Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
When Caelian’s scream shattered the howling wind, Kjeld’s heart dropped.
Never in his life had he heard such a harrowing sound, and to know it came from Caelian gave him all the more reason to push himself beyond measure to reach her.
He sprinted up the mountain, following that seemingly invisible thread of starlight that somehow always led him to her, cursing himself for not running after her sooner.
Power pumped through his veins, heaving him up the mountainside.
He leapt over fallen rocks, his boots pummeling the cold stone earth as the bitter wind smacked his face.
The metallic tang of blood and the reek of something putrid clung to the air.
In his soul, he knew the dragons would never harm her, yet why the tug of her aura led him into the nesting cave of Astrylys, he couldn’t be sure.
There would be time for that answer later, he thought, and raced through the maze-like cave within the mountain. But right now…
Kjeld dug his boots into the solid ground and stumbled to a panicked halt.
Grim lighting showcased a scene of absolute devastation.
Caelian was curled inside the nest, clutching one silver egg to her chest, her hair and body splattered with streaks of crimson.
Her gown was mutilated, shredded to pieces.
A deep cut sliced across her stomach, and a gash tore the flesh of her upper thigh.
Her eyes were closed, her color was fading, and the rise and fall of her chest was almost too slow to bear.
Dagger-like thorns protruded from every direction, as though the earth itself sought to steal the life from the eggs, Astrylys, and now Caelian as well.
It looked as though she tried to free the dragon eggs with her bare hands but had only been able to reach one of them.
Twisted vines pierced her flesh, and as Kjeld stood in the deafening silence, the steady beating of her heart began to wane. She was losing too much blood.
Dying.
The word blared through his mind at the sight before him, and he knew it to be true.
Caelian was dying.
Astrylys was dying.
Corrupt magic slithered through the hollow throat of the cave like a serpent. It crawled up the walls, leaking from every crevice. Murky and thick, it swirled. Swarmed. In the darkness, Kjeld could sense it mocking him. Taunting him.
Rage fueled him, it boiled through his veins like an inferno.
He gritted his teeth, staring into the faceless void of nothingness where the vile energy lurked and seethed.
Only once had he come across such a ruthless kind of power, a faceless force that was composed of the impure and polluted.
It happened during Novalise and Asher’s wedding, when the earth was manipulated by tainted, foul magic, when nature turned into the most vicious version of itself.
Blind fury engulfed him.
Kjeld reached behind him and pulled Kaldflam from the leather strap on his back.
Hoisting the axe high in the air, he lunged forward, but then the icy grip of a hand grabbed his shoulder, hauling him back.
He spun around on his heel, crazed with vengeance, only to see Drake and Creslyn emerge from the shadows.
“Be mindful of the iron.” Drake’s tone was clear and clipped, laced with warning. “Do not let it touch Caelian’s skin.”
Kjeld nodded sharply, tightening his grip on the carved handle of his axe.
Then he launched forward, hacking at the heinous vines, his muscles burning with each stroke of the weapon.
Ripples of impenetrable darkness poured from Drake, and a storm of bursting sunbeams whipped around Creslyn in a magnificent sphere.
Golden light melded with the sinewy shadows of night, and when her gaze latched onto her bloodied twin, Creslyn’s magic magnified.
Imploded. Streaks of radiant sunbeams blasted past Kjeld, turning the entrapment of thorns and vines to dust.
“Get her out of here,” Creslyn commanded, her voice low. Deadly. “Now.”
Kjeld didn’t hesitate, he leapt into the nest and gathered Caelian into his arms. The egg she’d been clutching rolled from her weakened grasp.
He hated the way she didn’t fight him, didn’t thrash or smack at him.
She was limp. Near lifeless. Her head lolled against his shoulder, and her arms hung listlessly.
For one fearful moment, Kjeld thought she was already dead.
But then he caught the faintest thump of her heartbeat.
Cradling her against his chest with one arm, he kept his axe firm in his grip with his free hand and climbed from the nest.
Drake unleashed another surge of smothering darkness upon the corrupt magic. Ribbons of night unfolded, devouring the threads of evil. He nodded toward the mouth of the cave. “The cabin. Stop the bleeding first, then call for a fae healer. Creslyn and I will take care of Astrylys and the eggs.”
Understanding there was no time to waste, Kjeld tucked Caelian into him and took off.
He rushed down the mountainside with her clutched against him, knowing every second, every heartbeat, counted against him.
Frigid wind slammed into him as an early spring storm rolled in from the east. Bleak clouds blanketed the sky, shrouding the bright blue and coating it in shades of gray.
Thunder rumbled in the distance, splitting through the heavens like crashing boulders.
Spears of charged lightning splintered between the mountain peaks, and cold rain pelted down from the embankment of clouds like shards of ice.
