Chapter 25
T he ground trembled and groaned and cracked at the unearthly wrath unleashed in Garrik’s voice.
Everyone froze.
The realm—the sky— the stars refused to blink.
All eyes widened as every soldier cowered on their knees, faces paling. Deimon’s stare darted to Alora, then their High Prince.
Garrik’s body was a deadly storm of Smokeshadows misting and tendriling along the ground with razor tips threatening to cut off the hands of anyone who came near her. The dawn's arrival over the valley was devoured as if the night sky aimed to darken Elysian for a while longer.
Nearly choking on relief at his voice, at the raw power she felt surging behind her. She couldn’t see his eyes but felt the frigid depths of oblivion burning at them. Promising death to anyone who so much as twitched.
Those deadly shadows wrapped around her like they were his comforting hands. Smokeshadows created a barrier of protection as Alora’s eyes fluttered back. Forgetting the pain and exhaustion and the chaos the moment she felt him descend on the valley. Her heart could’ve cleaved open at his voice. Could’ve split in two.
Garrik.
Garrik was there.
Alora's breath caught in her throat, fighting to remain strong, though she didn’t need to be a moment more. Picturing her High Prince, eyes blaring in a deathly rage, she shoved her thoughts across their unique tether. I found you.
A deep shuddering sob accompanied her limbs, emptying the last kernels of strength. Drained and boneless, her body gave out and collapsed.
Voices surrounded her. Or were they shouting to her? To others?
The cloth lifted from her mouth, reminding her of how incredibly dry her lips were. How the corners ached from blood and bruises. A cold, rough pressure cupping her cheek enticed her eyes to slit, bobbing heavily as she fought to keep them open. Catching glimpses of swirling ink over beautiful, polished steel. Staring down at her with wrathful and distraught consideration before darkness comforted her again.
Then his voice. His incredible voice …
“You found me, clever girl,” he repeated, breathless as if the words comforted some deep-seated pain from her absence.
And she shattered at the sound resonating so far away, almost like he was in the depths of his mother’s oceans. At the way he said those two words. Soft and tender, unlike the taunts he usually spoke. This time, the name was different.
Convulsing, Alora sobbed at the tremendous relief of hearing his voice. After stumbling for so long, almost crawling, dragging the Raven with her after violently fighting for her life.
Simply feeling him again …
Finally, after not knowing if she’d ever touch him again. Experiencing him fold her into his chest in an unwavering embrace.
Alora shattered. Uncaring if anyone saw or heard.
She found herself home. The only place she felt safe.
Warm as honey, Garrik’s voice tenderly whispered through a kiss in her bloody hair, “I am here now. It is over.” It was only then she realized Garrik had caught her before she hit the ground. Laying in his lap, small craters dug beneath his knees from the impact. Freezing fingers stroked her bloody cheeks, moving the matted hair away. “ Fuck, she is so cold.”
He called orders to his soldiers.
Then that soothing voice called back to her, “Look at me, Alora. I need to see your eyes.” Garrik cursed the moment they lifted, shouting as another male’s voice she knew came close.
“How bad?” Thalon asked, sounding urgent.
“There is too much blood to know.” Garrik’s voice cracked. “She has been stabbed … and drugged .”
Thalon cursed the stars and began shouting. “Find Ozrin, now ! Bring him to Garrik’s camp.” If formalities were forgotten then she must be worse off than she’d imagined. Thalon never addressed nor regarded their High Prince by his given name outside the Shadow Order.
And that sent terror through her bones. I’m … I’m going to die.
“Not a fucking chance. You stay with me.” It wasn’t a question but a strict command. “Alora. Open your eyes.” But that one… Garrik was pleading.
It hurt terribly, even though he was being gentle. Cradling her there. Whatever had kept her going. Whatever had spurred her along had finally worn off. The pain was mercilessly setting in. She winced in a breath sharp as broken glass, trying to open her eyes. Wishing the pain would stop when Garrik moved and warm hands steadied her in his lap. Her eyes bobbed enough to watch him frantically unbutton his tunic?—
What are you doing? A moment of panic, she managed to push into his mind. Your scars . The only time she’d seen him shirtless in front of his Dragons was when he was whipped. He never let them see?—
I do not care. Rolling his tunic over his shoulders, Garrik pulled it down the corded muscles of his arms and tore it off, leaving his brutalization fully displayed. He wrapped it around the branch embedded in her side, and Thalon’s hands pressed down on the fabric, holding pressure on the wound without removing the branch.
