MYRON
A layer of grime and sweat coats Ayna’s skin alongside a story of pain and misery, my arms barely strong enough to hold her together as her magic burns through her like a wildfire—like bolts of lightning is more like it. The bright silver light is clearly that of Crow magic, the deadly one we use in combat. But Ayna doesn’t know that. I’m almost certain she isn’t aware of the pain her touch inflicts. If she’s anything like a young Crow, she’s barely aware of the world surrounding her while her unlocked power attempts to consume her and everything in her path.
Unfortunately, I’m in her path.
I put myself there the moment I realized what was happening.
When I’d felt the mark on my shoulder come to life a few hours earlier, I’d shifted and taken off without explanation to follow the call of my mate, and when I found the carriage in the forest, my instincts got the best of me. Instead of taking my time to assess the situation, figure out if she was being held captive or if she was with people who rescued her, I shifted into my half-crow form while landing on the cabin roof, keeping the wings and claws for more leverage in an attack from the air.
My presence must have startled her magic awake, and the rest is a mere blur of light and splintering wood. The carriage driver didn’t even get a chance to draw the sword from his belt before we were all thrown back by the force of my mate’s power.
So, I took it upon myself to rescue her from herself before even considering the two females who now lie unconscious somewhere among the rubble.
Deep inside, a primal part of me purrs when Ayna’s fingers shift on my bare chest, her eyes, full of fear, studying the angry red marks she left behind. Her hands are no longer glowing silver like they did a moment ago, but the horror in her expression tells me that doesn’t matter. She has no idea what’s happening, that it’s normal for young Crows to lose control over their power. And her power has been locked up for so long that I’m not surprised it erupted like a volcano at the mildest of threats.
And a Crow King hopping onto a carriage roof in the middle of the night screams threat like nothing else.
I breathe through the pain. Breathe through her fear with her.
“It’s all right, Ayna. It’s all right. Take a slow breath. Exhale. You’re safe, Ayna. I’m here.” I don’t dare brush aside the strands of hair pasted to her forehead for fear of setting off another wave of her power. “We’re together.”
The thought comforts me beyond everything else—as does the feel of her in my arms, the slender length of her body as we kneel across from each other.
Little by little, the force of her magic ebbs, retreating into her blood, sinking into her tissues where it will remain until the next foolish creature dares come too close to my Ayna. But for now, her touch no longer crucifies me, and my own healing power sets in without delay. By the time she examines the place where she burned my skin, the injury has healed, and I’m as good as new—better even, with the feel of my mate in my arms.
“Myron—”
Had I not been on my knees already, I’d fall to them then and there at the sound of my name on her lips. It’s a breath, nothing more than a whisper on the wind, but I hear it. My soul hears it. And every last bit of sanity abandons me as I bring my mouth to hers, tasting her desperation, her fear, her anguish—everything that both of us have experienced, battled, and lost against every single day since she stayed behind in the dungeon. I am a broken male, shattered and pieced back together by the mere fact that I’m breathing the same air as my mate again.
I’ll never leave her. Never allow anything to separate us. Not even death.