“Orán.”
“Yes,” I murmur, tightening my hold. “I’m here, Eliora.”
“Ah—” A strained breath. “It burns… hurts.”
“Tell me where. What hurts?”
“Everything. Everywhere. I need?—”
The words cut off.
A surge of power—both familiar and not—presses hard against my own.
My head snaps toward the window.
It’s here.
Moving through the woods.
Coming toward the house.
“Heaven’s damn gate…”
I brush her hair back from her face. She draws her legs up, curling in on herself, holding them tight.
Something catches my eye.
I shift her slightly in my arms and look closer, studying the glow beneath the collar of her nightgown—between the curve of her breast.
One of her sigils.
It burns bright. Red. Pulsing with a lustrous, living light. Not just the glow of the heavy red moon pouring through the curtains. This is magic at work, and the skin around it is hot to the touch as if it’s working magic over her and heating her from the inside out.
“What is this marking, Eliora? What does it do?”
She doesn’t answer.
I ask again.
Reaching beside the bed, I grab the cloth I soaked earlier and press the cool fabric to her forehead, trying to draw her back, to ground her.
“Eridessa… the red mark. What does it mean?”
Her lashes flutter. Her head shifts, lifting just enough to brush her lips against my neck as she whispers, her voice faint.
“Red X… wrong… not sup— not supposed to do this…”
“Red X?”
“Yes.”
“The book?”
She nods.
“Can you tell me?”
But she slips back into herself, unresponsive.
