74. THE BARGAIN AND THE BEAST #2
By the time the shadow being steadied itself, it was met with its doom.
Teeth flashed. The cù-sìth’s body slammed down upon the shadow’s, and its open maw closed around its neck.
The shadow went limp, its form evaporating into nothing.
But the moment of victory was cut short as the cù-sìth staggered to the side.
The animal turned its body in my direction, revealing three puncture wounds near its ribs—a final blow from the shadow’s clawed fingers. It let out a pained exhale, followed by a heart-wrenching groan as it swayed. Then . . .
A flash of light . . . Flesh and bone . . . A human form . . .
Bronze hair and forest green eyes . . .
All the breath left my chest.
Breck stared back at me, standing where the cù-sìth had just been.
He was . . . a shifter?
The revelation blindsided me, but what truly concerned me at that very moment wasn’t the fact that he’d hidden this information from me .
. . It was that he still bore the same three puncture wounds in his transformed flesh.
They were twice the size now that he was in his human form, and . . . they weren’t healing.
I broke into a sprint, willing my legs to move, trying to get to him as his legs gave out and he collapsed to the forest floor.
“Breck!”
He lifted his head, but the pain in his eyes suddenly turned to panic as he glimpsed something behind me.
“NO!” he cried out, thrusting his arm toward me.
I whirled to find two spears of black shadows shooting in my direction, but then the other Dionach was there, spinning between me and the shadows, deflecting the onslaught.
Neither of us saw the second wave as it sped past him and reached for me. I jumped back a moment too late. The shadows slashed across my abdomen like blades, ripping through fabric and flesh. Warmth coated my skin, turning my tunic red.
My heartbeat became a pounding drum in my ears. I clutched the wounds, watching the blood pour through my fingers . . .
Too much blood.
I wasn’t healing, either.
I looked up, meeting Breck’s eyes. He was only a few feet away, but the distance seemed so far.
“Auren . . .” My name was a whisper on his lips as he slumped to the grass, still reaching out for me.
“No—NO—” I tried to take a step toward him, but my legs faltered. Warmth coated my hands again as more blood spilled over them.
Skadi’s deep, gravelly laugh tainted the atmosphere from where she lay, watching. “Perhaps you should have tried to bargain for your husband instead, witch,” she said to the queen.
“You will die the same way he did!” Corinne snapped.
The goddess smirked, clearly not taking the threat seriously. “I always find it funny when a mortal makes a threat against a god.”
“You speak as though you are immortal. But gods can cease to exist just the same as we can.”
Skadi’s nostrils flared, her irritation hitting its breaking point. “When the war is over, I will revel as I look down on your pathetic, broken bodies.”
“No. You will not,” was all Corinne said.
Skadi gave one last look at me, at the damage she had inflicted, then disappeared into the cloud of smoky shadow that encompassed her.
A pair of strong arms caught me as I tilted. “I’ve got you,” Weston said.
My body was starting to shake. I pressed my fingers against the gashes across my stomach, then groaned, moving a hand to where the arrow had punctured my skin earlier. The area was burning like fire.
“She’s losing too much blood,” Weston said frantically. “Why isn’t she healing?”
The queen was instantly at my side, shaking her head in disbelief. “I—I didn’t foresee this happening.”
Weston lowered me to the ground while Corinne ripped the bottom portion of her cloak and tore the fabric free. She pressed it to my wounds in an effort to stop the bleeding.
I needed a healer. Fast.
And Breck . . .
We needed Maeson. We needed . . .
“The cave,” I said, my voice shaky and uneven between anxious breaths.
Weston leaned in. “The what?”
“In Calledan . . . there’s a cave in the mountains with healing waters.”
Weston’s face fell with defeat. “Auren, I haven’t been there. I can’t port us.”
I was about to say that I could, but the words died in my mouth as the reality of the situation hit me. Something was obstructing my power and my ability to heal, and without access to my power, I couldn’t port us anywhere, either.
I pressed my fingers against my chest, mindlessly rubbing against the gnawing burn as I tried to think of what to do.
Weston’s gaze snagged on the movement, and he snatched my hand away. “What is that?”
My head bobbed as I looked down and tried to see what had drawn his attention.
The other Dionach knelt behind me, allowing me to lean against him while Weston took my vest with both hands and ripped it open.
The shirt beneath was bloodied and bore a small slit.
He pushed his fingers through it and touched my skin.
I cried out as a terrible jolt of pain radiated into my chest and along my collarbone.
He didn’t ask permission for what he did next, nor did he think twice.
He tore the top hem of my shirt until it revealed the wound that sat just above my right breast where the skin was stretched thin over muscle and bone.
Leaning closer, he squinted, then used his fingers to spread the skin around the puncture site.
A bleating groan rumbled in my throat, and my eyes went wide, but I braced myself against the Dionach at my back and let Weston assess me.
His voice was low as he swore. “Shit . . . It’s iron. There’s iron in your wound.”
He swiveled on his knees, searching the area. When he spotted my brother, he jumped up and went to his body.
“The tip of the arrow is blunted,” he called out as he hurried back to me. “It must have pierced you when it went through your brother, then broke off inside you when he fell.”
Iron . . . stopping me from summoning my power. Keeping me from healing.
“Get it out,” I gritted. “Get it out now!”