AllFreeNovel
Share Us
She had never bled silver before. Her blood had always been red, like any other human’s. Her mouth fell open as she stared at her mother in confusion. “How?”
“It was part of the spell I put on you at birth,” Gaia said. “To hide you from Apollo. Only with your death can your goddess power be freed.”
A dozen emotions coursed through Prue from this revelation. Anger that her mother had done this to her. Shock that the power of a goddess now flowed through her veins. Apprehension at the prospect of handling such power.
“You must breathe your life magic into his soul,” Gaia instructed. “I cannot force it from you; it is something you must feel for yourself. Close your eyes and open the doors to your magic. It will call to him, as his power calls to you. Do not be afraid.”
Prue nodded, closing her eyes and searching within herself. She remembered Cyrus’s instructions when they were in Tartarus together—to use her goddess senses instead of her mortal ones. She blocked out the smells and sounds around her, instead searching within herself for that massive well of power that churned just below the surface. It was there, waiting for her.
“Open,” Gaia repeated. “You are tense, Prudence. Let it out. It will not hurt you.”
Prue licked her lips and took a shaky breath before forcing her body to relax. Only then did she realize how tight her limbs were. Her frame sagged, her back hunching as she exhaled, long and slow. Gold light burned from beneath her eyelids, and her eyes flew open. A glittering gold mist surrounded her, reminding her of the witchdust she was so accustomed to from her coven in Krenia.
“That is the breath of life,” Gaia said quietly. “Now, direct it toward Cyrus. He will recognize you and wake.”
Prue was going to ask how, but somehow, down to her very bones, she knew. Her eyes fixed on the shimmering light before her, and then she looked to Cyrus and willed that power into him. It felt like stretching an invisible arm toward him. Her magic swept over him, brushing delicately over his features like a soft caress. The touch stopped at his lips, gently prying them apart before the gold magic trickled into him. Color filled his face, and his eyes flew open.
They were not silver, but cerulean. Not quite as brilliant a blue as Gaia’s, but still luminous.
He sat up, gasping for breath. He pressed a hand to his chest, his brows furrowing in an expression she knew so well. And yet, it looked so different on him. This man was practically a stranger. Dark hair and pale skin, free of ink and tattoos.
Not a god at all. Not anymore.
“Cyrus?” Prue asked hesitantly.
His wide eyes fixed on hers, and his head reared back. She wasn’t sure what he was seeing—perhaps the gold light surrounding her, or perhaps he was merely shocked at seeing her alive.
But Gaia was right about one thing—he was not the same as before. Not just in appearance, but in blood. His entire scent was different. She could smell his perspiration, hear his rapidly beating heart, and even sense the mortal blood flowing through his veins.
He was human.
SHATTERED
EVANDER
A black storm surged around Evander, whipping at his face and burning his eyes. The wounds in his shredded wings throbbed, and he lay there, motionless on the cold floor, unable to move.
He was dying. He felt it in his bones. At long last, this realm was finally killing him.
Chaotic voices surrounded him, but he was too weak to lift his head, too weak to even care what was happening. In his heart, he knew Mona was safe. He’d heard her voice, defying Apollo. Defending him.
He had saved her. That was all that mattered.
Darkness crowded his vision, and he exhaled slowly, allowing it to overtake him. He could rest now.
Then one sound pierced through the haze of noises. A sound that had his eyes opening and his body going rigid with awareness.
A soft sob.
He shouldn’t have been able to hear it; not amidst the screams and cries of the people rushing about. But he knew that voice, that breath, better than he knew his own soul.
His head lifted, and fresh pain lanced through him. He moaned, his body quivering, agony pulsing through him in sickening waves. Gods, this was torture. He was going to die here. He was going to disintegrate on these marble floors.
There it was again. A shaking, shuddering gasp. A cry of despair.
Mona.
Grunting from the effort, Evander pushed up on his elbows. His torn wings dragged along the floor, weighing him down. But still he shifted, moving closer to that sound.
