The Flame King’s Queen (Fire and Desire #3)

Chapter 3

3

Isavelle

S tesha carries Zabriel back to Lenhale on Nilak, as he’s the only one who’s strong enough to keep Zabriel in the saddle. I follow on Esmeral with Scourge bringing up the rear. Fiala, Dusan, and Ashton are bringing my family home safely.

I clutch the saddle with white-knuckled hands, trying to quell the panic that is threatening to overwhelm me. What happened to my mate while we were separated? I imagine him stabbed and beaten by traitors or attacked by one of Emmeric’s terrible spells. He could be poisoned or bespelled. He could have twisting black vines growing inside his lungs. I picture them growing around his heart and piercing him with thorns, just like how my brother and mother were killed, and a sob rises in my throat.

As we reach Lenhale and spiral into land, Nilak screams in a pitch I’ve never heard before. It sounds like an alarm call. She’s joined by Scourge, and then my own dragon. The three of them are loud enough that they must be heard across the entire city.

We land at the dragongrounds, and I run to Nilak just as Stesha is carefully laying Zabriel’s motionless body on the ground.

“He lives, but he’s barely breathing,” Stesha tells me as I fall to my knees at Zabriel’s side.

Soldiers and Hratha’len are running across the bridge toward us. The whole flare is calling out and has brought them to us. Zabriel is lifted onto a stretcher and carried into the castle. As I hurry along by his side, I grip his cold, unresponsive fingers. His flesh is waxy and pale, and there’s not a spark of anything in his face. Last time he was injured, he was making me blush because the pain, blood loss, and his rut lowered his inhibitions so much that everyone heard him proclaim how much he adored his Omega. Later, I scolded him as he made love to me too vigorously.

In the temple, the priestesses remove my mate’s armor and cut his clothing from his body to reveal an awful sight. The jagged edges of broken ribs are poking through his flesh.

The Temple Crone examines him. “Did Ma’len fall from his dragon?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know. Maybe if Scourge was attacked, Zabriel might have been thrown off his feet by a spell. Emmeric was in the ethereal plane. Why are his hands so cold? Why is he so pale? There’s barely any blood on him.”

“The bleeding is in his lungs, Ma’len’s mate. He’s been coughing it up, but now he’s drowning in it. Please step back.”

I give the Hratha’len space and reluctantly let go of Zabriel’s hand. Three Temple Mothers move close to examine his wounds, his bones, and listen to his breathing and heartbeat. Zabriel is strong and healthy. He’s been burned, stabbed, and fought in dozens of battles. There’s no chance that he’ll die now. I refuse to believe it’s possible.

“Isa-velle,” Zabriel wheezes and then coughs weakly.

Blood bubbles up from between his lips. Surely that’s a good sign, that he’s getting it out, but the Temple Crone looks more worried than ever.

I step forward and seize his hand. “I’m here. Don’t try to talk.”

Zabriel can’t seem to focus his gaze on me, and I’m not sure that he heard me. The fingers that hold mine are cold and weak.

“Let me touch you both…one last time.”

My eyes fill with tears as he fumbles for my stomach.

“Zabriel, don’t say that,” I whisper through my tears. I wipe some of the blood from his lips. He’s a proud king, and he wouldn’t want to look wounded in front of so many people.

When I glance at his ravaged ribs, a sob rises in my throat.

Zabriel’s lips are moving, but I can’t hear what he’s saying. I lean close to catch his words.

“Tell my baby I will carry their heart on the wind.” His red eyes are dull and lifeless. “Tell them…tell…”

“Don’t try to talk. Just keep breathing.”

Zabriel coughs and struggles to speak. He manages it slowly. Haltingly. “Tell them…that the fires of Maledin burn bright for them, and that I am there in the—in the gleam of their dragon’s scales.”

He’s telling me how much he loves our baby in the Maledinni way.

“No. Don’t say that. Stop it.”

“Tell my baby I love them always. I love you. My little dragon. My fierce witch.”

I squeeze his hand in both of mine. “Don’t talk like you’re never going to see me again. You can’t stop fighting.”

He’s struggling to stay conscious. There’s so much fear in his eyes, and I know he’s afraid that if he closes them he’ll never see me again.

“I don’t want your—your flame to die out. Esmeral…Scourge… Be with them…”

I seize his shoulder, my fingers digging in as I shake from pain and grief. This can’t be happening. We brought my family home, but this is too great a cost to pay in return.

“Zabriel. Zabriel .” I shake him urgently. The light fades from the ruby depths of his eyes.

I look around helplessly at the Hratha’len , but none of them seem to know what to do. They all stare at Zabriel and each other helplessly.

There’s a scream overhead, and a dragon dives through the open roof of the Flame Temple. A dragon who is far too big to be indoors, but Esmeral has never cared for rules. She seizes a nearby knife with a wickedly honed edge and drops it at my feet. Esmeral pushes the knife urgently toward me with her snout. Her sharp trills are filled with urgency, and she’s frantic trying to make me understand something.

“What do you want, Esmeral? I don’t understand.” Esmeral keeps nudging the knife toward me, and an image appears in my mind. “You want me to cut you?”

The image grows stronger. She wants me to slash her scales and allow the blood to fall on Zabriel’s injuries. I can’t hurt my dragon like that. It doesn’t make any sense to make her bleed.

“Omega blood,” the crone says, as if waking from a trance.

“What about it?”

“Omega blood can work like Alpha saliva, but on wounds such as these…”

Zabriel has stopped breathing. His eyes are closed. His scent is fading.

I seize the knife and grip the handle. I don’t care if this kills me, because he’s dying. Omega blood means my blood too, and I slash my forearm. Several of the Temple Mothers gasp, and outside the temple, Scourge roars so loud that nearby objects rattle. Blood drips from my arm onto my mate’s wounds.

The only person who isn’t horrified by what I’m doing is the Temple Crone. The crone seizes my arm and holds the wound to his lips instead. Blood drips into his mouth. My blood on your teeth. My Alpha has always craved my blood. It’s how he says I love you .

“Is it working? It’s not working,” I say through my tears. Zabriel hasn’t moved or breathed. He’s covered with my blood as well as his own. “Zabriel, you can’t leave me.”

I don’t want to live without him. I can’t live without him.

If Zabriel’s right, then I’m carrying his child. My blood carries the baby’s scent as well as my own. I can think of nothing more powerful than the two of us to draw my mate back from the brink of death, but only if he hears us. I have to make him hear us.