Page 80 of Claimed In Darkness

"Not this time."

Bastard.

I press my fingers against his pulse again.

Still too fast.

Still too wrong.

Think, Naira.

The High Council will have every healer, every dark elf, every goddamn seer looking for us.

We can’t go to a doctor.

Can’t risk being seen.

Which means?—

There’s only one way to help him.

I curse under my breath, dragging my dagger from my belt.

Zephiran eyes flicker open, the dim candlelight catching in his crimson gaze.

"Planning to finish the job?" he rasps.

I drag the blade across my palm, fast and deep.

A sharp sting.

Then warmth.

Blood beads against my skin, thick and crimson, glistening in the firelight.

His gaze locks onto it immediately.

His breath stutters.

"You have to be fucking joking," he mutters.

I press my hand against his chest, against the still-burning brand, letting my blood seep into the wound.

Magic shudders through the air.

His body tenses beneath my touch, muscles locking, teeth clenching as the spell reacts, as the curse resists.

But it’s working.

His skin cools.

His breathing slows. The wild, thrashing magic beneath his ribs starts to settle.

I don’t know why it’s working. It’s instinct. I just know.

As if someone told me.

I don’t understand what my blood has to do with his curse.

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