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“Your healers!” Theodor roared in the nearest guard’s face. “Where are they?”
The soldier appeared too shocked to speak before Enosabe shoved him out of the way. “They’re at the Keep, underground. We’ll lead you to the—”
Theodor grabbed Boraleashe’s sword by its glass handle and bolted into the sky at breakneck speed, leaving Boraleashe’s stomach on the ground. Theodor whipped through the freezing sky on his warm wind, his heart beating fast against his.
Boraleashe buried his face in Theodor’s warm throat, which smelled of spiced apples and a hint of smoke and whispered his dying wish. “Take me to the top of the Voiceless Peak.”
“I’ll take you to the highest mountains in all the realms, my love. After you’re healed and strong again.”
Theodor dipped down and came through the roof of Boraleashe’s chambers. He laid him on the heavy mound of furs on his bed and belted for the healers.
Theodor carefully removed Boraleashe’s armor, then sat on the bed beside him, leaning down until their foreheads touched. “You can run, hide, and try to fight battles without me all you want, Boraleashe. But I will chase and find you every fucking time.”
“I’m sorry I ran,” Boraleashe confessed.
Searing pain made every word he spoke feel like hot coal embedding in his chest and flames burning in his throat. Life was draining from him. If he’d been human, he’d have been dead long ago.
“I was so damn scared of you, and I’ve never been afraid. Ever. I was a fool to fear you.”
Theodor squeezed his hand, his eyes full of fear and sorrow. “Healers, damn it!” he yelled toward the open doors of his quarters. “Fight, Boraleashe. Hang on. I didn’t make a fucking deal with the underworld and summon all that hellfire to lose you to a goddamn wild beast.”
Boraleashe’s core burst wide open. “Theo, I…”
“Don’t,” he snarled. “You still breathe.”
“Barely… And the healers are deep in the mines. They’d still need time to gather supplies and—”
Theodor leapt off the bed, his thick mane flying over his shoulder. He shot his wind out the many open windows. “Harahel,” he called, his words traveling on the breeze. “I pray of you, graceful one. See into my core… that is pure and genuine.” Theodor opened his arms wide, a beam of golden light shining from the center of his chest like a ray of sunlight.
Boraleashe tried to keep his eyes open after a blast of light hit the foot of his bed. A gorgeous man with soft features and white-blond hair appeared in a flowing white gown, his porcelain skin glowing from the aura of light surrounding him.
Peace and serenity flooded the room, and Boraleashe was able to inhale a full, smooth breath.
By the gods, his king had summoned an angel.
Theodor
The Battle of Courage
“My dear Theodor of Fhomhair. What have you got yourself into now?” the angel asked in a tone that sounded whispered on a cloud. He walked around the edges of Boraleashe’s bed, more like gliding.
“Thank you for gracing me with your presence.” Theodor dropped to both knees, his head bowed. Harahel smiled down on him and gently touched the top of his head, sending peace and comfort through his wounds like balm.
Harahel scanned the room, his light eyes narrowing when he didn’t spot who he was looking for. “And where is my rebellious son? Hiding from me, I presume?”
“Mozraath is not here. He’s back in Fhomhair, your grace. I came alone.”
Harahel stared at him for too long before he accused, “I can smell his hellfire.” Harahel’s expression turned reprimanding. “What have the two of you done?”
“Your grace. Please. There is no time. My heart… it’s… he’s dying. Will you heal him?”
Harahel went to Boraleashe’s side and gazed down at his battered body with beautiful empathy. He brought his steepled hands together in the center of his chest and whispered delicate words, a prayer Theodor couldn’t decipher. Harahel’s hands began to glow with angelic energy before he bent forward and waved his palms over Boraleashe’s shredded torso.
Theodor didn’t interrupt. He didn’t speak a single word, didn’t dare breathe until the gashes began to mend and heal under the white light. By the time Harahel stopped waving his palms and muttering blessed words, Boraleashe’s life-threatening wounds were nothing more than dark red welts that would leave a badass scar for him to tell glorious stories of.
Thank you, gods. Thank you.
Theodor rose from his knees and hurried to Boraleashe’s side in time to see his eyes flutter closed and his body drift into a deep sleep.
“He needs time to rest, but he will survive… and make a full recovery,” Harahel said, stroking his hand down the length of Theodor’s hair.
“I have not the words of my gratitude, your grace.”
Harahel raised his hand, silencing him. “Theodor, Lord of the Autumn season, there are always consequences when you make deals in the underworld.”
