Rise of the Gryphon (Belador #4)(76)

“Really?” Icy sarcasm dripped from his one-word question, but she heard fear beneath all of it. He was afraid for her. “You left a trail of blood that looks like a carotid artery’s been slashed, and you’re dragging your leg.” He lowered her to a bench outside the showers and slipped her boots off, then her socks, lifting one that dripped red, then tossing it aside. The coppery smell of fresh blood soaked the air.

He ripped her jeans apart with his bare hands, removing the denim in pieces.

She fumbled with the ragged shirt, trying to drag it over her head before the blood dried to her back. Storm took over, lifting it gently even though he was so tense that lightning should be popping all around them. He tossed the bloody shirt over with her socks. That left her in panties and a bra.

She had to get up and shower on her own. “I’ve got it from here.”

When he didn’t move, she said, “Please.”

Storm stood up and backed away, arms crossed and frustration pouring off him.

She could do this and would, just as soon as the room leveled itself out. Pushing up, she felt a moment of arrogant pride that she could stand on both legs. Then she took a step, and her gashed leg buckled.

Cursing, Storm caught her under the arms. “Your skin’s turning green. Probably a poison in your bloodstream.”

“Bathroom.” She barely got the word out before he swung her around and into the bathroom stall, where she unloaded her sour stomach.

Her head spun. She sat back against the wall.

Storm handed her a cup of water she used to rinse her mouth. Anything sent south would come right back up.

With that done, he helped her up until he could put his arm around her and walk her to the shower stall, where the water jets already gushed water.

Cold as ice.

She jerked at the shock to her hot skin.

“Easy.” Storm started speaking in the strange language she’d heard him use before.

Heat swirled inside her chest just above her breasts. She looked down at the emerald, a blurry green shape. The stone glowed a little, then got brighter the longer he chanted.

She could feel the venom receding.

Pausing briefly, he told her to use her Alterant beast to start healing herself, then kept chanting as he held her under the cold water. She managed it again, but this time took longer. Not an encouraging sign when she had to face off with an Alterant next.

Strength slowly returned to her arms and legs. Her shoulder stopped aching and her vision cleared. “Think I’m good now.”

“I’m not.” He turned her around and held her against him. He reached out and shut off the water, then his hand pressed her head to his chest. “Watching you fight is torture.”

She’d feel the same way if he had fought instead of her. “I understand and I appreciate what you did, but you can’t do that again.”

He eased her away, staring down at her. “What’re you talking about?”

She pulled free and stepped out of the stall, where she found a thick bath sheet to wrap around her. “When Sandspur was stuck.” She wiped her face and started drying her body. “You did something to hold him in place and weaken his tentacle.”

“No, I didn’t.”

Lowering the towel, she asked, “Who else would have . . .” Evalle figured it out at the same moment Storm said, “Lanna.” Was the girl trying to get killed? “That means she’s escaped her safe zone and is running around with her cloaking.”

Storm frowned, pondering on something. “If she broke free of the spell I used and intervened with Sandspur, that means she’s a hell of a lot more powerful than we realized. I should have realized that when she got past the Domjon.”

“But she possesses untrained energy, which means she’s still no match for that wizard Grendal. We have to find her before he does.”





TWENTY-SIX





Lanna snuck around the edge of a crowd gathered to watch security capture a witch who had given aid to her Alterant during a beast fight.

Two scary men dressed in warrior clothes similar to those worn by the guards outside the entrance rushed to grab a young witch with long white hair.

Her gold mask hid all her face except her mouth and chin.

“Let go of me.” The witch yanked her body back and forth.

Another guard walked up in front of her with his hand out.

Dame Lynn’s translucent head appeared on his palm. “Imogenia of the Carretta Coven, you were observed aiding your fighter—”

“I didn’t do anything,” Imogenia cried out, struggling against the powerful guards, whose grips did not budge.

“—and will forfeit said fighter, plus face sanction for your transgression.”

“How can you eject me when my fighter didn’t even win?”

Lanna agreed with Imogenia, whose fighter had shifted from a skinny young man to an Alterant beast large enough to battle a were-bear, but then had run in fear. The witch lied about causing the were-bear to trip, but she told the truth about losing.

Her Alterant had rolled into a ball and begged for relief.

Imogenia’s eyes narrowed to tiny slits inside the holes of her mask. “I demand to see Kol.”

Dame Lynn merely said, “If you insist.”

Fine hairs along Lanna’s neck lifted at something unsaid in Dame Lynn’s pleasant tone.