Page 169 of Crowned In Venom

"No, no, no—please, my love—come back to me."

I clutch her closer, rocking slightly, pressing frantic kisses to her temple, her hair, her forehead—anywhere, everywhere.

"You did it, Anya. You did it. Just open your eyes. Open them, damn you!"

A soft sound—a breath. A whimper.

But she doesn’t wake.

Her head lolls against my shoulder, limp.

A sharp ache lances through my chest.

I don’t care about the blood soaking my hands, my robes, my skin. I don’t care about the magic still crackling in the air. I don’t care about anything but her.

I almost lost her.

The thought slams into me like a blade.

I pull her even closer, gripping the back of her neck, pressing her against me as if I can anchor her to this world through sheer force of will.

"She’s still alive."

The Ghost’s voice cuts through the haze of desperation and grief.

I lift my head slowly.

"Then why won’t she wake up?"

The Ghost sighs, adjusting his gloves. "The ritual took a toll. She will need time to recover."

"How long?"

A pause.

Too long.

He doesn’t answer, and something in me snaps.

"How long?" I snarl, my voice low and dangerous.

"Days. Maybe weeks."

Unacceptable.

I grind my teeth, my grip on Anya tightening.

"She doesn’t have weeks."

"Neither do we," the Ghost murmurs, voice clipped. "We need to leave. Now."

He glances around, sharp eyes scanning the blood-stained stone and the flickering sigils on the walls.

"The ritual’s energy was too strong. If the Matriarch felt it, she will come."

The Matriarch.

My blood turns to ice.

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