Chapter 34
Thirty-Four
T he world lurched beneath Alaire as wind whipped around them. Every beat of mighty wings sent agony radiating through her ribs, yet the cool air soothed her burning skin.
She was flying.
“How much further to the castle?” Dawson called out.
The pounding wind dulled, as if it’d been drowned out.
“She’s losing blood fast,” Dawson said, voice tight with panic.
Blood . That explained the sticky warmth. A burn spread from her throat outward, liquid fire in her veins. Poison.
Memories came in blurs of teeth and steel. She fought the pull of pain, the call of Umbra to the underworld.
“We thought you were trapped in the cave. Alaire ran in, trying to rescue Solflara. It was a trap.”
A harsh intake of breath came from above her.
“Where were you?”
A cool hand brushed across her forehead. She leaned into the touch.
“Why would the bond cut us both off from each other?”
Feathers as soft as satin grazed her brow.
“Thank Lysia you tracked us. I don’t know what I’d do if you both weren’t here.”
She wanted to ask about Solflara, but the words wouldn’t come. Her throat felt raw, voice trapped somewhere beyond reach.
“She’s stable for now, Solflara,” Dawson assured.
A familiar indignant screech needed no translation.
“Yes, she was also incredibly reckless,” Dawson muttered. “But she saved me.”
Relief surged through her. Solflara was safe. Alive.
“I don’t know how the bloodravagers got past the perimeter wards.” A pause. “But I’ll find out.”
The familiar scent of frosted evergreen and salted wind wrapped around her.
She curled closer to Dawson.
“We’re almost there. Hold on, baby.” His words, raw with desperation, sounded as if he didn’t quite believe them himself.
Darkness consumed her again.
“What the fuck happened?”
“The Consortium is already interested in her. Cut the cord now while you still can.”
“Caius, I can’t ,” he bit out. “You know why.”
“I know. The Consortium will want a full report.”
Alaire surfaced slowly, recognizing the voices, though her eyes still wouldn’t obey. Caius and Dawson argued in hushed tones.
“A full pack of bloodravagers, Dawson. On academy grounds. That’s no accident,” Caius said.
“Keep your voice down.”
“She’s unconscious. And this affects all of us—if the Consortium thinks the academy’s been compromised?—”
“The perimeter was breached. That’s not her fault.”
“Isn’t it? Maybe someone wanted to send a message?”
A message?
“She risked her life to save mine, Caius.”
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”
“She’s selfish and reckless, but…”
Something tugged at her memory—an explosion of shadow, onyx snowflakes. They swirled and swirled in her vision.
A dull throbbing radiated from her neck outward through her body. Every limb felt like lead, heavy and resistant to movement. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been out. A calm, reassuring voice spoke to her.
She wanted to answer it.
Fighting the weight pressing down on her eyelids, she forced them open.
Light stabbed her skull like daggers. She groaned. The blinding white ceiling, filtered by daylight, stung her eyes.
Someone adjusted the brightness, softening it. She closed her eyes again, giving herself time. Slowly, the fog of unconsciousness began to lift. With it came a rush of memories: training with Dawson, their conversation by the campfire, the bloodravagers, her attack—and then only pain and darkness.
Once more, she opened her eyes, lids fluttering, blinking several times before her vision sharpened.
“Alaire, you’re awake.”
A spike of pain shot through her neck as she turned toward the voice. A familiar pair of almond eyes widened when their gazes met.
Relief whooshed from her chest. Kaia.
She fussed with her pillow. “You gave us a good scare,” Kaia said quietly. Each word felt like an icepick to her skull.
The sheets beneath her were damp with sweat, but they smelled faintly of lavender and rosemary. In the distance came the occasional clink of glass bottles and padded footsteps. The wards hummed overhead, aggravating the throbbing in her head.
“How did I get here?” she managed to croak.
“No one knows. Dawson told me you’d be back the next day from training. He flew you here on Beck’s back. Solflara threw a fit, apparently—burned down a cluster of trees. It was close, Al. If he hadn’t gotten here when he did…”
It was as bad as she suspected.
“ Solflara ?”
“ I’m here ,” she answered. Relief flooded the bond.
Alaire sank into the pillows. “ I’m fine ,” she said, though her sore body begged to differ.
“ Fine ? You call that fine ?” Solflara snapped. “ I tried using magic , but the poison burned through my stores faster than I could replenish them . It was too much . Luckily , the soulwardens had dealt with this kind of once before .” The phoenix sounded weary.
“ You and Beck are okay ?”
“ We’re fine . We both rushed to find you as soon as we realized something was wrong with the bond . But without it , we had to track you manually — it took far longer than it should’ve .”
