Chapter 6 #2
“Continue the prayers,” he told Lyra, his focus riveted to the burns on Evan’s neck. He rose, and his face was a savage mask. In a flash, Alaric was in front of me.
“You damn monster!”
His fist connected with my side before I could react, and the snap of a breaking bone echoed through the cabin. I flew backward, slamming into the dining table. The wood splintered under the force, and dishes exploded across the floor in a ceramic shower.
It was irritating how well the bastard could weaponize his healing abilities—infusing his own body with magic, concentrating it into his fists, then reversing it upon impact.
Instead of mending, he shattered.
Instead of restoring, he destroyed.
Alaric stalked toward me, his fists glowing with that twisted power.
“He chose YOU. Everyone saw it!” he snarled, grabbing me by the shirt and hauling me upright.
“The way his scent bloomed only for you in the market square that day. Do you have any idea what you put him through? He came to my apothecary every cycle, shaking and begging for heat suppressants because he had no alpha. I offered to be there for him, to help him through the pain, but he refused. Said he had to wait for you.” Alaric’s voice dropped to a hiss. “And you threw that devotion away.”
He caught me in the stomach with his second punch. The reversed magic tore my insides like molten metal, and I doubled over, spitting blood onto the remains of my broken table.
“You don’t deserve him. You never will,” Alaric spat, his third blow making contact with the side of my face. My head snapped back, lights dancing across my vision.
I slammed into the floor, my body too numb to respond.
The wood was cold against my cheek, now slick with blood.
I tried to push myself up, but my palms only ground into splinters as I collapsed again.
I wouldn’t fight back. I deserved every bit of this and more, and Alaric knew it.
He knew I was letting him do this. Under normal circumstances, I could have ended him in seconds. But not today.
“Look at what you did to him!” His boot connected with my ribcage, and the bones fractured again with a sickening crack. “Look at those burns on his neck!”
Another kick, this one to my back.
“You had one job,” he continued, each word punctuated by another blow. “Protect your mate. And you dragged him to death’s door instead.”
Blood dripped from my mouth. The healer loomed over me, shorter than I was, with the wiry build of a former warrior built for close-quarters combat.
“Why?” He crouched down, bringing his face close to mine. His mask slipped, revealing the anguish underneath. “After everything you’ve done, after the lives you’ve taken… why would the Mother Goddess sanctify this? Why did she choose him for you?”
There was no missing the undercurrent in his words, the question he wasn’t quite asking. Why not me? Jealousy fueled his fury, and at that moment, his hatred found its cornerstone. This wasn’t about the wars or what I’d become. This was about Evan.
Behind him, Lyra’s soft chanting continued, desperate and broken.
Past Alaric, Adam stood at the door, his back to the violence raging in my cabin as he gazed at the storm. Though he’d warned Alaric that now wasn’t the time, the veteran knight remained silent. He understood this punishment was necessary, that monsters needed reminding of their true nature.
Alaric raised his fist again, magic sizzling around his knuckles. “I should kill you right here. Save everyone the trouble.”
He stepped forward, and I braced for the finishing blow. Part of me welcomed it. Wanted it. The agony was the least I deserved for what I’d done to Evan.
But my body had other plans. The draconic blood I resisted wouldn’t let me stay broken. My bones were knitting back together, my monstrous nature overriding the damage. Alaric’s magic could hurt me, but against the ancient fire in my veins, it could never deliver a final blow.
Another burden of being what I was, even the dignity of death was beyond my reach when I deserved it most.
“Alaric, stop!” Lyra shrieked. “Evan. He’s not… He’s not letting me heal him.”
Alaric stopped cold, spinning away from me as the murderous intent evaporated. He rushed back to the bed. “What do you mean?” he asked, kneeling beside her.
Lyra’s hands trembled as they hovered over Evan’s torso, golden light sputtering and failing between her fingers. Her face had gone pale with strain and confusion, sweat beading on her forehead from the effort of maintaining the incantation.
“The healing chant won’t take. I’m speaking the words perfectly, but it’s as if his body is rejecting it.” Her frightened eyes darted to Alaric. “I’ve never felt anything like this. It’s as if… as if a part of him is missing.”
I pushed up from the wreckage, spitting blood as my ribs finished mending themselves.
Every movement sent fresh torment through me, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the terror seizing my chest at Lyra’s declaration.
Evan wasn’t responding to treatment. My mate’s body was refusing the very power that could save him.