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That was okay, she decided. Who the hell wanted to a live a life such as this, anyway? With all this trauma and despair…
Jade was about to close her eyes again, to simply give into the pain, when Davian insisted, “You’re stronger than this!”
It sounded as though he was across the church, by the steps. She even heard Thunder snort and whine. The heat cloaking the wraith had diminished, so she assumed the ghost had left her. Seconds later, she got her answer as she heard metal blades clashing—he now went after Davian.
Jade had absolute faith in the Demon King’s skill. He would prevail. Her eyelids dipped. It wouldn’t be much longer before she felt nothing at all. A feeling she suddenly welcomed.
Although… A nagging thought kept her from succumbing to unconsciousness. She didn’t know how Michael had fared—whether or not he was seriously wounded from his run-in with the wraith’s horse. And what if, by some chance, Davian didn’t win this battle? His kingdom might fall—and so too would Ryleigh. Other villages. More humans.
So much was at stake, she couldn’t help but force her lids open once more. She rolled her head to the side and watched through blurry and watery eyes as the fight ensued. She silently prayed Morgan would arrive. And the slayers. They had to have heard her screams piercing the still air.
Yet Davian was on his own with the fire wraith, meeting him blow for blow. Miraculously, with enough power behind his swings to back the ghastly apparition into a corner.
A hint of relief penetrated the darkness devouring her. The king would be fine. And the slayers had likely already found Michael. If he was hurt, they’d take him to the village doctor. He’d survive. She convinced herself of these things, and they provided a small measure of comfort.
As she was about to fade away, she saw a fireball similar to the one she’d witnessed earlier in the woods shoot out from the wraith’s mouth. As the case had been with her, the blaze exploded at the tip of Davian’s sword and bright red radiated all the way down the shaft, to the handle, which then glowed vibrantly despite its elaborate covering.
Davian kept his grip much longer than she had, and the wraith expelled a second fireball. This one proved to be too much for even the Demon King. He dropped his sword and let out a low snarl.
The fire wraith advanced on him with renewed vigor. Panic gripped Jade. She watched hopelessly as Davian lunged for his weapon, but couldn’t reach it before the wraith got close enough to singe him. Davian stumbled backward.
Pulling strength from somewhere beyond her comprehension, Jade managed to sit up. She focused all of her energy on—put every single thought into—lifting the sword.
She didn’t use her psychokinesis often, but her father had taught her to hone the skill. Jade had to push past her pain to concentrate on raising the object. No easy feat as excruciating sensations ripped through her, putting one more strain on her body. But this was a mental effort, not a physical one. She still had control over her mind, even though her limbs vibrated of their own accord, her entire body quaking.
With her gaze on the sword, she made it rise inches from the snow and moved it toward Davian. He seemed to keep one
eye on the demon and one on his weapon.
When it was nearly in his reach, he yelled, “Let it go, Jade!”
This distracted the wraith. At the same time, Davian lurched forward, clasped the hilt and leapt to his haunches, prepared to attack. The move was wicked-fast. It hardly registered in Jade’s mind. But Davian took a full swing at the wraith in the process and the ghost’s eerie screech filled her ears as half of his skeletal forearm and hand flew into the air, severed by Davian’s sword.
The wraith blew over Davian to his restless steed and they soared from the top of the steps to the ground below.
Or perhaps she’d imagined that. Jade’s vision was as fuzzy as her brain.
No matter. Davian straightened and the threat against him was over. She let out a short puff of breath, white in the frosty night, the most she could muster.
Now she could surrender to the pain…
Chapter Seventeen
Davian wanted to pursue the fire wraith, fury burning in his veins over the attack on Jade. He couldn’t leave her, though. He stalked across the church and knelt before her, trying to process all of her visible injuries and wondering how many more there were that he couldn’t see.
Her shoulder was propped against the ledge, her head resting atop the exposed mortar.
She was covered in blood and tattered clothing. The cuts on her face and arms were deep, but her gaping chest wound alarmed him the most. He slipped out of his cloak and gently draped it over her at her waist so as to not displace any of the blood on her chest. Then he cradled the base of her skull with his hand to guide her toward him, only to pull away when a sticky fluid coated his fingers. She bled there too.
“Jade,” he said, swallowing down a lump of fear and emotion. “Sweetheart, you’ve got a nasty cut at the base of your skull. And one above your left breast. Which do you heal first?”
She shook her head, though it was a slight movement. “Neither.”
His gut twisted. “You have to concentrate on the worst one, you told me that.”
“I can’t,” she said, her voice weak and raspy. “I don’t want to.”
“You must.” Panic besieged him. “Jade.” His plea was full of consternation and distress. “You can’t give up. Open your eyes and look at me.”
