Page 92 of The Eighth Isle

I’d see her pain.

My legs let go and I fell to my knees in front of piles of ashes that used to beher, with the four siren sisters still on the ground, crying, shaking,bleedingas they held onto one another.

Nothing on my mind but Syra and that heat that was taking place inside me, merging with me, making my body its home. The only reason I wasn’t lying on those ashes yet was because I was paralyzed, too paralyzed to fall.

Over.

It was over. Syra was dead. Syra was gone, and I’d seen it with my own eyes. I still couldn’t believe it—becausehow could it be?!—but I’d seen her surrendering. I’d seen her turning into ashes.

She didn’t hurt me,said a voice in my head.

And the sisters were no longer wailing.

She didn’t hurt me when she could have, that same voice insisted.

They were dragging themselves closer to one another, all connected until they lay in a circle, eyes closed and naked bodies shaking still, and their skin began to glow.

Magic in the air.

It rose like dust, and it wasn’t warm nor cool—just a steady energy that buzzed so loudly I could hear it. The sirens were letting it out, and they werehealingas they held onto each other, then began to moan as their bodies rearranged themselves, all broken bones mending and the tears on their skin closing.

She didn’t hurt me.

Syra didn’t hurt me.

And she was gone, even when the stars had foreseen the end. She was gone, and even more warmth, more magic came at me from behind—this time from the Great White. The dragon who had been made to guard Syra’s body, who’d been standing behind the building, still as the stone. The dragon who wasslowly turning to ashes and falling all around the castle, just like Syra.

Her words were in my ears still.Whatwas complete? What the hell had she done to me?!

Something’s wrong.

“No.”

The word slipped from me involuntarily. I was so goddamn sick of feeling like something was wrong—always something, Fall!There was always something to fire up my instincts, and I was sick of it because nothing was.

Nothing was wrong anymore—Syra was gone, reduced to piles of ashes in front of me, and Grey was behind me.

Grey was right there, and I was going to get to him right now because it was over. Syra was dead—and who cared why she hadn’t hurt me, or why she talked about the stars, or why she told me to not be good?

I don’t care, I don’t care, I don’t care?—

“Grey.” I grabbed his face in my hands. “Grey, open your eyes. Come on, we gotta go. We gotta get out of here. Grey?—”

Storm landed right behind him, shaking the ground, and when he roared and spit fire at the sky, it felt like the whole world heard it.

Grey finally opened his eyes.

I could have screamed. If I’d had a second, and if these instincts inside me weren’t making me want to throw up, I’d have taken a moment to sit down and hug him and kiss him and beg him to drink my blood.

As it was, I didn’t allow myself to even smile or be glad that he could see me. I just rose to my feet and pulled at his arm with all my strength and said, “We have to go.Now.”

Grey finally made it up, looking around, disoriented, and Storm spit fire at the sky once more. I turned to the sirens, expecting them to be on the ground still, shaking and moaningand exchanging their magic, however the fuck that worked, but they were all standing now, too.

And so was Valentine.

He was limping his way toward me, eyes on my face, my body, searching for wounds, when he himself was bleeding from all over. Shadow still couldn’t coordinate his wings properly, so he was jumping toward us, hopping like a rabbit.

“We’re okay,” I kept whispering. “We’re okay. We’re just fine.” Wounded and exhausted and terrified, but we would survive and heal and rest, and someday even forget. It was all possible as long as we were alive.

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