Page 17 of What Lies Within Blood & Heirs

Tears burned her eyes and spilled over, relentlessly streaming down her face until she fought back sobs. An unmistakable weight washed from her body, enough to have her buckling forward and clasping her hands over her mouth to keep from crying out.

Garrik dropped to his knees with a painful grunt and gripped her shoulders. “He has no claim to you any longer.”

Then it happened—the sobs. She couldn’t stop them, and they rattled through her until she couldn’t remain upright. Against her will, her face buried into frigid leather, and strong arms toweled around her, pulling her in tight with no hope of escape—not that she would even want to.

Free.

Garrik had freed her.

Garrik collapsedagainst her soon after they mounted Ghost.

Guided by the glow of Alynthia once again, the heavy scent and crackling of firesites whispered through the trees. Closer and closer to safety and comfort.

Ghost stopped along a tree line, and the glow of fires finally rose into the cloudless night as the moon cast its golden hue across camp outside the city gates.

“You asked a question earlier,” Garrik murmured against her shoulder. How he had the strength to remain awake escaped her. “Yes,” he said, firmly. “There is someone out there for you. Someday, some lucky male who does not deserve the air you breathe will beg the stars for the honor to worship at your feet. He will not be worthy and will search the stars every night simply hoping to live another second in your presence. Someone who will destroy Elysian to find you. But you will not require his rescue because you have already rescued yourself—the hero in your story.”

They were almost home, a mere twenty yards from the patrolling sentries, when she asked, “And what about your story? You deserve that kind of love, too.”

Garrik’s voice turned cold as he lifted his head from her shoulder. The glow of silver darkened. “No, Alora, I do not. I am the villain of this story. My life is meant for pain, and at the end of it all, Destiny will determine a shallow grave.”

That grave seemed closer now than it had been in a long time. The only advantage now was that his arms were around her.

His face pressed against Alora’s neck, taking in her scent—embers in a winter wind. Then he nuzzled closer and used every bit of strength to control his powers and illusion them as if they were made of air.

Wholly invisible to the eye, they slipped into camp past his sentries without alarming them of his condition. There was little choice. It had to be done. His sentries were needed against any attack of Ravens outside Alynthia’s fallen wards, not fussing over him.

Before long, his eyes fluttered open. Only he was not toweled around Alora anymore, soaking in her heat that he so desperately needed. Dark arms cradled him tight. And through the haze of double vision, the stars above Thalon’s head appeared. Next, he recognized tents, rows of them surrounding him, as his own grew closer.

Home.He was home.

He had thought he would never see this place again.

Bright candlelight created an ache behind his eyes, and although they placed him on something soft and forgiving, all he could focus on was the sharp pain in his abdomen.

Delirious, Garrik could not determine if he was on his back. His limbs were unable to move and aid in any clarity.

Roll over. You are not safe with your back exposed.

On the borders of his mind, he heard … voices. Felt the brush of hands against his armor, pulling it open. Removing it.

No.Stop.

Was he screaming? Groaning? Just breathing? He felt the vibrations in his throat, but pain overtook all his senses.

Something pinched his arm and burned the longer it held there.

A needle.Garrik’s breath quickened.I cannot go back there. I cannot go back there. I cannot?—

His heart thundered so terribly it hit the point of being painful. His fingers curled into the furs.Furshe knew. Furs and a bed and a lantern on a side table he recognized.

I am not back there,he reasoned. But it did nothing, because in one moment, he heard Thalon and Eldacar’s questions. FeltAlora cupping his forehead and squeezing his hand as she answered. And in the next …

“Do not scar his face. I have use of it.”

“And the rest of him, Your Majesty?” Night-blue flames flickered in the darkness, dancing on the fingertip of a dark-haired High Fae male who leaned against the iron door of his dungeon.

Malik.

---