Page 22 of The Awakening of Essensia

Stolen the only person left who still felt like home.

They would pay for it.

Her palms seared, heat building beneath her skin. A throbbing hum filled her ears, drowning out the creature’s wet, rattling breaths. She clung to the rage, letting it rise and block out everything else.

Light answered her. It flared, blinding and hot. The thing inside Jon’s body hissed and reeled back, hands lifting to shield its eyes.

She didn’t hesitate.

She ran.

The stone from the cavern sat on her bedroom dresser, gleaming white like a fragment of moon. The pouch that had held it was nothing but scorched threads and ash, but the stone pulsed like it was alive, and somehow, she knew what to do.

She grabbed it and power screamed through her, into her hands, her lungs, her bones. She gasped, eyes going wide as the world blurred white and the humming became a roar inside her skull.

She spun, lifted her arm, and flung her hand towards the thing in the other room.

A violent pulse slammed through her body and her legs gave out. She crumpled to the floor as the light closed in, drowning out her vision and swallowing everything.

The last thing she saw was the cottage door swinging open, and beyond it, only darkness.

She woke to shouting. Someone gripped her shoulders, shaking hard. Her head throbbed with each jolt. Her muscles felt like molten iron, burning her from the inside. Yet she trembled, shivers racking her body as if she were standing atop a mountain.

She gasped and blinked against the blur of candlelight.

“Vaelira?” Captain Wren’s voice, tight with panic.

He crouched over her, glancing up as voices barked orders across the room. More than one.

“She’s awake!” he called into the other room.

Footsteps rushed in. A warm hand slid behind her back, easing her upright.

She winced, dizzy, the taste of something metallic on her tongue. She turned, expecting Commander Lysander. Instead, Eli knelt beside her, his dark eyes unwavering.

“Give her a moment,” he said to Wren. After a pause, Wren nodded and stepped out. Eli closed the door behind him. “Tell me everything,” he said.

Vaelira tried to sit up straight, but her arms gave way beneath her. She tipped and Eli caught her, slipping a hand around her and hauling her up with ease. He sat her on the edge of the bed, then remained kneeling in front of her. Even like this, he seemed to tower over her, so close that he consumed her vision.

“What happened?” he said, his hand going to his chest. He rubbed it gently then dropped his hand quickly, as if he hadn’t realised he was doing it.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she began slowly. “I was going to take a walk, but then Jon came home and…” she trailed off, trying to piece together the horrifying images that raced through her mind.

Jon stumbling into the house drunk. He’d said something.

Little Lira.

She sucked in a breath barely noticing as it pulled the stitches at her side. “That wasn’t Jon.” The air rushed from her lungs and her ribs broke apart, the last cracked pieces of her shattering entirely. She couldn’t breathe.

“What wasn’t Jon?” Eli said carefully. He gestured to her arm. “Did he do this to you?”

She gulped down another lungful of air, lifting her arm and cringing as sharp pain lanced into her wrist. Deep crimson coated her forearm, the blood already starting to dry.

“Vaelira?”

He said her name so softly, so gently, yet it struck her like a knife in her already broken heart.

“It was Jon,” she tried again, “but it wasn’t. Something was inside him. When he got home, he—he was already gone.” Her voice broke on the last word, but no tears came. She stared at the dip in Eli’s throat, watching as he swallowed hard.