“ Everyone’s okay , Solf . Don’t put that on yourselves . You couldn’t have known . No one could’ve .”
“ Next time , no wandering into dark caves . Not for me or anyone else .”
Despite the pain, Alaire’s lips twitched. “ Yeah , right .”
“ I mean it . And if you go unconscious again , I will have no issue burning your long locks to wake you up .”
“ There’s the Solf I know and love .”
Warmth flowed through the bond.
As she was about to ask more questions, a figure moved into her line of sight. A young woman in earth tones stepped closer, the robes giving her away as a soulwarden. She placed a gentle hand on Alaire’s forehead.
“How do you feel?” she asked, her soft voice soothing.
“Awful,” Alaire rasped, throat raw. Clearing it, she winced at the dryness. “Water?”
Kaia jumped up, reaching for a pitcher on a tray beside the bed. Cool liquid slid down Alaire’s parched throat.
“Easy now,” the soulwarden instructed as Kaia pulled the glass away. “You’ve been unconscious for nearly three days. Your body needs time to recover.”
Three days. Her mind reeled. She’d been out that long? She tried to recall what had happened, but everything after the final bite of the bloodravager scattered like sand in the wind.
“Dawson,” she blurted, her eyes wide. “Is he…”
“Fine,” the soulwarden assured her. “He brought you in himself, declined treatment for his wounds, and refused to leave your side until you were stable. Insisted you be attended to first. You’ve found yourself a devoted one.”
Solace washed over Alaire. She leaned back against the pillows, letting the tension ebb.
“You had several broken ribs and deep claw marks,” the soulwarden continued matter-of-factly.
“But it was the punctures on your neck that caused the most trouble. Fortunately, only a small amount of poison remained at the wound site. Had it spread, you wouldn’t have been so lucky.
Fortunately for you the poison of a lynk isn’t as potent. ”
A lynk?
Her fingers trailed up to her neck where the bloodravager had pierced her, the wound now hidden beneath gauze.
It wasn’t a lynk . She was certain. She’d never forget the stench or their red-rimmed yellow eyes.
Something didn’t add up. She could’ve sworn she’d felt her whole body engulfed in pain—the telltale signs of poison spreading.
Had she imagined it? She pressed a palm to her forehead, trying to steady the spinning.
“Thank you,” Alaire said, grateful. I’ll ask Dawson. The soulwarden must’ve mixed up the names. The last thing I need is for them to think I’m losing it.
“You’re welcome. Get some rest. Your body needs it.” She shot Kaia a pointed look, motioning her toward the door.
“Got it.” Kaia’s cool fingers brushed Alaire’s hair back. “I’ll be back after class with a brush and some updates. Archer sends his best, but they’d only let one of us in. Obviously, I won.” She winked.
Alaire gave her a half smile, eyelids heavy once more. As sleep claimed her, the haunting memory returned: Dawson’s lips against her wound… soothing her.
When she opened her eyes again, the sky was splashed with lilac and pink hues melting into fluorescent orange, bathing the room in brilliant, warm light.
“Good morning.”
Her head turned slowly toward the familiar voice, heart stalling.
Shafts of light illuminated the man leaning at the entrance of her cubicle.
Hands tucked in his pockets, ankles crossed—every inch of him composed except for the loose onyx strands escaping the tie at the back of his neck, framing the defined angles of his face.
His body was relaxed, but his eyes were tight with worry, shadows beneath them suggesting he hadn’t slept.
His gaze locked onto hers, dark and assessing, stripping her down layer by layer.
She should look away, but she couldn’t stop drinking him in, as if he were fresh water after crawling through the desert of Moonstone Beach.
Relief washed over her—undeniable and sharp—that he was here, unharmed.
A smirk tugged at his lips when he caught her staring.
Arrogant ass.
“You’re awake,” he murmured.
“Obviously.” Alaire couldn’t help slipping into their easy banter.
Dawson chuckled, shaking his head. “How’re you feeling?”
“Peachy. It’s always great fun feeling like your life source is being sucked right out of you.”
His brows drew together. “Are you still in pain?” He twisted back, looking for someone.
Alaire waved a hand. “No. I’m fine. Just sore.”
He crossed the room. With the tip of his index finger, he traced her brow. “That was close, Alaire. Too close.” His scent engulfed her, helping her muscles relax deeper into the bed.
The way he’s looking at me…
“You made callous decisions that almost cost you your life,” he lectured.
“To save your condescending ass. I didn’t hear a thank you.”
His expression softened. “Thank you.” He caught her hand, brushing the tender skin on the underside of her wrist. His thumb traced idle patterns that made her hum.