Page 10 of What Lies Within Blood & Heirs

Garrik released an earth-shaking roar that invoked a mighty air wave, merging with her flames.

Alora threw her arms out, unleashing herself—her power—and carrying along her High Prince’s. They molded together as their strength smashed into the beast and seared deep burns across its scales.

Then Garrik’s foot hammered the ground, so she steadied herself against the quake. His head reared, taking in a monstrous inhale before he released another shield.

Alora didn’t balk. Fire ignited in her palms with dancing sparks tearing from her hands, carrying that inferno toward the dragon. Their powers slammed it backward. Over and over. Releasing joint devastation. Gaining a foothold on the beast until it yielded against the few standing trees.

Garrik’s tendrils and clouds of shadow misted behind him as he prowled forward. His wary eyes locked onto the felled beast. Every step trembled the earth, leaving indentations in the debris and dirt.

Alora cautiously followed until she stood under the cover of Garrik’s misting black belly, arm resting on his Smokeshadow leg.

A deep growl reverberated through him. Deep down into her body.

She didn’t have to look to know that he was glaring at her. But something graceful laced its tone … and it sent a shudder along her spine. She imagined a dragon’s growl to be menacing, but this one …

Was hethankingher?

There wasn’t time to decide. Across the swamp, a figure moved.

Alora squared her shoulders to it, watching the darkened form step near the edge of the swamp.

Its hands drifted to the cloak it wore, pulling the hood from its head to reveal glowing ruby eyes that bore into her so ominously that she felt a heavy presence scraping down her neck.

She shuddered at those eyes. At those rotting black lips curling into a snarl. At the way the being did nothing but stare at her as if she was a trophy for a mantel.

Kerimkhar,she cursed.

Away from what looked like a mausoleum, Mercy descended the staircase, stopping on the last step at the edge of the water. Before he could prowl onto the winding wooden path, Garrik turned his shadowy head, and his monstrous mouth opened with a roar so lethal she thought her ears would bleed.

With an ancient, revolting grace, Kerimkhar only smiled.

Alora ripped her attention away. The dragon—it still hadn’t moved.

Garrik surveyed the clearing one last time before Smokeshadows whorled around him. Raging clouds of smokeand ash and shadow coiled, then receded, returning him to the High Fae male she knew.

But as he stood, facing the dragon, back turned to her … something was … off.

He didn’t carry his usual finesse. The strength in his shoulders appeared depleted, lowered. In that one step toward the beast, he stumbled.

Then she saw it.

Dark, dripping liquid.

How his arm was angled over the front of his armor.

His next step yielded more. Then another. And another. Every step left behind a blood trail until he buckled at the waist and pulled his sword from the rubble.

Garrik turned, and her eyes widened in horror.

Blood dripped from his head. Shredded frays of his flesh marred his abdomen.

Wounded—he was woundedbadly.

While darkness covered his eyes, she glimpsed the tremble of his arm as he repositioned the sword, attempting to sheath it. Saw the way his shadows slowed around him, around the wounds. He was faltering as he twisted a ring on his finger. From it, static energy thrummed through her just as Thalon had done the day they thought they had lost Garrik to Galdheir.

In that horrendous moment, she realized a terrifying fact; he had ensured the shield around camp remained if he could not hold it.

No one would know.

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