Chapter 26 – Quinton
QUINTON
Azaria writhed.
One hand twisted in the blanket as she arched off the cot, sweat slicking her brow, blood dried at the corner of her mouth.
“Hold her steady,” I barked, dropping to my knees beside her.
Dain’s arms locked around her shoulders.
Elias held her legs, murmuring something I couldn’t make out.
The moment I peeled her leathers back and saw those black tendrils crawling beneath her skin, panic and raw anger tore through me.
They were spreading. Fast. I pressed my palm to her sternum and called my magic.
The attunement flared—her pulse against mine, her pain flooding through me like a knife to the chest.
She was dying. I could feel it—her heartbeat stuttering, her blood turning sluggish and cold, the rot eating through her from the inside.
My magic came hard, eager, like it had been waiting for her blood again.
Crimson threads flickered under my skin, poured through my fingers and into her chest, racing her veins like protective vines. But when my magic hit the rot?—
It bit back. Pain jolted up my arm, burning and vicious, like dragging my hand through acid. The corruption latched on, burning, eating at my magic with teeth.
“Shit.”
I tried again—slower, gentler. Azaria whimpered—gods, she whimpered—and my control nearly snapped. I pushed deeper. The rot attacked again. It bit and clawed with every touch, and it felt like it was trying to consume me along with her.
“I can’t—fuck—” My voice cracked. “It’s anchored. Fighting me.”
“She said they stank,” Elias said, voice tight. “The hounds. Before she went down.”
“She threw up,” Dain muttered. “Twice.”
“We didn’t smell anything,” Elias added.
“She did,” I murmured, still trying to get a read beneath the rot.
And there, beneath the corruption, something shifted.
Faint, but there. My magic brushed against it and hit a wall.
Not the rot’s bite. This was different—solid, unyielding.
Like pressing against a wall. Heat radiated from it: soft, like sunlight through a window.
Protective, wrapped tight around her core.
What the fuck?
I pushed gently, testing. The wall pushed back—firm, deliberate. It didn’t attack—it guarded.
Azaria gasped, a choked sound tearing from her throat.
“What is it?” Dain’s voice dropped to gravel.
“There’s something else in her blood,” I whispered. “Not mine. Not the rot. Hers.”
“A second source?” Elias asked.
“No. Not magic like mine. But it’s—” I searched for words, pushing my awareness deeper. The wall held, immovable. “Alive. Aware. Every time the rot spreads, this thing pushes back. Like it’s guarding her.”
It felt old. Like it had been sleeping for years, and the rot woke it up.
“Her body’s doing that?” Dain asked, staring down at her face.
“I don’t know,” I said. “But whatever it is—it’s trying to save her.”
I bent close, gripping her hand. “Come on, Azaria. Fight it. You already are, aren’t you?”
Her breath caught, heat rolling off her in waves.
“She’s heating up again,” Dain barked, shifting to hold her steady.
I pulled my magic wider, shifting from attack to containment. Cage the rot. Slow it. Give whatever was inside her space to work. I’d hold the line. Burn myself out if I had to.
Blood magic wasn’t gentle at the best of times, but this was like stitching a wound in the middle of a hurricane. Every time I reached for the core of the rot, the Abyss snapped back hungrily, trying to drag me down with it. I pushed harder; the attunement lunging after the toxin?—
And something slammed into me. Not the rot, but the wall. Her. Whatever lived inside her hit my magic like a fortress gate crashing shut. Drove me out, hard and hostile, like I was the infection.
Pain exploded through the attunement. My fingers went numb as ash coated my tongue. My chest seized. She was rejecting me.
Not the rot. Me.
Twenty fucking years of control. Months attuned to her. I’d healed her before, felt her blood sing under my hands, eager and trusting. And now her body was fighting me like I was the enemy.
“She’s reacting like—” The words caught in my throat. “Like she has magic.”
“She doesn’t,” Dain snapped.
“I know.” But gods, it felt like she did. Like something old and furious was guarding her from the inside, and it didn’t care that I was trying to help. Didn’t recognize me as safe. I tried to push past the wall gently, but the heat inside her flared hotter. Forced me back.
Fuck.
Dain’s voice cut in, tight with fear. “Quinton. What’s happening?”
I didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Every time I reached deeper, the rot bit at my magic, and that buried force shoved me out again.
It was protective and territorial. Less potent than the rot, but unyielding.
A force that wouldn’t bend. It didn’t know I was trying to save her.
Whatever that thing was, it only knew I was there.
Elias’s voice stayed steady. “Is it something you did?”
“No,” I said, too sharply, then softer. “No. I wouldn’t.”
Azaria let out a strangled sound. Her pulse flickered under my hand, faint. Her chest barely moved. The attunement sputtered across her ribs and faded, her body pushing back again—defensive, not passive.
“Quinton,” Dain warned, voice gravel. “You’re going to pass out.”
“Not yet,” I snapped, teeth gritted. Couldn’t look at him. If I did, I’d lose the last shred of control I had.
My vision blurred at the edges. My ribs ached like someone had caved them in. The attunement bucked wild in my chest, desperate and fraying.
One option left. Force it. Drive past whatever was blocking me, rip the rot out manually even if it tore her apart from the inside.
It would hurt. Gods, it would hurt. And it might kill her—the force of it slamming through corrupted blood, past whatever was guarding her, could stop her heart before I ever reached the rot. But if I didn’t, she was dead anyway.
“Fuck,” I breathed. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Then I drove everything I had into her. Azaria arched off the cot, a ragged scream tearing from her throat.
“Quinton—” Dain’s voice, edged with warning.
I ignored him. Forced deeper, past the heat, past the resistance, straight into the core of the rot.
The force inside her roared—not sound, but a sensation—a wave of scorching heat that slammed through my magic and nearly knocked me flat.
Dain flinched, sweat beading on his forehead as the temperature in the tent spiked. But it worked.
Black sludge surged up her throat, thick and tar-like, spilling from her mouth in a wet splatter.
“Yes,” I gasped. “That’s it. Help me.”
Dain tightened his grip on her shoulders. “She’s seizing?—”
“Hold her!”
I drove harder. More rot poured out, sliding down her chin, soaking her collar, pooling on the floor. Green bile followed, burning hot. Her skin scorched my palms, but I didn’t let go.
“Quinton, you’re killing yourself—” Elias, calm even now, but I heard the fear underneath.
“Not yet,” I gritted out.
Again. Blood-streaked ooze, her body convulsing with each heave.
“Come on,” I croaked, voice breaking. “Don’t stop. Please. Not now.”
One final push. My magic flared red-hot, then ripped through me like a torn muscle. Pain exploded down my arms, my chest, everywhere.
Clear spit. Frothy, tinged pink.
Stillness.
Her chest rose. Fell. Rose again. Weak. Shallow.
Relief hit me like a blow. The attunement sputtered, thread by thread, unraveling inside me. My hands trembled where they pressed against her sternum. The room tilted, tent walls melted into each other, blurring the edges. The last thing I saw was Azaria’s pale face.
She is breathing.
I reached for her pulse through the magic one last time. Found it. Weak, but there.
Thank the gods.
My body pitched forward. I tried to catch myself on the edge of the cot, but my fingers slipped.
“Quinton—” Elias’s voice.
Then the dark took me.