Chapter 6
Gregory
Thunder’s hooves tore at the muddy path as we raced back toward the lake. I pushed us harder, faster than I’d ever dared. I couldn’t afford to slow down, not with Evan out there.
I brought Thunder to a violent halt at Harren’s guardhouse, the warhorse’s flanks heaving beneath me. “Harren!” I shouted. “Send an urgent message to Alaric. Tell him to get to my cabin right away and bring Lyra.”
I didn’t mind that Alaric despised me; he was the mightiest healer in Mossfen, rivaling any in Valoren. Lyra, Adam’s daughter, was not only his apprentice but also Evan’s closest friend. If something had happened to Evan, they would be the only ones who could save him.
Surprise flashed across Harren’s face, though he didn’t hesitate.
He drew a small crystal pendant from under his armor and held it between his palms. The communication stone was blood-bonded—infused with both his essence and Alaric’s, forming a direct link only they could access.
As a blessed mage, his magic flowed directly into the crystal without need for incantations, and the message would appear in glowing script for the healer.
“Done.” He paused. “Gregory, what—”
“Thank you.” I didn’t wait for questions. Thunder launched us back into the rain. The village had trusted me and kept my secret despite knowing I was a fugitive, the failed Dragon Lord. They’d given me safety when the Empire wanted me dead. Now it was time to prove I deserved that faith.
The path to the lake had become a nightmare. Streams swelled over their banks, washing away the trail in churning, muddy waves. My mount slipped once on the wet rocks but recovered his footing with the grace of a horse bred for battle.
Lightning split the sky, revealing the soaked, uneven ground. We fought our way through the forest while the squall raged, a journey that should have taken twenty minutes now stretched to nearly an hour.
When we broke through into the clearing, the air left my lungs in a painful rush. The lake was a churning cauldron of black water, waves crashing against the shore while rain blurred the edges of everything.
I summoned three fireballs with a gesture, sending them soaring above the clearing. My flames were unstoppable, not by water, not by wind. Once they ignited, they burned until I willed them to stop.
The golden illumination revealed the tragedy I’d been racing to prevent.
Evan lay crumpled at the shoreline, waves lapping at his feet. Unconscious. Motionless.
All the feelings I’d tried to hide came rushing back; the one that scared me most was the fear that I was too late, that he’d reached his breaking point because of me.
“Evan!” I threw myself from the saddle, my boots squelching in the mud as I knelt beside him.
I clutched him with the same desperate care I’d used to haul him from the lake only hours before, firm enough to help yet gentle enough not to cause more harm.
His chest rose and fell in ragged, labored breaths.
“Evan, wake up.” My voice broke, betraying me like a damn boy. “Come on, open your eyes.”
Nothing.
No matter how many times I called his name, he stayed limp in my arms. The fire’s glow bathed his pale skin in golden hues, accentuating features too delicate to exist, as if they might shatter under a single touch.
I pressed my forehead against his; the heat of his fever burned through his skin. “Please,” I begged, a prayer to a goddess I had no right to address. I know I don’t deserve this because of what I did. I’ve stolen enough from you. But please let him open his eyes. Let him come back.
The tang of blood, layered with the earthy smell of rain, assaulted my senses. Panic seized me as I tilted his head, searching for the source. There, at his temple, blood matted with dirt and rainwater in dark streaks down his face.
I hadn’t seen this wound; my rage had consumed me earlier, blinding me. The muddy shore rocks were not sharp. The timing was wrong. He’d been conscious when I left, angry and staring at his reflection. No blood then.
An icy realization crept over me. Maybe Evan hadn’t been faking. Maybe something else happened, something I’d been too blinded by my assumptions to see.
Guilt drove my hand to his neck, where the skin remained an angry red from my touch.
Fuck.
I lifted him and stood, roaring for Thunder.
Cradling Evan against me, I vaulted onto the horse, one arm across his chest, the other gripping the saddle horn as I hoisted us both up in a single motion.
Once seated, I adjusted him, locking him tight against me with his head tucked under my chin.
His body was a furnace through those soaked clothes.
“Hold on,” I whispered into his hair, not caring that he couldn’t hear.
There was no time for the main path. I turned Thunder into the forest, cutting across treacherous terrain. Fueled by urgency, I rode with reckless abandon, but my warhorse was fearless. We plowed through underbrush and scaled slopes as lightning tore the sky apart.