Doing his best to protect Caelian’s body with his own, Kjeld sheathed his axe and curled her into him as he bolted into the forest.
The thick overhang of branches and leaves offered him some respite from the sudden rainfall, but already Caelian’s body was chilled to the touch. Her skin had paled considerably, and her lips were almost blue.
Kjeld surged forward, his muscles burning with each hastened step.
He had to make it back to his cabin. He had to stop the bleeding.
His footfalls carried him swiftly over the forest floor, kicking up leaves and debris in his wake.
Kjeld knew his speed was unrivaled. Unmatched.
Yet still he felt he wasn’t moving fast enough. Like he was going to be too late.
Finally, his cabin came into view.
But relief evaded him.
Kjeld shoved through the door and slammed it behind him. Rushing toward the bed, he gently laid Caelian upon it, and his heart seized. No, it stopped completely. Dread curdled in his gut, and the violent crush of agony made it impossible to breathe.
Sticky, scarlet blood coated her thigh and abdomen.
Scratches from the thorns that looked more like angry claw marks ravaged her arms and legs.
She was pallid, her skin far too pale, like that of a spirit leaving this world.
Her silvery hair with its shimmering highlights was dull and matted with dried blood, the muted strands tangled around her.
Her lips were parted, but air barely scraped through them, not enough to fill her lungs.
He watched in raw silence as her chest rose and fell in a shallow motion, held his breath, praying to the old gods to allow her heart to continue to beat.
Thick lashes fanned out against the ashen flesh beneath her eyes, and Kjeld bit back the urge to scream in fury.
Seeing her like that made him realize for the first time in his life what it truly meant to know fear.
He cursed, swore to himself in a bout of unfathomable anger.
Frothing and steaming, ready to overflow, his wrath churned with the cold stab of guilt.
The one that told him, reminded him, this was all his fault.
If he had kept his mouth shut, if he hadn’t been such a fucking asshole to her, then she never would have left.
She would’ve had no reason to flee into the mountains, to run away from him, to put as much distance between them as possible.
It was like some sick joke. Because that’s exactly what he’d been trying to do on his own. He wanted to stay away, to flee her constant presence. But then she showed up at his cabin looking like temptation wrapped in silk and lace, and he hadn’t been able to control his temper.
Now she was dying on his bed.
And it was all his fault.
Kjeld blinked hard, then shook his head, clearing out the traitorous thoughts. He had to focus on saving her. He had to stop the bleeding.
He moved in unison with the lightning scattering through the dense clouds outside, grabbing towels, using linens as bandages, filling the sink with warm water from the faerie pool.
Back and forth, he sprinted through the house and into the forest, gathering any necessary supplies to save Caelian’s life.
He grabbed bundles of calendula and chamomile, desperately trying to recall if any of the herbs growing outside the cabin could help with the clotting of wounds.
“Don’t you dare die on me,” he warned as he stripped the remains of her blood-soaked gown from her body and tossed it in a heap to the ground. “It is not your time, do you understand?”
There was a ridiculous kind of irony in his quiet demand, one he recognized all too well. Had she not done the same to save his life so many months prior? Had she not pleaded with the stars to return him to her? Had she not wished him back to life?
His jaw locked, a dull ache forming at the base of his neck, as he set to work.
He was hardly a healer, medicinal remedies were outside of his realm of expertise, but growing up he watched his mother save the lives of numerous dragon riders.
His skills were by no means expert, but he knew enough to at least try to keep Caelian alive until he could fetch a proper healer.
Tearing a cotton sheet into thin strips, he bound the gash on her thigh, then applied pressure to the one on her abdomen.
Carefully, he slid his arm beneath her waist, easing her off the bed so he could wrap the bandage snugly around her.
Soaking the linen in a pail of hot water, his heart slammed against the constricted wall of his chest as he rinsed out the rag.
The water turned scarlet. In his mind, he went over all the reasons he was supposed to hate her.
Why he could barely tolerate her. Why it was in his best interest to have absolutely nothing to do with her.
Lies his head told his heart over and over again.
Yet as he knelt by her on the bed, gently wiping away the blood smearing her frail body, the truth spilled from him in a series of harsh whispers.
“I need you to stay with me, Starweaver. It’s time to wake up now.” He dabbed the damp cloth on her cheek and chin. “We still have many things to discuss, you and I. There are many arguments left between us.”
He held his breath, but her eyes did not open.
“Damn it, Caelian. Quit being so stubborn and come back to me.” He cupped the side of her face, tracing her cheekbone with his calloused thumb. “This is not how you leave me. Not like this. Not ever. If and when your soul decides to depart from this world, then it will go hand in hand with mine.”
She flinched then, a gargled gasp escaped her, and his heart lurched.
“Mine.” The word fell from her papery lips on a scrape of air.
And Kjeld ran for the fae healer.