Great goddess. That worked?A laugh tore loose, half-strangled, half-sob.
Sprawled on the cold floor, smoke still rising from her scorched jacket, she could feel herself drifting. Her body was useless, numb and trembling, but Margo was breathing. Heart still beating.
Aeren’s hand closed around hers, warm and solid. “We got him.”
She tried to focus, but the room tilted, edges smearing like wet paint sliding down glass.
The outer door creaked open.
“That was fast.” Aeren’s voice.
Light flared—green, bright as broken glass, clear enough to sting her eyes even through the blur. Not light. Hair. That exact impossible shade of green she knew by heart, catching every flicker of candlelight like it had a will of its own.
Footsteps followed, heavy and deliberate. Boots. Leather boots, scuffed and worn, trailing dirt and blood across the floor.
Her heart stuttered, trying to catch up, trying to understand why he was here, why every piece of him still hit her senses like a hammer. The boots stopped as her vision went dark and blurry.
“Emmaline?”
His voice, deep and rough, dragged her back like a hook in her chest.
She tried to lift her head, to find his face, to sayI’m sorry. But nothing worked. Her body wouldn’t move. Her mouth wouldn’t form the words.
The green blurred into black as the floor swallowed her whole.
Chapter thirty-one
Soundreachedherfirst—lowvoices, half-heard through the haze in her skull.
“We have to wait for her.”
“We don’t know how long she’ll be out.”
“Won’t be long. She got extremely lucky.”
The voices echoed, bouncing off stone. Cold seeped into her back, a dull ache radiating from her spine and ribs. The cellar. They were back in the cellar.
She ran her tongue over her teeth, expecting jagged edges and the copper tang of blood. Nothing. Her teeth were whole, her mouth clean. Had she imagined the whole thing? Her fingers flexed against something warm. A hand—bigger than any of her friends’, rough with calluses worn deep into the skin. Not Ursula. Not Aeren.
Her eyelids dragged open, still heavy, still fighting her. Something coarse and damp smeared across her face, the warm scent of fur and earth filling her nose as a massive tongue swiped up her cheek.
“Ahhh! Gross.” She tried to lift her arm to shove it away, but her muscles only gave a feeble wiggle.
Heat followed every pass, sinking through her skin, into the muscle beneath, like warm water soaking into frozen earth. The throbbing in her jaw eased first, then the tightness along her ribs, her bodyknitting itself back together under the Corgi’s patient, methodical attention.
“Stay still. Your brain’s still scrambled,” Lara growled between licks, her tongue dragging over Emmaline’s cheek.
“Was it ever not scrambled?”
The answer came from the other side, unmistakable.
Deyric.Her whole body locked. Even the air felt heavier, harder to pull into her lungs.
She turned her head toward the voice, every movement stiff and stubborn, her neck protesting the stretch like rusted hinges grinding open. Her vision blurred, tears welling fast and hot. He wasn’t supposed to be here. She’d done everything to keep him out of this.
“Deyy…” Her tongue still felt too thick, too numb, mangling his name into something broken and unfinished.
Her eyelids fluttered, and she saw him crouched next to where she lay on the ground, caught between shadow and lantern light. His face was half in profile, jaw set tight, but his eyes—when they found hers—held the weight of something broken but not gone, like a string pulled so thin it should’ve snapped, but somehow still held.
