Roar (Stormheart #1)(102)
She whispered, “I’m sorry.” Then Roar thrust her own hand into the storm’s soul. For one moment, she felt only the soul’s shock and confusion and hurt, then its fire poured into her, burning her from the inside, tearing her apart. She screamed, and thought with every bit of strength she had, Surrender to me.
*
Locke woke in time to see Roar thrust her hand deep into the heart of the skyfire storm. Her head flew back, her mouth opened in a hoarse scream. Then the orb of power burst with a blinding flash of light. Roar remained standing, her head still back and her arms limp at her sides. It was by far the fastest he had ever seen someone take a Stormheart. And most hunters would have been blown back by the force of the dying heart. He had been knocked out for nearly a bell after he took his skyfire heart.
She swayed on her feet, and then her knees crumpled and she sank to the ground. He rushed toward her right as she released an awful, keening wail that made Locke fall to his knees beside her. She writhed and cried—great, gusting sobs that wrenched her whole body. He tried to touch her, to hold her, but she kicked and squirmed, falling on to her back with her eyes squeezed tightly shut.
“Roar?” He took hold of one wrist, holding on tight to keep her from breaking loose. “Listen to me, princess. Open your eyes. Tell me where it hurts.”
Her free hand tore at the harness crossing her chest. Quickly, he undid one of the straps, wondering if it felt too tight. More likely, it was her chest that hurt, reacting to lingering power from the storm she had destroyed. But when the harness slipped free, she clawed at the sleeveless shirt beneath it, pulling the neck down to bare her collarbone, followed by the curve of her breast. He froze, immediately intending to look away, but he couldn’t. Not even when her shirt tore, revealing more of her body.
Because her skin … glowed. Her chest, the area directly over her heart, flashed as if her veins were filled with light. That light pulsed, zigzagging beneath her skin like her heart had traded places with the storm she’d just taken and skyfire now beat within the cage of her ribs.
He had never seen a reaction like this before, not when he’d taken his first skyfire storm or when the other hunters had taken theirs. They had all been weak and bruised and aching from the inside out, sensations he felt keenly at the moment, but the only lasting effect had been the desire to sleep. And of course, the connection to a Stormheart that had given them new abilities. At that thought, he checked her hands and the surrounding earth, but found no stone. He searched wider, unwilling to go more than a step or two from her still-shuddering form. But there was nothing. No Stormheart. Unless …
He looked back at her chest, watched her nails scrape over the skin there, clawing as if she were trying to reach inside and pull something out.
No. It couldn’t be. That was impossible.
But it really did look like lightning streaking beneath her skin. Again and again, the light diverged from a center point, right where her heart should be, splitting into branches that stretched in every direction but faded before they traveled too far from her heart.
He had no clue what was happening. But he knew she was in terrible pain. Her beautiful face was twisted and scrunched, and her body heaved and jerked against the sand. Quickly, he bent and took hold of her squirming body. She pushed against him, but she was weak and tired. And with her in his arms, he ran. His legs ached and threatened to give out, but he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. He had to get her to Duke. Maybe his mentor had seen this before. Maybe he would recognize what was happening and be able to stop her pain before …
No. He couldn’t think about possible outcomes. He could not comprehend the possibility of life without her, though he feared he might not be given a choice. He gritted his teeth and ran harder. She slid into unconsciousness, her trembling body going still.
“No, no, no!” He pushed his legs faster until all the pain disappeared and only desperation remained.
The other hunters were gathered just outside the village’s wall; no doubt they had been on their way to fight the storm. He groaned with relief at the sight of them. His knees gave out moments before he reached their position, slamming hard into the dirt. He pitched forward, but did his best to keep Roar up until he could ease her onto the ground.
“DUKE!” he yelled, his voice swallowed by desperation. “Help her!”
The old man moved faster than Locke had seen him run in years. As soon as he was close, the whole story began rattling out of Locke’s mouth. He didn’t have all the pieces. He’d been unconscious for a time. But Duke didn’t even appear to be listening. As he knelt on Roar’s other side, the old man’s gaze was riveted to the skyfire flashes in her chest. Locke reached out, folding the torn pieces of her shirt to cover all but the upper half of the streaking lights.
“I had the storm,” Locke growled. “I had it. But she pushed me away. Why did she push me away?”
“To the point, boy! How did she get like this?”
“She touched the heart. She took it, faster than I’ve ever seen. She shoved her hand into the light, and it was so bright I had to look away. Then the storm was just gone and she was inconsolable, screaming in pain … like she was burning inside.”
Tentatively, Duke touched her skin where the light forked below it. His hand shook, as if he expected it to be hot. But it wasn’t. Locke knew. He’d touched it himself, and her skin felt normal. No cuts. No heat. No scars.