Chapter 44 Lilac Lightning
LILAC LIGHTNING
GRAVES
The sun rose and rose, and even through the clouds it seemed to burn Graves’s skin. The air whipped harder, fiercer, with every passing moment. Nothing but the sea, on all sides.
The clouds grew darker as he flew onward, wispy sheets reaching through the sky as if to converge on the Isles far behind him. He did not stop. Not when his back spasmed from overuse and his eyes blurred. And not when Vale quietly thought to him:
We’ve found the two Fallen who took her… They aren’t talking.
Graves merely replied, They will—if Tharen is the one asking.
Graves wished he could be there, but he was called elsewhere.
Thunder rumbled distantly. Behind the clouds, lightning lit up the sky, zigzags of electricity cascading down in a wash of lilac.
He worked his wings faster, and it still didn’t seem fast enough. Somehow, he knew, instinctively, that she would be at the source of that storm ahead.
Then came the rain. It started as a light mist, and it stayed that way for some time, dampening his skin and wetting his lips.
Then, however, it turned harder. Every wing beat sent up icy shards of thick rain around him, stinging his skin and obscuring his vision.
The ocean far below him was hidden in the sheets of rain.
He dove lower, so low that his fingers trailed over the sea. His reflection peered back up at him as he swept over it. Black wings, rain-plastered hair. The ocean’s calmness was unnatural, for the sky’s storm was angered.
Luella was close. He felt her in his chest, like a thrumming heartbeat, echoed with his own.
A speck in the distance made him jolt. A wooden boat, bobbing across the too-calm waters.
Graves knew.
It was her.
His Vincire lay motionless in the small boat, and she, too, was small. Curled on her side, her white, soaked wings draped over her like a feathery blanket. His wings arced into the water. He slowed as he descended, but the small boat still rocked.
She didn’t move.
That was when he saw the blood.
Red blood coated her torn gown and wings, wet rivulets racing down her skin, and a tiny puddle under where she lay.
He fumbled over the tiny seat fixed into the boat, falling to his knees before her.
The boat rocked unsteadily. He used his forearm to wipe rain from his eyes as he stared down at her.
Still and sweet, she lay. If not for the blood, he would’ve thought she was merely sleeping. She always looked so gentle in rest.
With a shaking hand, Graves touched her elbow, throat tightening as he saw the coarse ropes binding her arms together.
Thunder roared overhead. They needed to get out of here—quickly, before her storm truly unleashed the force of its fury upon them.
"Luella." Graves leaned down, chest brushing her wings. "Sweetheart. Please, please. Wake up. I need you to wake up." He couldn’t do this alone.
His fingers trailed up to her shoulder, and it was like tiny jolts of electricity popped from her flesh, shocking him. He yanked his hand away, and in a start, she awoke, chest heaving and eyes wild. Lucid.
Thank gods.
"Graves?" Luella gasped. Her bound arms jerked, and Graves reached down to work to untangle the knots.
When they unraveled and fell to the floor of the boat, she shot up and wrapped herself around him, arms locked around his neck, sobs wild like her eyes had been.
His neck was wet—with rain or her tears…
A part of him realized the only reason she clung to him so desperately was because he was the only one here.
"I’m here. I’m here, sweetheart," Graves soothed.
His fingers swept over the blood on her, and he let himself have this—just for a moment.
Let himself hold her, until he knew he must let go.
She shivered, soaked to the bone as he gently forced her away from him.
They both knelt on the floor of the boat, and her eyes never left his, even as water lapped against the sides and rain sluiced through the air.
Graves had so much to ask her, but the blood… "Where are you hurt?"
She shook her head, rubbing her red, raw wrists. Blood ran down her pale forearms and dripped from her fingers. "A cut on my arm." She twisted her arm until he saw the angry gash.
A small stream of blood dripped from it; he gently took it, anger pulsing inside him. It wasn’t too deep. Tharen could heal it. Graves assumed the blood pooling on the wood below was from crusted blood, rewetted from the heavy rain.
"Nothing else?"
Luella shook her head again, teeth digging into her lower lip. Her face was unmarked, but lined with worry. Her eyes broke from his, staring out at the sea, the rain beating against it.
"How are we going to get out of here?" she asked, voice breaking. She coughed.
He stood, and the boat swayed. She stayed kneeling.
Graves’s wings unfurled, rain sliding down the tips. "We have to fly."
He waited for her rebuttal, ready for it, but she drew in an audible, shaking breath, hands gripping the sides of the boat as she slowly pushed herself up. Her white wings were a mix of dirt, blood, and water. She fell into him, and he caught her, his wings steadying him.
"It’s safe?" she whispered, staring at his wings.
"Yes. I’ll keep you safe. I won’t let you fall," Graves replied, the rain drowning out the sound of his voice.
She touched the space under her breast, and the air trembled as she gathered herself. "Then take me away from here. I want to l-leave."
It was all the permission he needed; though, he wondered what he would’ve done if he hadn’t had her permission. It wasn’t worth it to dwell on. She had agreed, and they had to go.
Graves lifted her, and she gasped against him as his arms banded under her thighs and back, keeping her cradled against his chest. He stared down at her, and she gripped his soaked shirt.
"Hold on. If you need to, tuck yourself away.