Every shallow breath Evan took was a reminder of how close I’d come to losing him. This was my doing.
The dim glow of my cabin broke through the rain-lashed trees.
Thunder’s hooves found the stone path, and three cloaked figures waited under the covered porch.
Alaric stood at the ready, Adam beside him, the old knight having braved the torrents to meet us.
Lyra stood by his side, her slender frame dwarfed by the cloak.
All three turned when Thunder’s hooves struck the stone path. I urged him forward, and he began a careful approach, moving with more caution than ever before, as if sensing the fragility of the wounded cargo we carried. When we reached the porch, Thunder came to a halt.
I eased down, cradling Evan in a bridal carry against my chest. His head rested against my shoulder, and feverish heat seeped from his wet clothes.
Adam stepped forward, his arms outstretched, but I couldn’t let go. Not yet. Not when I’d already failed Evan in every way that mattered.
Pain marked the weathered knight’s face when I met his gaze. He’d lost his mate at Lyra’s birth and never taken another, carrying that grief for twenty years. Now I was destroying what I was meant to protect.
Lyra gasped, her silver eyes widening in horror as tears welled up. The two omegas had become friends despite the five-year age gap. Evan had cared for her with the same gentle manner he showed everyone in the village, even the bastard who’d almost killed him today.
Me.
Alaric did not attempt to hide his disgust. His scent reeked of it, bitter herbs and ash, his rage barely contained.
Another refugee from the Empire’s wars, another broken soul Adam had collected.
To him, I was the monster who’d burned too bright, killed too many.
And here I was, proving him right by hurting the innocent.
Again.
“Alaric,” Adam boomed. “Save your anger for another moment. This isn’t the time.”
Alaric’s face darkened, and his golden gaze locked onto mine with open disdain. “I’m only here because Harren said it was for Evan, not because of you. You don’t need me. That blasphemy in your veins does the job for you.”
Without breaking eye contact, he bit down hard on his thumb, drawing crimson. Drops hit the muddy ground as he began weaving the protection spell around my cabin, energy shimmering in the rain, forming an invisible barrier against anyone who might want to do us harm.
Not waiting for the magic to finish, I skipped the porch steps and shouldered the door open. Crossing the threshold, candle wicks ignited, their flames dancing in response to my presence. The fireplace roared, orange tongues of flame licking at the logs to chase away the storm’s chill.
The cabin was modest, a single room serving as kitchen, dining area, and bedroom. I’d built it myself, cut and fitted every log during my first winter in Mossfen—honest work instead of violence.
On the windowsill sat a wilted lavender plant Evan had given me months ago, neglected and barely clinging to life, like everything else I touched. I’d thought about throwing it out many times; I never could. Now it was there, dying, like everything else I cared about.
I set Evan down on the bed with the consideration I should have shown hours ago. His slender form was swallowed by the dark blankets, looking fragile and vulnerable. Water dripped from his hair onto my pillow, his breathing coming in short, painful gasps.
“Move aside,” Alaric snapped.
I ceded the space, knowing better than to challenge a healer’s authority over his patient.
Lyra sat next to Evan on the bed, enclosing his limp hand within her own.
Her cloak fell back, revealing brown, wavy locks spilling over her shoulders.
Adam trained her in healing alongside her natural lightning abilities; he’d already lost one person he couldn’t save, and he’d made damn sure his daughter would never face that same helplessness.
Her trembling, healing supplication filled the cabin with desperate hope as she began to pray. “By Celeste’s grace, wounds close and bones mend. By sacred light, restore flesh and breath. By divine mercy, draw life back from shadow’s edge.”
Unlike Alaric, who was blessed, Lyra had to speak every syllable perfectly, tracing the healing sigils in the air with her free hand. Golden light began to gather at her fingertips as she continued the chant, each word building upon the last.
Alaric dropped to his knees beside the bed. He tilted Evan’s head with a delicate touch, pushing back the wet ginger hair. His face darkened even more when he discovered what he was seeking.
A deep gash marred the side of Evan’s skull, the area swollen and purple where blood had formed a dark pool beneath the skin. His fingers traveled to Evan’s neck, and when he discovered the marks my fingers had left, his whole body seized up, trembling with lethal intent.