Chapter Twelve Blood Watchers #2
The scream that came out of her was not human. Like someone had reached into her chest cavity, ripped her heart from its veins, and squeezed. The last time she’d made a sound like that, her parents had died.
Caelan shouted in warning, but she was already moving. Reya heard the snap of the crossbow, felt the wind on her cheek as she dove into the path of the bolt. The Earth Star hummed against her chest.
Her body jerked to one side. She hit the ground in a spiral.
A moment of shock lapsed, and Reya looked down, clutching her tunic where the Kellstone had gone through her left shoulder.
Then there was nothing. No more ringing.
No more light. Only silence. Her Ire disappeared like steam on a breeze, and Caelan’s deadly calm expression cracked as the blue bloodstain on her white tunic began to spread.
The rest of the watchers might as well have been dead already for all the fury in Caelan’s face. The watcher with the crossbow was the first to burn.
Ash trotted over to her, and the high-pitched whinny he made was as close to a cry as a horse could make.
But he was alive, unharmed, and she could live with the rest. For however much longer. Grunting, Reya closed her hand around the base of the bolt, and blood leaked onto her fingers as she tugged. Her eyes filled with tears—she couldn’t do it.
Everything was suddenly quiet, and Caelan appeared above her.
“Hold on,” he said, ripping open her torn shirt to inspect the wound. “It went all the way through.”
She knew what that meant. He lifted questioning eyes to hers.
“Do it,” Reya said through clenched teeth.
Caelan didn’t waste a beat, pulling her flush against his chest and grabbing the Kellstone protruding from her back.
“Take a deep breath,” he said into her ear, waiting until she did as she was told. Then he began pulling, sliding the bolt through flesh and muscle. She bucked in his grip, and birds took to the skies at the pitch of her scream.
Caelan chucked the bolt as far as possible, and her blood gushed through his fingers as he laid her down again and covered her wound with the golden glow of his palm. If it was working, she couldn’t feel it. The world spun.
“Come on, thief,” Caelan almost growled. “Don’t go quiet on me now.”
His armor had shifted in the fight, uncovering the Ire at the base of his neck. Except it wasn’t green. It was gold.
“Your Ire,” she rasped.
Caelan, who rarely offered information without substantial prodding, spoke as if to distract her. “Most Sages are born with just one gift. Those with more than one are what we would call a duo or a trium. And even then, one gift is always stronger. I’m a trium, but my elementation is dominant.”
Trium, as in three. “What else can you do?” When he applied more pressure to her wound, she jolted with a cry, reorienting as the torn muscle and tissue swelled and reformed around the threads of magic that urged the tear to close—months of recovery and rehabilitation spent in a few excruciating moments.
His other hand slid down her arms and legs, staunching the flow of blood from smaller cuts and gashes she might have been spared had she been wearing armor. “Agree to train, and I’ll tell you.” Where blades and bolts had ripped her open, the pain ebbed, and faint white scars appeared.
She understood now why people had once crossed continents to see the Alethian healers. What Caelan could do was the truest definition of magic she had ever seen.
“I thought Earth Stars were supposed to protect you from harm.” She coughed, tasting copper. “So much for legends.”
His gaze drifted down her chest, to where his ring shone bright as the moons overhead.
“Earth Stars protect the bearer from mortal wounds. If you hadn’t been wearing it, that bolt could have gone through your heart, and my gift would have been useless to help you.
” Looking spent, he massaged the center of his forehead with one hand like he was trying to urge away the onset of a migraine.
Reya swallowed. “You’re not exactly persuading me to give it back.” Despite their situation, she could have sworn he was fighting a smile. Reya felt oddly proud. “Will it save you?”
“No.” The word was flat. Dead. “Perhaps if I had been wearing it when I was cursed, it might have. But I wasn’t. Can you stand?”
“I suppose I’ll have to.”
Caelan helped her to her feet. The ache was deep, and Reya remembered what he had said about going too far in the body.
Adrenaline still pumped through her, feeding her strength.
She’d never been so grateful for her immortal grace.
Caelan was unusually pale, and Reya wondered how much healing her took out of him.
He looked her over twice, nodded, and then said, eyes hard, “Now tell me what the hell you were thinking.”
Reya blinked. “What?”
Quiet anger radiated from Caelan’s every pore.
Not anger—fury. Reya braced herself. Monitoring the mood swings of dangerous men had become an art form in the past ten years.
It was how she’d survived this long. But Caelan turned that fury inward, going so still she wasn’t certain he was breathing. Somehow it was all the more terrifying.
“We could have gone back for the sword. It’s not worth your life.” A muscle ticked in his jaw—a rare show of temper. “There were nine of them, Reya. Nine.”
Was that the first time he’d called her by her chosen name? She suddenly didn’t know how she felt about it. “I’ve faced worse odds. And I know how to handle Blood Watchers.”
He inched closer. “It’s a wonder you’re still alive.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
Flames flickered in his amber irises. He opened his mouth, thought better of it, and then closed it.
“That’s what I thought.” She wanted to take the petulant words back the moment they escaped, but it was too late. Now she’d done it.
He stalked toward her, and before she knew it, she was backed against a tree.
She winced, bracing herself, but he made no move to touch her.
Hers was a reflex, one that she hated was ingrained in her.
When he realized what the reaction was for, his face twisted in disgust. “Is that what he does? When you don’t do as you’re commanded? ”