Page 174 of The Dryad Storm

I swallow, not able to pull in an even breath as I fall into the ravishing heat of his fire, finding him so achingly handsome in this moment I can barely get the words out. “I do.”

And I mean it. I’m almost ready to move past the grief that has an aching grip on my heart and embrace him in every way.

Almost.

Yvan’s fire gutters, and I know he’s sensing thealmostin my emotions. I can sense it in the fleeting tension in his body and how his hand stills around mine. And in the way he’s now drawing back some of his fire and taking a steadying breath.

The energy of understanding ripples through our bond, and he reaches up, his warm hand caressing my face before he leans in to press his heated lips to my temple. “When you’re ready,” he whispers, and I have to blink against the sudden burn of tears in my eyes.

After a moment, Yvan draws back, lifts his hand, and flicks it open, our horde’s fire streaming back through our power, Raz’zor and Oaklyyn’s intertwined green-and-vermillion sparks still crackling through it.

“We should find our horde,” he throatily offers, his hand caressing my arm, and I nod, distantly wondering if Raz’zor and Oaklyyn wanting to be Wyvernbonded mates could possibly be true.

Oaklyyn blasts onto the predawn mountain ledge like a Dryad storm. Her runic staff is in hand, verdant runes glowing all over it. Three midnight-purple Noi Wolverines trail her, and my heart lifts at the sight of her newfound kindreds. The wolverines are all as growly as Oaklyyn, their purple fur bristling, their combined ferocity at full odds with the delicate beauty of the dew-speckled morning, a mounting, prismatic riot of color close to overtaking the trees, a gauzy fog rising from the ledge’s stone.

“Dryad’kin,” Sylvan states as he and Yulan step toward her, their magic awhirl with a sudden rise of feeling, powerful relief shuddering through everyone’s power, even Hazel’s magic briefly eclipsing the world in Darkness.

Because Oaklyyn is transformed, her green hue fully restored, the purple branching pattern shimmering over her skin heightened. The same golden-star horde mark emblazoned on my entire horde shimmers against Oaklyyn’s inner shoulder.

Raz’zor stalks in beside Oaklyyn in human form, his crimson eyes lit up as they swing to me. He shoots me a smug, triumphant grin that I raise a brow at, his aura’s ruddy power flowing embracingly around Oaklyyn.

Naga and the rest of our horde rise as Ariel sends a welcoming line of her golden flame out to Oaklyyn, the rest of our horde joining her and flowing power into a communal blaze.

Oaklyyn stiffens, her elemental power held tight in her core, emotion churningin it. She glances toward our dome-shield, taking in the multicolored mosaic of runes shimmering against its surface, Vogel’s Shadow net slithering over it all like a giant, clawed hand shot through with Fallon’s winter-hastening magic.

“We need to flood that shield with amplified power to blast through Vogel’s Shadow net,” Oaklyyn bites out. “I’ve a few Dryad amplification and expansion runes that should do the trick, especially when I draw the power of our Dryad Witch through them.” Her newly green-burning gaze swings to mine, a rush of her verdant flame blazing through my rootlines, green sparks crackling in my vision. Oaklyyn levels her staff at me, a staff I’ve felt the blunt end of a few times, before her gaze slides to Sylvan and Yulan. “I’ll rune-bind the witch’s rootlines not only to the shield but to our rootlines as well, via a linkage rune,” she states. “I’ll do the same for the other Mage-born Dryad’kin. To give their rootlines full access to our knowledge of Forest magic so they can become true soldiers for the Forest.”

I catch Gwynn’s and Mavrik’s eyes, then Thierren’s, all of us exchanging a quick look of surprise.

“It is good to have you back with us, Dryad’kin,” Sylvan enthuses, his usually severe tone shot through with feeling as Yulan flows lavender-flowering vines out from the soil beneath her feet to encircle Oaklyyn.

Oaklyyn grows quiet, the powerful flow of her magic seeming to collapse into troubled chaos as she looks at the Death Fae Dryad amongst us. “Hazel...” she starts, “I might have been wrong... for hating you when you saved our lives.” She pauses, her mouth twisting into a trembling grimace. “True Dryad’kin fight to the end forallForests. And foreverykindred. Not just their own.” She tenses, blinking back the sheen of tears in her eyes as she looks to the tree line, her voice rough when it comes. “The Forest showed me what you have done... and who you truly are.” She stops, an overwhelming remorse overtaking her expression. “Hazel... I waswrong.”

Devastation is writ hard in her eyes, and the vast-unsaid hangs in the air between them—how she leveled the slurhalflingat him again and again. How she reviled usall.

Hazel considers Oaklyyn, tendrils of his snaking Darkness shivering to life to wrap around them both as a single purple viper appears at Oaklyyn’s feet then slithers up and around her form to curl around her shoulders, dark tongue flickering.

“All is forgiven,” Hazel says, his voice a bone-deep thrum. His black lips lift, a devilish light entering his eyes as his Death Fae energy pulses the world Dark.“Time to strengthen our shielding,” he drawls, his wicked smile broadening, “and turn our Dryad Witch and her allies into weapons for the Forest.”

Hours later, I’m covered in Dryad runes that blaze every foliage color, my body newly clothed in formfitting bark armor Oaklyyn conjured onto me that’s surprisingly easy to move in. An ever-growing portion of my power flows into our shielding, our linkage to it amplified via Oaklyyn’s shield runes as I wrest hold of my remaining magic and face off, once again, against the one ally among us who holds even more fire than Vogel, even with a portion of it tethered to our shielding.

My Wyvernbonded mate—the Icaral of Prophecy.

Yvan stands before me in a Dyoi Forest clearing, his similarly rune-marked body coiled. His wings are drawn in tight, and both his hands glow violet as he draws fire magic into his palms. Oaklyyn and Raz’zor are watching us from the Forest clearing’s violet grass periphery, along with Sylvan, Iris, Yulan, Hazel, Wrenfir, Mavrik, and Gwynnifer.

It’s a struggle to keep my focus from being scattered by the sight of Yvan’s handsome face and bare chest, peak foliage amplifying our already strong draw to each other, a feverish warmth having overtaken me. Yvan gives me a slow, dangerous smile that sparks a hotter flaring of our bond, his eyes narrowing on me with an all too knowing light.

“Attack,” Sylvan charges, and Yvan lunges at me in a blur, raising his palms.

I level my branch’s tip at the ground, Oaklyyn’s knowledge of soil spells flashing through my rootlines and fluently rolling off my lips.

A dark mass of metallic powder flies up from the ground, and I send fire into it, melting it into thick, black fibers that I whip around Yvan’s wrists and ankles. Before Yvan can release his power, I arc my branch toward the earth, my conjured fibers following my motion, yanking Yvan to the ground and tethering him there.

Yvan gives me a teasing smile before deploying a punch of his heat, his body flashing violet for a split second as my lashings melt away and he springs at me once more in a blur, knocks my branch from my hand and takes hold of me from behind.

I can feel his smile against my cheek, my heart skidding from the hot contact. “You’re getting better,” he murmurs as I ignore the thrum of my pulse and force myself to focus, drawing on Yulan’s avian knowledge to send a mental call out to the Forest’s wingeds.

A sapphire hummingbird darts in from the Forest, a small twig grasped in thebird’s talons. It zooms close to my hand, and I grab the twig and rapidly murmur a series of Sylvan’s storm spells.

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