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Regan, I’m coming to you right now. Be ready.
Margetta’s not far.
He put on some speed.
As he moved, he brushed up against tree branches over and over, yet never once ran into anything. His path was true.
When he reached his destination, he could finally see the gray stone walls of the fortress right in front of him. Looking up, the mist still cloaked the higher reaches.
Ian!
He shouted telepathically, Levitate straight down. I know you can’t see anything, but I’m right below you.
I hope to hell you are.
Have faith, but keep pathing to me.
I’m jumping now. Ian, find me. Find me fast.
But he could feel her as if he was actually looking at her. He held out his arms and only during the last second of her leap, did he finally see her. She landed in his arms, and he caught her against his chest. I’ve got you.
She clasped him hard around the neck. Thank you.
We’ve got to get out of here. With nothing to home in on for the return trip, he rose high into the air above what had to be the forest canopy. He then headed in a southerly direction toward Dark Gorge.
The moment he broke free of the mist, he was surprised to find he’d flown a full quarter mile up into the air.
He began a quick descent, however, knowing Margetta would give chase. The moment he dropped below the cliff edge, he could breathe easier.
Spots, however, started flying in front of his vision again, reminding him how far he’d pushed his blood starvation. For a moment, his levitating skill faltered.
Ian!
Regan’s voice brought him around, and he had just enough left in him to regain his balance. He flew swiftly toward the Peralin River and finally landed them both on the opposite bank in a nest of shrubs, deep in the gorge.
All went black.
~ ~ ~
Regan brought herself to a sitting position. The landing had been hard and she was bruised, but safe.
She worked at clearing her head. Ian?
But nothing returned.
He lay sprawled on his back, his sunglasses gone. His usual golden complexion had paled and his eyes were closed. She’d never seen him look so bad.
She knew he was close to coma, after which death would follow swiftly. All mastyrs were cursed with this kind of chronic condition, but she didn’t know why Ian had let himself get to such a dangerous state.
Her mind made a swift adjustment. She drew her wrist to her lips and using her teeth tore through a vein. She cried out in pain, but she had to do it.
She forced his mouth open, then placed her arm over his lips, stroking his throat. Ian, drink. Please, take my blood.
Her veins released their nourishment readily and at first he gagged and choked. But when he finally got some of her blood into his stomach, his eyes fluttered open and he grabbed her wrist, forming a seal.
He was wild-eyed as he suckled.
And it hurt, but she didn’t care. She’d made it out alive and Ian would live. Each had come so close to death.
