?”
“Of course. Why would you dare think otherwise?”
He licks his now upturned lips and rises to his feet. “Fair enough. Just know, I used to wipe my ass with that hand, so that’s on you now.”