Shadow Wings (The Darkest Drae Book 2)(13)

My vision blurred, bright blue-and-green colors shattered and splintered amidst the darkness swirling around us. My body seized, and the pressure built inside me. I tipped my head back against Tyrrik’s shoulder and screamed through my raw throat as the pressure exploded. Pain overwhelmed me, and the darkness coiled and wound unabated around my body. Blue tendrils unfurled, expanding as the ache deep within my bones flared.

Tyrrik’s shouted cursing was the only sound surrounding me as he pulled me from where I sat. But I never hit the ground. Instead, I floated high above, staring up at the silky night with unblinking eyes.

Night had fallen.





6





I groaned. Every single part of me ached, and I wondered why my Phaetyn powers hadn’t healed me. Rolling onto my back, I hissed in pain and tried to heave myself back on my side. Large warm hands helped me turn, and I forced my eyelids apart. A distant part of me couldn’t believe I’d managed to drift off—though it was more likely I’d passed out from exhaustion at some point during the night.

Tyrrik scooped his arm under my shoulders and lifted me upright until I was sitting. My head swam, and I clutched the neck of his aketon to steady myself. “Dizzy.”

He held still until I nodded then reached behind me to grab something. The sweet smell of nectar floated to me as the Drae held a goblet to my lips.

“Thanks,” I rasped. I took a long draught, and the nectar soothed the ragged edges of pain from the inside of my throat. But as soon as Tyrrik withdrew the chalice, I stammered, “M-more.”

He obliged, filling the shiny stemware and giving it back to me. I took another long drink, although this one was more to avoid talking about what happened last night. That Tyrrik saw me as a screaming, blubbering, contorting mess deeply embarrassed me. I was inordinately grateful that he had been here. He’d said I’d need help, and as I thought of the hourly baths he’d given me in the pool of nectar and the words of encouragement through the night, I no longer doubted this fact.

His dark hair was disheveled, and his cheeks and chin dusted with a day’s worth of growth. Darkness clung to him, like wisps of spider’s webs, his black aketon was rumpled, and he offered a wan smile.

“You look as bad as I feel,” I said, breaking the silence. The black threads seemed to be emanating from within him, and when I blinked, they faded. Even my eyes were exhausted.

He huffed, a mannerism that would look less odd in his Drae form. “It is not easy to watch someone go through that,” he said. “I have never cared for another Drae during their transformation before.”

“You did a stellar job,” I mumbled. My pitiful gratitude was lost as the buzz of languid fatigue spread through me, and I closed my eyes and leaned into him. I could probably sleep for a week.

“Your transformation seemed worse than I remembered.”

“Because I’m part Phaetyn, do you think?” I asked, my eyes opening a crack before floating closed. “It was pretty horrible.” And didn’t compare to the torture sessions with Jotun; this pain had a reward at the end—it wasn’t meaningless pain meant to break me but pain resulting from something I hoped would make me stronger. A thrill of excitement vibrated through my chest and out to my extremities. I could feel the new strength in my fingers, in my body, even as weary as I was. Aside from that, I seemed pretty much the same as I’d been, though this was coupled by a knowledge that my skin would be impenetrable to weapons, even those dipped in Phaetyn blood—or so I assumed. I blinked my eyes open again, and testing my sense of smell, I inhaled deeply . . .

And stiffened.

My mouth watered, and I slapped a hand over my lips before any of my saliva spilled out. My cheeks heated, and I dropped my gaze and yelped when I saw thread-like energy in vibrant blue and green coming from my core. I blinked again, and the wisps of color disappeared, but the captivating scent did not.

“What is it?” Tyrrik rumbled beside me, his breath washing over me.

What is it? I swallowed. Tyrrik smelled freaking incredible is what. I took another deep breath and let the scent wash over me. Like pine needles and smoke and leather. Slap me with a pancake and call me a potato! I could exist on that smell alone. I loved it so much I could roll around in it, lick it up like syrup, I could . . . I blinked through the sudden fog of desire surrounding me. “N-nothing?”

“Ryn,” Tyrrik said through clenched teeth, backing away from me. “You need to rein it in.” His nostrils flared.

Horror flooded me, and I hastened to make sure we weren’t touching, but it appeared as though the Drae was merely smelling . . . me. Playing dumb, I asked, “Rein what in?”

My feigned ignorance disappeared when I turned to face Tyrrik, and I gasped in awe. For well over a week, he’d been flashing a vibrant blue color underneath the onyx black of his scales, but I now saw it as though for the first time through my new and improved Drae eyes. The wispy strands of darkness around him had threads of blue, and his scales pulsated with lapis lazuli. My gaze zoomed in and focused on the sight, and I crawled closer to him on all fours. Kneeling in front of him, I reached out in a daze. I brushed my fingertips across his exposed collarbone, touching his scales.

“They’re beautiful,” I breathed.

He puffed out his chest, and his shuddering lessened.

Why was he puffing up like that? I inhaled again and—what would my mother say—swayed on the spot. My heart pounded, and my breaths became shallow as I leaned toward him. The desire to close the distance was a magnetic force, and I remembered how his kisses tasted like nectar. “Tyrrik,” I whispered. I shook my head, trying to clear the fog. “What is going on?”