Page 89 of A Legacy of Wrath and Reckoning

She pressed a kiss to his frozen lips, hands shaking over his heart at what she was about to do. But she was out of options. Out of time. “Forgive me,” she whispered, and lightning poured from her fingertips.

Zylah’s back arched as it sizzled through her body, a silent scream tearing from her lips as the world went white. Threads danced and wove around them both, searching for a way to tether themselves to him, to revive him, to keep him safe. Her body shuddered at the effort, the pain, at the reality before her she couldn’t bring herself to face. Not yet.

A single gossamer thread pulled taut between them, shimmering brighter with the second press of lightning from Zylah’s fingertips. Tears streamed down her face; ash coated her tongue. If she’d been able to see, she was certain she’d have witnessed smoke billowing from her parted lips.

She couldn’t hear his heart. Couldn’t hear his breaths. Couldn’t bear to accept what those two things meant.Just stay with me, she begged, just as he had begged her when she’d lain dying in his arms. “Stay with me,” she sobbed, an anguished cry spilling from her as she tried to jolt his heart awake one more time, her palms blistering from the heat, his chest no doubt ruined beneath her touch.

Blood coated her tongue, and Zylah choked, hands blindly reaching for his face as the gossamer thread between them sizzled under the weight of her magic, pulling so tight it felt as if it might snap at any moment. Her lips found his, her frozen, ruined fingers brushing the hair from his face as she collapsed beside him, her body shaking and exhausted. Everything was on fire and frozen all at once. Her blood. Her veins. Her hands. Her heart. “Just hold on, Holt,” she murmured. “Just stay with me.”

Every thought was sluggish, every breath like lightning striking her heart, over and over and over. But Zylah kept her hands on his face, pushing everything she had down their bond. Every bit of love and devotion. Every desperate, reckless thought. Every memory. Every emotion she’d held onto so tightly for the past few weeks. All of it, flowing from her to him, every last piece of her love.

Remember me, she told him, if only for this last time, this last moment between them. It had been far too long since his heart had beat, since he’d drawn breath, and with everything she was giving him, Zylah knew there would be no walking away from this.

“I love you,” she sobbed against the soaked fabric of his shirt. “And I have lovedeveryversion of you. Just as you have loved every version of me. Please, Holt. Please, stay.” Her voice cracked, a pained sound leaving her as she trembled beside him. Images flickered down the bond, memories, moments, shared looks, every touch, every kiss. The first day they met. Their nights in the tavern. When he’d found her in Varda. When she’d accepted their bond. When she’d found him in the vanquicite cell. Returning to the maze together. Mae’s court. Trying to break Ranon’s command in her tent back at the camp.

Zylah tried to push herself up at that last thought, her head falling to his chest, the thread between them pulling so painfully tight it had her clutching a hand to her heart, the other resting over his. She thought of every one of his memories she’d seen when Ranon had commanded him, every time she’d felt the ripple of Holt’s magic over her skin. And Zylah let go.

With a shuddering breath, his magic erupted from her, pouring, weaving, wrapping, spiralling back and forth between the two of them with everything she had left. A sound somewhere between a scream and a wail erupted from her throat, her body trembling uncontrollably as she burned and burned and burned under the force of the magic twining between them. Every last piece of her she gave to him, willing him to wake up, to breathe.

Until Zylah had nothing left. Could do nothing but lay her head across Holt’s unmoving chest, the world dark, the waves crashing over them, her body shuddering. She focused on that tiny shimmering light from her heart to his, praying that whatever came next, they’d be together soon.I’ll find you, she promised him as she lay over her mate, tears mixing with the saltwater that soaked his shirt, grasping their thread for as long as she still drew breath.Wherever we go next, I’ll find you.

I’ll find you, she told him over and over and over until the words became a chant in her head, until she could imagine nothing but his beautiful eyes, the brush of his lips over hers, the feel of his embrace. Another wave broke over them, but Zylah didn’t care. The roaring in her head drowned out everything else, the crescendo of the surf fading to nothing.

But then the thread between them shuddered.

Once.

Twice.

Zylah held her breath for the moment she wasn’t ready to come, would never be ready for.

And then she heard it.

Felt it.

A single beat.

Then another.

The thread between them pulsed as Holt’s heart beat a third time.

Shone.

Sang.

Until it was joined by another thread. And another. And another. Weaving and twining and pulsing around them, a choked gasp tearing from Holt’s chest, and then he was rolling to his side, heaving up water and gasping for breath as if they’d just emerged from the ocean.

Zylah couldn’t speak, her body a trembling mess as she fumbled to help him without her vision, the sound of his strong heartbeat the most beautiful thing she’d ever heard. Holt pulled her into his arms, hands sweeping over every part of her, checking, reassuring, comforting, rasping her name over and over like a prayer.

“I’m alright,” she gasped out through frozen lips, shaking in his arms, hands reaching everywhere to check he was truly there with her. “But I can’t see.”

His hands cupped her face, every part of him just as freezing cold as she was as his mouth came over hers, the threads still weaving around them, the one between their hearts the brightest. He tasted like the ocean. Like her tears. Like his. Like being alive, and another sob escaped Zylah as she clung to him.

She’d thought he was lost to her. Dead. That she would never again hear him draw breath. That he had been too still, for too long, and—a soft caress whispered over her skin and Zylah stilled.

Comfort. Love. Devotion. Settling over her, embracing her, filling her. Which meant—

Holt pulled her closer.I remember you.

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