Page 138 of The Art of Exiley

Kaylie is trying to stem the flow of blood, but it’s no longer a boutonniere. It’s now a bouquet, and spreading fast. Becoming a field before my eyes.

Rafe is breathing hard, eyes glassy. He manages to grin at me. “I’ll be fine.” I see his mouth form the words. But I can’t hear them. All I can hear is the echo of the crack and the sound of my own pulse in my head.

Kaylie is speaking to me urgently, but I’m in a daze.

Kor just shot Rafe.

Heshothim. Why didn’t I let Rafe bring the Guard? This is my fault.

This ismy fault.

“Ada!” Kaylie’s yell breaks through my fog. “His Sire abilities are not healing him; he needs your help.”

Yes. I can help.

I crouch down and makeshiinwith both hands and align the triangle made by my fingers over the sticky flowers. I conduct, pulsing Ha’i over and over.

Please, please, please.I beg the source within me.

But he’s not healing.

“Why isn’t he healing?” I scream, panicked, knowing I’m exhausting my own Ha’i but not willing to stop trying.

“It’s an antimatter bullet,” Kor says. I turn and see him standing, staring at his trembling hand that is still clenching the gun, face pale.

Peggy is agitated, and she starts bucking and flapping her wings. Alfie turns the nozzle of the gas in her direction.

“Don’t hurt it!” Kor demands.

“We have to remove the bullet,” Kaylie says, ignoring the threat of the gas tank, which Alfie has swung back in her direction at the sound of her voice. She tears open Rafe’s shirt. “It missed his heart, but antimatter in his body for too long, close to such vital organs…” She trails off as she uses a blade from her spoon to cut into his marble chest, through his dragon tattoo. Rafe is so far gone that he doesn’t even flinch.

“The bullet punctured his lung,” she says steadily. “I need to drain the air and fluid, so I need you to remove the bullet.”

I don’t know how I do it, but as Kaylie makes a separate incision, I reach into Rafe’s chest. I focus on the sound of her voice giving me careful instructions. My hand is coated in blood as I pull out the bullet, the antimatter scalding my fingers until I drop it, like a shiny red ruby, onto the wet sand.

I immediately begin pulsing Ha’i into Rafe’s chest, and this time it works. The blood slows. The tissue begins to mend. But Rafe has lost so much blood. He’s not healing fast enough, and I feel my own strength flagging.

“Help me,” I scream to Kor, who’s looking on, horror-stricken.

“I… I’ve never—” He looks to Roman, who looks just as panicked and unsure, tears in his eyes.

“Do you want to have his death on your conscience?” I shriek. I see the indecision in his eyes, the war of pride and guilt.

“Kor, I need you to help me save his life!” I’m choking on my own sobs. “Help me!” I demand again. Hehasto help me. No matter what he’s said about being okay with collateral damage, Iknowhe’s not a killer.

He drops the gun and comes running.

I show Kor how to align hisshiinnext to mine, and as soon as our hands harmonize, a powerful flow of Ha’i pulses through the triangle made by our fingers. Rafe’s body jerks erratically.

“Again!” I yell, and with the next push of Ha’i, Rafe gasps in a deep breath, then seems to breathe more easily.

The flow of Ha’i was astounding, more than I’ve ever felt from myself or another person. But now Kor looks shaky and weakened. I remember Rafe explaining how blood doping will give a Sire tremendous power but also cause them to exhaust more quickly. Kor doesn’t look like he has the strength to conduct anymore. But Rafe isn’t fully healed yet.

Kaylie’s face is a mask of horror. She presses her knuckles to her lips in Avant’s royal salute. She doesn’t think their prince will live.

I know what I have to do.

I grab Kaylie’s blade, and without letting myself think too hard about it, I slice into my forearm.

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