Page 56 of Claws of Death

Like the wrath of the Guardians, Myron plummets from the sky, wrapped in clouds and thunder as he shifts on his descent. Feathers stream from his arms in a storm of shimmering black, whirling for a heartbeat before they puff into whisks of smoke. The earth shakes as his boots hit the blood-soaked ground a few paces from me, at the center of the small meadow, and his eyes… His beautiful eyes toss like the ocean east of Eherea where my peace is now buried. Veins of black pull back into the corners of his eyes, revealing the turquoise of his irises. Feathers retreat from his face, revealing the features of a vengeful god, beautiful and terrifying. And full of an anguish I know deep down will destroy him.

“Ayna—” With a few long strides, he closes the gap between us, arms falling around me like a pair of protective wings. On my right side, his hand lingers on the small of my back, careful not to touch the wound on my shoulder. I know now that he understands how they mutilated me. All his bird features are gone except for the black talons tipping his fingers and the last feathers disappearing from his arms. “I’m sorry.”

I try not to focus on the mind-numbing pain in my own shoulder, right where the bird tattoo we shared was inked into my skin until a few moments ago. He probably felt my pain the moment the torch touched my skin. The fact that Ican already sense his magic seeping into my body, attempting to knit it back together, proves he’s aware ofwhatexactly they did to me.

The pain doesn’t ebb, and the wound doesn’t close. In my shoulder, nothing is tingling; no tug is telling me he’s reaching for me with more than his arms. “I’m all right.” It’s a lie, and we both know it, but if I admit that I’m not, I’ll shatter. And so will he.

I don’t move when he carefully takes my face between his palms, hot breath pouring over my mouth as he leans in to kiss me. “I’m not.” He stops an inch from my lips, his scent evoking a cocoon of emotions that seem both too strong and too weak for what I’m used to feeling. “I won’t be until I’ve sent them all to Hel’s realm.”

His features are blurring from the proximity or from the tears collecting in my eyes, his fingers trembling against my cheeks, but when his lips touch mine, I can’t smell the stench of burned flesh; I can’t feel the pain. For a moment, it’s him and the softness of his lips, the tender sweep of his tongue as if he’s pouring words into my mouth he can’t fathom to speak.

I can’t speak them either because, if I pause to acknowledge the hollow ache inside my chest, I know that it won’t matter if the flesh on my shoulder heals. I’ve lost a part of my soul.

Ayna

It’s beenten days since the attack.

Ten.

Long.

Days.

I’ve counted every heartbeat.

One million and seventeen beats.

Myron came to see me the first two days.

I sent him away.

Royad came on the third, pleading on his cousin’s behalf to hear him out.

I sent him away, too.

On the fourth day, Clio and Kaira cametogether, telling me the female we saved at the Flame estate survived. They told me how lucky we were that Jeseida wasn’t there that day.

I shook my head at them before sending them away.

They came back on the sixth and the seventh day again.

I told them not to return.

On the eighth day, Myron poked in his head, a crease between his brows as he asked if he could stay with me for a while.

I didn’t look him in the eye when he sat silently at the foot of my bed for hours.

Silas visited on the ninth day, his sarcastic grin wiped off his bronze features for once and his eyes black like the night.

He told me to pull myself together.

There is nothing to pull, so I continued gazing at the high ceiling.

The tenth day has been quiet. Darkness is falling over the gardens behind the fairy palace in Aceleau, my eyes adjusting with every vanishing ray of sun.

I haven’t lost my fae senses even when I’ve lost myself.

I’m sick of the elegant wallpapers in this room, but I don’t complain. My voice is inconsequential. It can’t change what happened. Stacking my fingers on top of each other on the windowsill, I continue to stare at the twilight creatures crawling from the trees and bushes.

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