" He pressed a hand to the back of her head, forcing her face into the crook of his neck.
She stayed there, face hidden in his neck, her breath warm against his damp skin. And Graves shot away from the boat, forcing it to list to the side as he took to the skies.
Luella was quiet in his arms, her lashes tickling his skin. His back burned with every beat of his wings, but not fucking once did Graves let himself give in to the exhaustion weighing him down.
When the boat was so far behind he couldn’t see it, and the rain once more a faint drizzle, she spoke:
"Thank you for c-coming for me."
He tightened his arms. As she shifted, her forearm brushed the part of his wings where they beat furiously at his back. Shivers ran through his whole body. For just one godsdamned moment, he faltered, and it was enough to send his stomach flipping.
When Graves righted himself, he replied, "We’ll always come for you."
"The ones who d-did this… The Fallen?"
He gritted his jaw. "We have them." And they wouldn’t be alive much longer if Graves had a say.
Her chin brushed his chest.
Graves pressed a gentle kiss to her brow when her silence stretched for too long. "It’s okay, sweetheart."
Through their bond, her emotions were a peculiar shade of blue and grey, but he swore there was a splash of scarlet somewhere in there. Anger.
"You’ll—" She coughed, turning her head to do so away from him. Her eyes remained squeezed shut, unable to stare at the sea below. He wanted to tell her not to worry. He’d let her cough on him for godsdamned sake, if it meant she could feel safe. "You’ll hurt them?"
"Yes," was all he said in reply.
She waited a beat, then whispered, "Good."
Graves felt a smile tug his lips. He moved his head until his mouth was right by the shell of her ear. "You’re becoming quite the tempest."
She didn’t respond to that.
After some time, when Graves thought Luella had fallen asleep in his arms, she shifted, bare, cut-up feet kicking out in the air where her legs hung over his arm.
Clouds enveloped them, sending a chill through him.
She trembled, awkwardly moving her shoulder to wipe some water away from her cheek, hands locked in a vise grip behind his neck. "What does it look like?" she asked him softly.
Graves’s hand moved until he only held her with one arm—he wasn’t worried. He would never let her fall, but if he did, he would catch her. He touched her face, thumb brushing her cheekbone. "Look," he urged, waiting for her to move her head. "See for yourself."
Just when he thought she wouldn’t, she did. Luella turned her face away from his neck, lids shut as she faced out at the sea, obscured by wisps of air. She opened her eyes, the blue like the stormy ocean below them.
She inhaled sharply, lips parting. "I-I feel like… I don’t know what to feel. I’m frightened, but I can’t look away. Is it always like this?"
Graves tried to see it through her eyes, the way she did. The way the clouds seemed to unfold as they passed through, or how the ocean looked like a large canvas, deep blue and lighter blue paint thrown over the surface, with threads of white foam laced over the darkness.
It was too grand a place to feel so sorry for himself.
He soaked up every moment with her in his arms, and she didn’t return to hiding her face in his neck. Graves knew, once the mountains came into view and the drizzle of rain had long since ceased, that once they touched the ground, this companionship would shatter.
She would find solace in the arms of another.
He flew around the untouched, quiet side of the archipelago. The vines curling around the pillars on his tiny, private island palace fluttered as his feet touched the ground, wings unfurled to keep him steady after being in the air so long.
Vale and Bastian greeted them.
A last moment of shared intimacy, she met his eyes, still held in his arms. He let her go carefully, and she slid down his body, bare feet touching the stone as she winced.
Bastian caught her, hugging her to him, as his scarlet eyes swept down her frame and searched for the source of the blood.
When he found her cut arm, his lip curled, fangs flashing.
Quietly, she said, "I’m okay, Bastian. Really." She coughed again. "It could’ve been much worse." As she faced away from him, Graves saw her exposed back, wings matted and skin scraped, like she’d been dragged over the ground.
His nails bit into his palms. Bastian quietly spoke with her, and over her head, Graves met Vale’s green, burning eyes.
Are they still alive?
One is, the King replied. We wanted to see the nature of her injuries before we gave him the mercy of death. Vale stepped toward Luella and Bastian. The vampire had lifted her in his arms, her legs hooked around his waist, and the ends of her wings draped over his arms as he carried her inside.
Vale forced them to stop with a raised hand.
Luella shrank back into Bastian’s side, but the King merely reached for her arm, holding it up to the light.
The bracelet on her wrist gleamed. Her fingers were bruised and swollen.
Smoke streamed from his lips. He brought her arm up to his mouth and kissed the inside of her palm, gently, carefully, as if she were made of glass.
Luella’s breath hitched. "Vale…"
"Never again, darling." He said something too low for Graves to hear, and he couldn’t help but feel a smidge of jealousy well up. She’d been in his arms for hours. He could share her.
They all needed her.
Something between them had shifted—at first, he thought it had been just between the two of them, but watching her with Bastian and Vale, Graves realized it was between them all.
Bastian carried Luella inside, and she lay her cheek on the vampire’s chest, half-lidded blue eyes finding Graves, where he trailed after like a dark shadow.
Something fierce burned in his chest at the sight, his hands flexing by his sides—a mix of relief that she was safe, devotion to her, and jealousy that she was no longer in his arms.