Page 103 of The Dragon and the Dove

She didn’t respond. She was too busy unbuttoning Paola’s shirt.

‘Seraphine,’ he said, bristling.

‘I’m not letting her die, Ransom. Not like this. Not for me.’

‘You don’t know what it will do to you.’ His voice was strained, his concern selfish. His regard for Paola’s life paled in comparison to his fear for Sera’s, and he had almost lost her once this week. They were barely beyond Bellevue and she was running headlong into more danger.

After making Val, Sera had been a ghost of herself. Though she refused to admit it, the ritual had taken something vital from her. She had suffered for it. She was suffering still. And worse than that, she didn’t seem to care.

Fear bloomed into shadow, anxiety making him pace back and forth. ‘Sera.’

‘Shh.’ In the quiet of the barn, her stubbornness prevailed. Short of physically tearing her away from Paola’s body, he couldn’t stop her. It was not his choice, his risk to take. He could only watch in silent trepidation as the woman he loved poured her magic into another Versini.

For a long time, Seraphine was still, her hair falling like a curtain between them. Her nightgown was scuffed with dirt, the sleeves stained with Paola’s blood, her feet cut and bruised underneath her. His fingers itched to mend her, to take her away from this godawful place.

Outside, a thicket of clouds moved in front of the sun, and a cold wind rippled up his back. More shadows plumed, inking the outer walls of the barn and kissing the beams within.

He closed his eyes, listening to the soft hitch of her breath in the silence. She was trembling now, her head lolling back and forth.

He crushed his hands into fists, fighting the urge to go to her, to break the chain that now bound her to Paola. Sunlight streamed from her hand, gilding Paola’s chest. It rose as her breath returned, growing strong and even.

A groan seeped through Sera’s teeth.

He ran to her.

When she slumped to the side, he gathered her into his lap and pulled her close, bending his head to track the rhythm of her breath. It held steady, her pulse thrumming beneath his fingers.

He could do no more than that.

And so he waited.

Paola woke first. She gave a wet cough and her eyes flew open.

She frowned up at the shadowy beams. ‘Am I dead?’

‘Do you feel dead?’

She rolled her head around to look at him. ‘If you’re here, then we must be in hell.’ She coughed again, wiping the old blood from her mouth. ‘No offence.’

‘Your eyes are gold.’ They widened at his words. ‘You survived. And then some.’

Her hands flew to her face, prodding at her cheeks, like she could feel the heat beneath, the unknowable magic that now swam like a minnow through her blood. She sat up, tracing the handprint on her chest. Her eyes glazed, and Ransom knew she was hearing that voice within. The call of her own magic. ‘Holy shit.’

The air grew close, a strange humidity gathering between them.

‘You were dying,’ he told her. ‘This was the only way to save you.’

She swallowed thickly, rubbing her chest. ‘Thank you.’

‘I was against it,’ he admitted.

Her gaze dropped to Sera, still cradled in his arms. ‘Is she all right?’

‘She’s exhausted.’

Paola stood and stretched her arms out, working the crick from her neck.

‘And you?’ he asked, warily. ‘What do you feel?’