She knew why. If they removed it, the result would possibly be bleeding to death. It was the same reason she hadn’t pulled it out herself.
Alora attempted to lift her hand to soothe the pain and wipe the blood trickling down her side, but a pained whimper croaked from her chest instead as tears burned over her bottom lashes. Streaming onto her throat and struggling to breathe.
“Where else does it hurt?” Shaking, Garrik surveyed her while Thalon’s hand remained true. But she already knew neither of them could determine the severity of her injuries. Blood covered every inch of her. Kyr’s. Hers.
Everywhere. Everything. The only place that didn’t hurt was where Garrik touched.
“Check her,” Garrik growled.
Thalon’s hands replaced one of Garrik’s. He began moving along her body.
She fought with every ounce of strength left. Fought leaving to that comforting and final place deep inside her mind, not knowing if she’d wake when a voice that reminded her of the sea and crashing waves ordered, “Take him. Follow me to my tent. Secure him in the brig.” Voice hard and demanding and lethal. Utterly damning.
Alora had never heard Aiden in such a tone.
Through slitted eyes, Alora glimpsed two Dragons jerk an unconscious Arzen forward by his shoulders. Dragging his feet in the tall grass and following Aiden into the amber glow of camp.
If she wasn’t completely helpless, she would’ve grinned knowing Arzen had fallen inside his mind. Knowing he wouldn’t be capable of striking the shield down because he would never possess the knowledge of its existence.
But panic rattled her nerves as she heard his dragging boots scrape the dirt.
What if his magic sensed it?
After all, those he determined his target had their magic rendered useless. She still couldn’t feel starfire coursing through her veins. There was the possibility that Arzen had hidden the extent of his powers from her. He could’ve known she was a Mystic the moment they found her. Could’ve allowed her to escape and use her powers for his gain until she destroyed their camp and made his final move.
Her unfocused eyes met Garrik’s. Wait. He’s a null. The shield ? —
“ Aiden !” Garrik’s head whipped to their sea captain, who fell rigid halfway up the hill. His figure was merely a silhouette against camp’s firelight. Smokeshadows whirled beside Aiden’s hand until a glass vial and syringe dropped and he clasped his fist around them.
Aiden shouted up the hill, carrying away into the distance of camp.
But Arzen wasn’t the only threat. What if Rune still lived? The others? She’d left them there. Rune had groaned. There was no mistaking it. If they recovered. If they escaped …
There are more Ravens out— Alora winced at the sharp pain in her side, cutting off her thoughts.
Garrik didn’t hesitate. His eyes burned into the golden orbs in front of them. “Get the Wingborne and scouts to the forest,” growling to Thalon, vibrating through her body as the sound of Thalon’s voice called to Deimon. She moved to speak, but Garrik’s hand cupped her cheek. “It is alright, Ara. I can see the rest. You have done enough.”
Silver eyes softened, and she felt that gentle caress brush her mind, sweeping in like a hurricane. Still, even in the chaos, he waited to invade until Alora allowed him in. Seeing the memory replayed. Watching the uncertain path through the forest to the lake. The one that hopefully would lead them to the Raven’s camp where she left them defenseless to a well-deserved death—if they weren’t prisoners to Firekeeper’s realm already.
The shadows inside her mind receded, leaving her feeling lost and empty as Garrik’s darkened eyes swept to his soldiers. To Thalon.
His body rippled and flexed until every muscle pulled taut, and he gritted out with absolute finality, “Guardian.” It was Thalon who then stiffened at his sacred title, gripping his inked hand on the pommel of his golden sword, when Garrik growled, “ This is an act of war .”
Thalon pulled his shoulders back, registering the words. What they meant. “Unleash Michael,” he cursed, eyes widening as he took in his High Prince. Of Alora in his arms. Of Garrik’s subtle nod.
Eyes as bright as sunlight darkened before their Guardian turned to Deimon, whose wary gaze locked onto Garrik’s swirling abyss and those night-dark feathered wings flexed wide.
With one final glance at Thalon and the urgent words spoken between them, Deimon shot skyward fast as striking lightning. His fierce voice commanded orders through the chilled air, angling his blade toward the forest. An instant later, the sounds of whirring and beating wings echoed across the valley, and a pair of pearly-white wings erupted into the chaos after them.
Garrik shuffled on his knees before that royal language escaped his lips. Low and quiet, as if he spoke only to himself. That once beautiful melody she could get lost listening to was now cold and dark and unforgiving. Causing her bones to quake in the severity of it. Of his voice changed and morphed into that of the Savage Prince.
Then Smokeshadows detonated from him.
