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He needed to retract his wings. They were beyond saving, and the heavy pull of them prevented him from rising.
But gods, he was so weak, so tired. He couldn’t summon the energy to shift forms. When Typhon had taken over, he’d expended everything. Only when Apollo had struck him did Evander finally return to his own body, and by that point, it was too late. He could do nothing but allow his wounds to bleed, to watch as his body slowly decayed.
Mona sobbed again—a ragged, desperate sound.
Evander’s breathing turned sharp. He could do this. For her. For her, he would find the strength to rise, to go to her side, to give her everything he had left. Even if it was only a modicum of his former strength and power, he would give it to her.
Fire burned in his veins as he sat up. The rips in his wings widened, oozing fresh blood with each movement.
Typhon, he thought. Typhon, I need you. Please.
Silence.
He didn’t allow himself to think it, to even consider the possibility that Typhon was dead. But down to his soul, he already knew.
A creature like Typhon could not survive a realm like this.
And Typhon was a part of Evander. The two were united as one. If Typhon died, so would Evander.
He had moments left. He couldn’t waste those precious moments.
With a roar of pain, he drew forward, staggering to his feet. Blinding white light burned against his eyes, threatening to take him.
But no. He wasn’t ready yet. He needed to find her.
“Mona,” he rasped. Just speaking her name brought him a burst of strength. “Mona!” he shouted.
The shaking sobs stuttered in response.
Blinking through the hazy fog clouding his vision, Evander stumbled forward, following her flowery scent. Slowly, the shapes around him came into focus, and he faltered, his mouth falling open.
A dome of tree branches and shrubs surrounded the ballroom, blocking out the dark storm of Pandora’s powers. Figures darted back and forth, some screaming, some shouting orders. Some had collapsed to their knees, sobbing on the floor.
And standing a few paces from him, her body stiff and unmoving, was Mona.
Evander moved toward her, his broken wings dragging behind him, threatening to pull him down. Hot blood ran in rivulets down his arms and back. At long last, he reached her, taking her hand in his. As he faced her, he took in the despair etched into her face, the tears streaming down her cheeks. Anger and frustration welled in her eyes.
“Mona,” he whispered, cupping her chin. “What’s happening?” His gaze roamed over her body. “Are you hurt?” He didn’t see any immediate injuries, but in a realm full of gods, anything was possible.
Mona said nothing. She gritted her teeth, her nostrils flaring. Her lips moved as if she wanted to speak, but no words came out.
Evander shook his head in confusion. Was his pain so severe that he was hallucinating? Was she actually speaking, and he just couldn’t hear it?
“Can you speak?” he asked.
Her eyes closed, and more tears fell. He interpreted that as a no.
“Did one of the gods do this to you?”
Her eyes opened again, and fresh fury burned in her gaze.
Yes. A god did this to her, and she was enraged. Evander’s blood boiled in equal anger as his claws itched to slash at whoever had attacked her.
“Are you hurt?”
Her eyes closed again.
Evander frowned, not understanding. So, a god had done this to her, but left her unharmed? Why?
