Page 41 of Angel of Ruin

"Come on, little nexari," I murmur, leaning close. "You're stronger than this. Fight."

The hours blur together. Healers come and go, checking her vitals, administering potions. I watch their every move like a hawk, ready to pounce at the slightest hint of negligence.

"Sariel," a timid voice breaks through my vigil. It's a young healer, trembling slightly under my gaze. "You should rest. We'll alert you if there's any change."

I fix her with a glare that could melt stone. "I'm not leaving," I growl. "Now get back to work."

She scurries away, and I turn my attention back to Lyra. Her face is so pale, so still. It's wrong. She should be full of life, eyes sparkling with defiance. Not this. Never this.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, squeezing her hand. "I'm so fucking sorry, Lyra. Please... please come back to me."

I've lost track of how long I've been sitting here, watching Lyra's chest rise and fall with each shallow breath. Days have passed, blurring together in a haze of anxiety and exhaustion. My body aches from the constant tension, but I refuse to leave her side.

Every time a healer approaches, my heart races. Will this be the moment they tell me she's improving? Or the moment my world shatters?

"Any change?" I ask for what feels like the thousandth time.

The healer shakes his head. "Her condition remains stable, but critical."

I growl in frustration, running a hand through my disheveled hair. This waiting is torture. I've never felt so helpless, so utterly powerless. I'm a fucking xaphan, not exactly inept with magic, and yet I can't do a damn thing to help her.

As I watch Lyra's pale face, a realization hits me like a punch to the gut. The thought of losing her, of never seeing those blue eyes sparkle with defiance again, it's more than I can bear. My chest constricts, making it hard to breathe.

Not just because I care…

"Fuck," I whisper, the word catching in my throat.

I'm in love with her. Completely, irrevocably in love with this stubborn, brave little human. The revelation should terrify me, should make me recoil in disgust. But it doesn't. Instead, it feels right, like a missing piece falling into place.

I take her small hand in mine, marveling at how perfectly it fits. "I love you, little nexari," I murmur, the words foreign yet exhilarating on my tongue. "I don't care that you're human. I want you. All of you. For as long as your short life allows."

The enormity of what I'm admitting crashes over me. I'm throwing away everything I've ever known, everything I've been taught to believe. But as I look at Lyra's face, I know it's worth it. She's worth it.

"Just wake up," I plead, pressing my forehead to our joined hands. "Wake up and let me show you how much I love you."

But she doesn't stir.

21

LYRA

Idrift in and out of consciousness, my body a throbbing mass of pain. Fragments of memory flash through my mind—the trial, the fall, strong arms catching me. As I slowly regain awareness, I realize I'm in the medical wing. The sterile smell of antiseptic fills my nostrils, and I hear the soft beep of monitoring equipment.

My eyes flutter open, adjusting to the dim light. A figure sits beside my bed, hunched over with his head in his hands. It takes me a moment to recognize Sariel.

"You're awake," he says, his voice rough with exhaustion.

I try to speak, but my throat is dry. Sariel reaches for a glass of water, gently helping me take a sip.

"What happened?" I croak.

Sariel's golden eyes meet mine, filled with an emotion I've never seen in them before—guilt.

"Lyra, I—" He stops, running a hand through his silver-white hair. "I need to tell you something."

I watch as he paces the small room, his wings twitching nervously.

"The final trial," he begins, "it was sabotaged."

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