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Morgan conjured the first spell that came to mind, releasing it at the black Amhas-draoi.
Doran doubled over, his shoulders hunching, a grunt of pain coming from his thin lips.
But not for long.
In a moment, he’d straightened, his death stare potent enough to freeze her to the floor, wipe her mind clear.
Throwing his heavy cloak over one shoulder, he stepped up to Cam’s body. Drew forth his sword.
Neuvarvaan.
There was no mistaking the Fey intensity of the blade. It glowed with a gray-green cemetery light. And Morgan was suddenly reminded of Ensign Traverse’s words. A feeling like the first shovelful of earth hitting your coffin. Although in her case, the soil heaped higher and higher, burying her beneath the avalanche of raw, naked Morkoth power.
She choked, her lungs burning as she swallowed over and over. Her whole body shook until she knew she was going to be sick.
Doran laughed. And Morkoth magics burned their way through her. Bones grated, muscles went lax, and she felt herself falling. She bit hard on her lip to hold the screams back. She’d not give Doran the satisfaction.
Even as she collapsed, she heard the cut of air as Neuvarvaan plunged, and the wet suck of steel meeting flesh.
Cam’s body jumped, the blade quivering in his chest. His head lolled to the side, his eyes wide with shock, a moan escaping from lips frothy pink with blood. And as she watched, the change overtook him.
Not the strength and skill of the Undying, but a shriveling of limbs and features, years passing within the space of seconds. A ravaged face. Curled and crooked hands. A body wasted by age and magic. Only the eyes remained the same. Their icy blue luster searching hers for help. Begging for the release of death. “M’eudail,” he whispered.
And this time, she did scream.
Over and over until a hand covered her mouth, a voice whispered in her ear, a heavy weight as someone knelt beside her on her bed. “Morgan, mo chride, my sweet. Shhh, it’s a dream. It’s all right.”
And just like that, six months evaporated, leaving her crazy in love and heart-achingly destroyed. Torn in two.
“The dream was so real. Too real.” Morgan shivered, curling closer into the crook of Cam’s arm, the warmth of her naked body stirring him back to life. He should be exhausted. Drowsy with the afterglow of lovemaking. Instead, every part of his anatomy stood to attention. It was almost embarrassing.
To fight the urge and because he hated to break the spell of cold room, warm bed, and hot body, he brushed a chaste kiss upon the top of her head. “The worst dreams always are.”
She lapsed into silence, her breathing slow and even. Probably asleep again. And no wonder.
She’d clung to him after first waking, the thrum of her heart as fast as a bird’s, her breathing ragged with suppressed tears. But terror had quickly melted into something else. Something greedy and possessive that gave him barely space to breathe. Fast. Angry. As if she needed to prove to herself that this time he was real. Not another night terror.
Even when they lay spent and dazed, Morgan seemed twisted taut as a clock wire. The weight of her dreams still holding on. She inhaled a quick, shuddery breath. Curled into his body as if needing the comfort of his heat.
“Cam?”
Pulled from a near doze, he ran a hand down her arm. “Hmm?” Felt her tremble.
Another long silence, then, “I want to show you…me. All of me. Not just…well…all of me.”
He started to say something smart along the lines of what parts of her hadn’t he seen when some quality of her quiet resolve broke through his randy thoughts.
He opened his eyes. Leaned up onto one elbow.
She watched him, alert as a wild animal, frightened and ready to run if he made any startling move.
“What is it?” he asked.
She closed her eyes. Turned back the blankets, uncovering herself so that she lay exposed, the flat plane of her stomach, the high, round peaks of her breasts, the slope of her broad shoulders, and the long bones of her throat where her pulse beat as swiftly as it had when he’d first found her tonight.
“Look at me,” she whispered, closing her eyes.
How could he not?
