Shadow Wings (The Darkest Drae Book 2)(27)

The wound was still there but much smaller and no longer a hole all the way through him. The lesion still oozed blood but at a much slower pace.

I could barely keep my eyes open, and the thought of willing anything seemed insurmountable. But he wasn’t even conscious, and he was still bleeding. My mind raced for another option. I discarded trying more tears on the wound because there was something stronger . . . King Irdelron drank Phaetyn blood from his golden vial.

I picked up a stone, breaking the brittle shard so one side had a sharp edge. I sliced the rock through the meat of my palm and stared as blue-tinged blood dripped out. I pushed the gash to his chest, mixing our blood. His confidence that I couldn’t hurt him better be right. I waited, staring at the wound, hoping for a miracle. Was he getting better? The wound seemed smaller. I looked at my palm and swore. My palm had healed; Tyrrik had not.

I cut my palm deeper this time, squeezing the blood into his wound. My heart pounded in my ears as my blood oozed, and I dripped it into the deep erosion. I wiped at his blood with the bottom edge of my aketon, trying to see if anything was helping. I sobbed as the width and depth of the lesion waned. The tissue fused, the terrible, punctured injury melding together.

I swallowed the lump at the back of my throat. Tyrrik was still out of it, and he’d lost so much blood. How much blood could a Drae lose and still live?

I didn’t stop until Tyrrik’s skin had knit together into a pale line. I sagged against him, head pounding, vision blurry. Wavering, I lay my head on his chest, concentrating, and hiccupped again when I heard his heartbeat. The rate was steady but slow. His respirations weren’t wet anymore, and although they were slow, his breaths were deeper.

My lips trembled, and I heaved a sigh. Not dead. I closed my eyes and whispered, “Please be okay.”





12





The sky was dark and the air crisp when I awoke. Our twin moons provided the only light, hugging high in the blackness. My body was stiff and achy, and my disorientation disappeared as soon as Tyrrik shifted beside me.

He groaned, and I sat bolt upright.

“Drak,” I mumbled, shaking off the lingering fogginess. I ran my hands over his now perfectly smooth chest, assuring myself his wound hadn’t opened again. “Tyrrik,” I said in a tight voice. “You’re al’right?”

He chuckled wearily, a low throaty sound of warm embers. “Just weak. Are you okay, Khosana?”

A tear slipped from my eye, emotions breaking away from my control. “You’re worried about me? I nearly killed you.”

His eyes found mine, slightly unfocused. “You’ve been Drae less than three days; the fault was mine. I should’ve been clearer. You saved my life.”

I sniffed, nodding my head, my chest heaving. “I thought you were dying.”

Smiling, he tugged on my hand, and I let him pull me down. Resting my head on his chest, shoulders still shaking, I listened to the steady thumping of his heart as I absorbed what he’d said. “What happened to the rocks here? Why are they covered in Phaetyn blood?”

“Maybe it’s how the Phaetyn protect their forest.” Tyrrik ran his hand over my hair, trailing his fingers down my back.

Welcome to Zivost forest.

Tyrrik’s touch was a major breach in our boundaries, but I was too tired to care. In fact, if I was honest, I craved reassurance right now. “You really would’ve died?”

His face was painted with gore, but when he smiled, my heart lifted.

“I was dying, Ryn. You saved me.”

I harrumphed and patted his chest through his torn and bloody aketon. With a deep breath, I sat up and said, “I figured I owed you.”

“How are you feeling?” Tyrrik asked, sitting and wincing with the movement.

I grimaced, watching him. I hadn’t almost died, so I had no idea why he was asking me. “Al’right. How are you?”

He smiled sardonically. “About how you’d expect. I’ll not be much help today I’m afraid.” Tyrrik shifted on the shale, the rocks rubbing against each other, and winced again. “I need to stand up; my ass is numb.”

I held my hand up to stop him from saying anything else. “I did not need to know that.” I stood, stretching more, and my muscles loosened. “I’m guessing I’m not getting steak today.” I pointed at the woods on the other side of the rock wall. “How do we get into the forest?”

Tyrrik watched me with hooded eyes. “I’m not sure. Will you help me up?”

His words were a punch to my gut, and I spun to face him. “You can’t stand?”

One glance at his stained and torn tunic, his still pale skin underneath, and his trembling hands told me he really wasn’t healed. “Didn’t I heal you?” I thought of our kiss and brought my fingers to my lips. Blushing, I wondered if he knew how I’d healed him. “Did it not work?”

He tilted his head and raised his eyebrows. “No, you did more than I could’ve imagined possible.” He frowned. “Truly.”

I helped him stand and, less than a minute later, helped him sit back down because he was too weak to maintain standing.

Tyrrik scrubbed at his face and dropped his head in his hands.

“What do you need?” I asked. Guilt churned in my gut, making me nauseated, and the hollowness in my chest was an ache I deserved. I’d almost killed him.