Page 124 of Awakened Ash and Alchemy

Yet, she had become the tangle of thread that wove through his heart that had covered him with warmth like a blanket wallpapering the soul. And it was that emotion he pushed through to her, not his calming magick or the Claiming. It wasn’t honeyed words of promises or a love letter that had no ending. This was an emotion rooted and recognized by his soul, that if loving her broke all the rules, so be it, because he’d be damned if he’d ever let her go.

“Angela, I am here. I need you to wake up and see me.” For she was the only one who truly saw him for who he was.

Even in the middle of the storm came the silence, as if the eye cocooned them from the rest of the world.

Finally, her lips moved. “Zarek?” she whispered in a dreamy voice, as if somewhere else, but she was so cold, trembling from the aftermath of fear.

“I’m here, Min Unna-lys.” The words came from somewhere more ancient than the language of the staves carved into his armor, but it held all the power of what she meant to him.

He held her close to his chest, wrapping his arms around her, and just like the dragon he’d once fought, raw and untamed, he cocooned her in his arms, letting his own power warm her. “I’ve got you, my Unna-lys. You are safe. You’ll always be safe with me.” And he would fight for that, for her, with every heartbeat he had left, sheltering her against the vortex that howled around them. The debris flew in waves of weapons, each circling piece desperate to impale itself on something or someone.

He let his flames swell to create a protective dome of fire. Gritting his teeth, he let it push outward the way he’d done in battle against the vortex. But this was no flame; it was pure, white-hot power.

There was a flash.

And then the vortex died.

Abruptly, the wind dropped, the electricity vanished, and the churning darkness at the edges of the room simply ceased. The debris fell like a curtain, allowing the light from outside to highlight the carnage of the room filled with a silence so complete it rang.

Angela’s eyes opened. One blue, one green, so bright and beautifully clear.

She looked at him—really looked, the way she sometimes did when she’d stopped arguing long enough to actually see—and her face crumpled.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t. I don’t know what—”

“Hey.” He held her to his chest.

Her hands fisted into his leathers as the sobs came.

He held her closer, and sent the calming magick to weave through her body, that her breathing slowed, and the trembling eased.

Only then did he exhale.

When she’d quieted, he brushed the tears from her face with his thumb. “You’re okay.”

“Yes.” She gave a watery half-smile. “Thanks to you.”

“I shouldn’t have left.”

“You’re here now.” She held on to him a little tighter.

Only to blink, as her hand slid over the chest plate of his leather armor, then over his sternum. “Zarek.” Her fingers spread flat, searching as her brows lifted with surprise. “Your staves.”

He looked down at his armor.

The leather was smooth.

Not burned or damaged. Just… smooth. It was as if every rune, and every stave and protective ward that he’d spent countless house etching into his armor, all those centuries refining them, to keep the world safe from what lived inside him—were all gone.

Across the room, Martar stood still with a look on his face that said it all.

They knew what those staves had been created for.

It had to be the Claiming.

Zarek waited for the fear of what he’d done, what he’d become, that lack of control and danger he could pose to others.