Chapter 39
Thirty-Nine
Adelasia
Every muscle in my body is strung tight, dagger raised, with magic trembling beneath my skin. The bond line still burns across my arm, searing with a pain I almost welcome, because it feels like something real after months of nothing.
But it can’t be real. It can’t.
My breath comes sharp and shallow as the sound draws closer. Boots on wet leaves. The rhythm of a man’s gait, heavy and deliberate, not the careless pad of a beast.
Then—
“Adelasia.”
The voice rips the air in half.
I stagger. My knees almost give out. The dagger lands in a pile of decaying leaves on the ground, forgotten.
Because I know that voice.
I know it in my bones, in the marrow that still remembers the brush of his wings, the mocking curl of his words, the warmth hidden behind his smirk.
I spin toward the sound, my heart breaking even as it dares to beat faster.
And there he is.
Rowan.
Not a dream, not a phantom. Rowan, striding through the dark with his coat torn, his hair unkempt, his face carved thin by travel and time. His wings are gone, replaced by the faint shadow of scars across his shoulders that I can see even through the fabric. But it’s him. Alive.
The bond line blazes in answer, and I collapse forward with a sob.
“Rowan.” My throat closes around the words. “You’re—”
“Real,” he says at the same time as me, voice hoarse but certain.
His eyes catch mine through the tears, and I see every mile he’s walked alone reflected in them.