Page 321 of House Ignis

Beside him, Zya’s presence was a sharp, cold spike of protective fury, her usual composure shattered by the scent of my blood filling the air.

"Fuck me," I ground out through gritted teeth, my head falling back against Asher's shoulder as the gash on my thigh pulsed with a hot, rhythmic agony.

Asher looked down at me, his face a terrifying map of shadows, grime, and my own crimson blood. Despite the carnage, a wicked, predatory grin slashed across his lips. "I will, darling. Trust me."

He reached the primary healer's tent and kicked the flap aside, the shadows at his feet flaring out to shove anyone in his way. He lowered me onto a medical cot with a gentleness that didn't match the lethal light in his eyes.

"Stitch her. Now," he commanded, his voice a low, vibrating threat.

As the healers swarmed in, their hands glowing with pale blue mana, I saw Ember and Ezra stumbling into the tent. They looked like they’d crawled out of a sewer, drenched in a foul, brownish liquid that smelled like stagnant rot.

"Yeah, fuck... I smell like an earth troll," Ezra murmured, wiping a smear of the sludge from his forehead, his eyes wide as he took in the state of my leg.

Then, Zaria and Maddy appeared, weaving through the chaos. They were already in clean, normal clothes, their hair damp from the baths. They looked normal again, while I felt like a monster.

"Oh my gosh, Ava!" Maddy gasped, her eyes dropping to the jagged ruin of my thigh.

"You guys got eliminated?" I seethed, the pain making my voice sharp as the first magical needle pierced my skin.

“Yeah, fucking Jeremy and Sienna,” Zaria spat, her jaw tightening with a cold, simmering rage.

It was clear she and her cousin were officially done after what happened in the Earth Realm. "But really, we're just glad we made it this far and got to shower off all that fucking grime."

"Lucky you," I groaned, my blood boiling at the mention of Jeremy.

A sharp, silver needle of magical energy threaded through the deep tissue of my gash, and I couldn't help it—I screamed. It was a raw, jagged sound that cut through the noise of the tent.

Asher was back at my side in a heartbeat, his hands clenching into fists as his shadows began to crawl up the legs of the medical cot. He leveled a look at the lead healer that made the man's hands visibly shake.

"I'm fine," I gasped, reaching out to pat his arm with a trembling hand, trying to ground him before he leveled the entire medical wing. "I'm fine, Asher. It's just... a lot."

The head nurse didn't look up, her expression grim as she knotted a glowing thread of mana. “This will leave a scar, Princess. The Reaper's taint is too deep for a clean seal.”

Great. Another mark to remember this hell by. I looked at Asher, and despite the grime and the blood, I saw the way he was looking at me—like the scar just made me a more beautiful version of the warrior he loved.

Aether’s panic finally began to settle into a low, protective purr in the back of my mind, and for the first time since the Shadow Realm, I let myself breathe.

Asher let out a long, shuddering breath, the kind that sounded like he was finally purging the air of the Trials from his lungs.

"Don't ever fucking scare me like that again," he murmured against my hairline, his lips lingering in a firm, desperate kiss on my bloodied forehead.

Ember stepped up to my other side, her own face a mess of troll-grime, and took my hand with a squeeze that was far more tender than her voice. "Well, you ready for the Veylaith trials tomorrow?" she asked, her sarcasm a thin shield for the worry in her eyes.

"Gods, fuck no," I rasped.

Once the healers had cleared me—and after Asher had practically interrogated them to ensure I was truly stable—he didn't even give me the chance to stand.

He scooped me up, carrying me through the gawking crowds toward my dorm. It was completely unnecessary, and a part of me wanted to protest, but gods, I loved it anyway. I buried my face in his neck, breathing in the scent of him.

He carried me into the bathroom and set me down on the edge of the counter beside the sink.

His movements were clinical but fueled by a simmering intensity as he started peeling the ruined leathers from my body.

He reached for the zip at my nape and pulled it down. As the material fell away from my shoulders, he let out a low, jagged grunt.

"Gods, Ava," he seethed.

I twisted my head, looking into the mirror behind me. My breath hitched.