Braiding into the sky. Bursting in every direction as they merged with the night. Those beautifully deadly Smokeshadows vanished across the horizon like drops of water rippling the surface of a lake. Leaving the incoming glow of dawn to greet them.
Shaking, his palm cupped her spinning head. Incredible muscles rippled beneath her as he stood in urgency, lifting her to his bare chest. Strong arms banded behind her back and under her knees.
“You did good, clever girl. I am getting you out of here. Stay with me.”
No. Her heart dropped. She had endangered camp to save herself. “Magic,” she choked out. “I used?—”
“I know. It is alright. I will take care of it.” Quivering lips pressed into her bloodstained hair.
At last, her heart split in two. “I’m sorry,” she choked.
Glassy silver found her like he heard everything those two words didn’t speak. Like he was still inside her mind, viewing the replay of a tavern brawl and an outstretched hand fit to burst into flame. Angrily shouting at her after his magic diffused the situation. After he informed her of the stakes and stupidity of her actions. How with one slip of her magic, their efforts would have been for nothing. They would all be dead.
Just like now.
They will all be dead.
But Garrik’s voice fell wholly calm and gentle. “You are alive. That is all that matters.”
Smokeshadows stormed around them, turning the view of the valley into clouds of ash and smoke-kissed wind while she fought to focus on the silver of his eyes.
Alora’s head fell limply against his solid chest. Over the starburst scar at his heart. And there was his heartbeat. His magnificent, incredible, unusual heartbeat. Resounding at the center of her mind.
Darkness spotted in her vision. She was fading, felt the absence of life emptying from her veins, and heard herself whisper, “I feel like I’m dying.”
Velvety shadows made them weightless. Turned them into his incredible darkness until it was only him and her and nothing else but his warm stern voice among the storm.
“As long as my heart beats, and long after, I will not allow that to happen.”
Now was not the time to fall apart. But it was happening regardless.
Everything turned black the moment he left Alora’s tent. The moment she fell limp from his arms, soaking her emerald sheets to crimson. He had barely restrained himself from detonating when Ozrin’s hands touched her before Jade grabbed his shoulders and pushed him outside.
His presence was a hindrance.
Of course he knew that—he could not think past the dead sheen of Alora’s skin and the dullness of her eyes. Or the thoughts that she was not long for this world.
Every pass and discovery of undeserved injury would sabotage the tether of control he had on himself, coiled so tight it would snap. He knew he was needed elsewhere. The threat in the forest needed to be immobilized. But the world broke and shattered into ice storms and unfurling darkness. He had not made it a full stumbling step outside when his wrath boiled over the edge and threatened to turn Elysian into an oblivion of endless agonizing death.
Voices filled the wind, but Garrik could not discern what they were saying. A high-pitched ringing overtook all reason. In his eyes, the swirling ink had taken control.
Her magic had taken control.
Not here. It was all he could repeat to himself. Screaming from the depths of his mind’s prison. Standing at the sealed vault as slithering darkness choked him on the inside, reminding him of who he was Made to be. Not in camp. Do not do this here.
It hardly worked.
Again, those voices were shouting. He felt his shadows vicious and cruel and malevolent despite his screaming benevolence. They were reacting to the quick wrath inside of his heart and the damnation waiting to be unleashed.
Was being unleashed.
“ Don’t touch him !” someone screamed, but it sounded like a whisper.
By some mercy from the stars, Garrik willed every part of him to calm. And when his eyes opened and a tint of color returned to his eyesight, he stared into a camp that had been brutally ransacked like a deathly storm of funnel clouds had rolled through.
His Dragons stood amongst the rubble, staring at receding shadows and not one of them appeared to be injured. Only camp was a mess of broken wood, burning embers scattered across firesites, and ripped canvas.
Effortlessly, Garrik’s thoughts ordered the command. Smokeshadows tendriled and clouded across the encampment, weaving and dancing around the carnage.
When at last he deepened a breath and opened his eyes, everything was restored to normal and not one soldier could see past the new wall of tents separating them.
Garrik surveyed his balled fists, shaking violently instead of finding a Raven’s flesh to abuse. The black veins that overtook him were solid. Starting from his fingertips, they marbled his skin until vanishing under his tunic sleeves rolled at his elbows. Like he had dipped his hand in a barrel of dark mud, the blackness covered him.
Chest heaving, Garrik fixed his eyes on Aiden and the few Dragons who remained in the Shadow Order’s firesite.
None of them said a word.
Nobody was foolish enough to dare.
