The Wicked (Elder Races #5.5)(28)

He had so much to say to her, words upon words that piled up in his chest.

How tired he had become of everything in his life. How much he was looking forward to giving up the constant travel, and how he was looking forward to the adventure of learning what it meant to have a home life. To have a real home with someone who relished nesting, and who could teach him all the best ways to enjoy it. And how much he was looking forward to taking her traveling from time to time, and relearning how to love the experience of new things through her wonder and delight.

They could find an ideal balance between both lifestyles, living not one or the other, but a little bit of both. He knew it.

He knew it.

The conviction renewed his determination to find a way to break the curse. Everything he could possibly want was just within his grasp, and he refused to relinquish any of it.

He could live blind with her, if he had to. When they talked alone, she broached the subject constantly with kindness, pragmatism and optimism, until gradually she convinced him of it.

She had read articles about a blinded avian Wyr who took regular flights with her companion avian Wyr, her mate, who flew along with her. They coasted thermals together for hours. When it came time to end the flight, he would come up underneath his mate in midflight. Then she could grab hold of him and he would bring them both safely down to the ground.

“All we would need to do is find you a seeing-eye Wyr,” Olivia said, her head on his chest. “Not that it will come to that.”

He pressed his lips to her forehead and didn’t reply, because they both knew if he was going to continue flying that it might.

In the meantime, when she was working, he flew every chance he could. The others didn’t mind his absence. The security team’s duties were light while the symbologists packed the library, and in any case, they cared about him enough to stay silent.

He relished the warmth of the sun on his wings as he circled around their end of the island. Often he closed his eyes as he rode thermals and imagined that other mated pair of avian Wyr.

He did so now, drifting through the air almost drowsily.

The job of packing would be finished in another week, then everybody would be busy transporting the containers across the passageway. By the time they were finished, reports from all his research teams would be waiting for him on the yacht.

If they had not found anything that could help him, he would consult with the Oracle right away. He did not expect that the teams would have found anything to contradict what Carling had already told him.

Tonight, he decided, he would ask Olivia if she would travel to Florida with him when he petitioned the Oracle.

Something flared against his magic sense from below, a hot, bright explosion from a Power that had become almost as familiar to him as his own.

Help.

His eyes snapped open. Olivia.

As quickly as the explosion had flared, it faded again.

He wheeled, folded his wings and hurtled down toward the cottage. On his dives he could reach speeds up to a hundred miles an hour. It didn’t feel fast enough.

As he approached, he saw Bailey racing toward the cottage. Derrick followed close behind, and so did Tony. Just before he landed, he pulled up to coast a few feet above the ground. Shifting in midflight from an owl to a man at a dead run, he reached the cottage first.

The door was open. He lunged inside, and immediately had to skid to a stop. Olivia sprawled on the floor, her T-shirt soaked in ruby liquid. Stunned, he dropped to his knees beside her. There was so much blood. She lay in a pool of it. One of her arms lay stretched out, her hand cupped over a glyph of fading Power. She had drawn it in her own blood.

Panic seized him in razor sharp talons. He tore her T-shirt open as he roared, “Derrick!”

Bailey slammed through the doorway. “He’s coming.” She hitched momentarily as she took in the scene. “Oh f**k.” Then she ricocheted off the wall to tear through the rest of the cottage.

Just underneath the lacy pink bra Sebastian had watched Olivia put on only a few hours ago, a thin, narrow puncture marred her creamy skin. It seeped a steady trickle of blood. Holy gods, that looked like a knife wound. His hands shook as he tore off his shirt and wadded the soft cotton material to apply pressure to it. He felt rather than heard a soft exhalation from her.

There was a faint glimmer underneath her eyelids. She said telepathically, Steve. He hurt Dendera.

“Never mind that now,” he said hoarsely.

Derrick raced in, took in the scene and dropped to his knees on the other side of Olivia. “Hi, Olivia,” the Elf said, his voice strong and calm. “You’re going to be all right. Do you hear me? Everything is going to be all right.”

Sebastian had seen Derrick reassure injured people a thousand times, on any number of expeditions. It wasn’t always the truth. Many had died, comforted by the healer’s calm confidence.

Bailey strode back into the workroom just as Tony appeared in the doorway. Bailey’s expression had turned harsh and dangerous. She said, “Dendera’s dead. She was stabbed in the throat.”

Sebastian snapped. “Find Steve. Don’t kill him.”

“Right,” said Tony. He and Bailey disappeared again.

Derrick nudged Sebastian’s hands out of the way, scanned Olivia’s wound and began to cast a series of spells. “Hang in there, honey,” the Elf said. “We’ve got you now.”