It was rare. Their High Prince usually reserved his outbursts in the privacy of his tent or darkened forests. None of them knew how to respond to it. The only one who was brave enough to approach Garrik in this state was Thalon, and he was seeing to the discovery of the Raven’s camp.
“Don’t touch him,” Aiden ordered again.
His Dragons stepped back.
Garrik collected himself and registered their petrified hesitation when he stepped forward, and stopped. Drawing back the burning desire to relieve someone of their head, he squared his shoulders, chin high like the High Prince they expected.
“Aiden,” fighting back a shiver of rage, “is there something you wish to tell me?”
Aiden’s eyes slowly widened as confusion swept his face. Pivoting his head to the other Dragons, he twirled the scaled ring on his finger. “Sire?”
“The prisoner,” Garrik growled. Hovering on a thin line of keeping his anger contained.
Aiden loosened a breath as his shoulders dropped their tension. “Secured and subdued. Awaiting your interrogation.”
Garrik took a heavy step toward the sound of crashing waves behind canvas when the shadows of glorious wings blocked out the morning sun. Soaring over the trampled grass of the firesite until shards of sunlight bit down upon them.
A few breaths later, two figures parted the tents, and Thalon and Deimon stepped out from beside Garrik’s tent.
Thalon’s face was drawn tight. Flexing his shoulders to relieve something like stiff back muscles as he strode forward. His boots stopped inches from Garrik’s as he asked, I saw camp moments ago. Are you alright?
With nothing but a nod, Garrik’s attention shifted over Thalon’s shoulder to Deimon.
“What happened?” Thalon asked.
“I do not know.” Garrik barely heard himself answer when Aiden stepped forward.
“Did Magnelis send them?”
Ice burned through Garrik’s veins at the thought. Surely if the High King knew of their treason, the entire expanse of Zyllyryon, border to border, would be cloaked with Ravens ravenous for war. It was unlikely, but even so, his answer was agitated, distant, and cold. “I do not know.”
Thalon pivoted to Aiden, then Garrik. “What was their intention?”
“ I don’t fucking know !” Smokeshadows burst from his shoulders at the words. Misting into the air around them until they disappeared like a cloud in the wind.
Thalon turned to the soldiers slowly backing away, and ordered, “Get His Highness water.” Indicating to both of them before they bowed and rushed away. Thalon’s head swept back to Garrik with eyes of understanding while Garrik’s rippled with gratitude. He knew what Thalon was doing. Removing his soldiers in the likely event he was overcome again.
Amber eyes widened with a face that blanched. They had forgotten that Deimon remained ten steps back and waited in front of Garrik’s tent. Deimon’s throat bobbed as he dipped his chin to his chest, remaining silent.
The fear of the young soldier was enough to settle another ice shard ripping through Garrik’s veins. He relaxed his body and took another breath, saying, “It is alright, Deimon. You did your duty to protect this camp.” And meant it. His anger was not reserved for his Dragons. There was no fault within them. Only Garrik knew Alora by her scent alone. He would know her deaf and blind. His Dragons were merely doing their duty as was expected of them.
Deimon’s head snapped up, eyes darting from their High Prince to Thalon and Aiden before a look of caution crossed his features and he genuinely asked, “Is she?—”
“Being tended to. You may go.” The mere mention of Alora made the blood in Garrik’s veins burn once more. He watched as Deimon dipped at his waist, his incredible wings catching the sunlight, and tossed Thalon a large leather bag, then walked from the Shadow Order’s firesite.
Thalon offered the leather bag to Garrik and gripped the winged pommel of his sword at his side. “We located the Raven’s camp.” Chin gesturing toward the bag Garrik was opening.
That blaring need to shatter the world returned when he saw the contents inside. Garrik glanced over his shoulder, feeling the pull to step inside Alora’s tent. Feeling the pride at what he had seen her do at that camp inside her mind. At this gloriously delicious vengeance waiting in his hand.
He closed his eyes. Searching. Asking. Waiting. Until the gaze of green eyes inside the tent opened as if they were his own, and he saw Alora on the bed under Jade’s careful watch. That steady rise and fall of her chest was there, and his knees almost buckled and fell to the dirt.
Breathing.
Alora was breathing.
And a breath-taking, porcelain glow had replaced that sheen of death on her skin.
She’ll live, Garrik. Jade’s voice filled his mind. Now go kill the fuckers who did this.
Then silver surrendered to blackened oblivion as he left Jade’s mind and speared Thalon with his gaze, wasting no time to form Smokeshadow wings on his back, and thundered, “ Where ?”