Page 111 of Ashes to Ashes

His quarters reflect their owner—elegant furniture arranged at precise angles, temperature noticeably colder than the hallways, shadows pooling naturally in corners like they belong there. No personal items except a locked cabinet radiating magical signatures that make my enhanced senses recoil.

“Guardian supplies,” he explains, gesturing toward the cabinet with a hand that leaves bloody fingerprints on dark wood. “Second drawer. Blue vials.”

I retrieve the healing draughts, trying not to notice how his hands shake when he reaches for shirt buttons. The fabric clings to torn skin, blood acting like adhesive.

“Let me.”

He goes absolutely still, ice-blue eyes meeting mine with an intensity that steals breath from my lungs. “Ash...”

“Medical necessity. Nothing more.”

His laugh is rough as granite grinding against granite. “If you say so, troublesome thing.”

I focus on clinical assessment—wound depth, blood loss, entry points where the Spear forced through flesh. But it’s impossible to ignore the lean strength revealed, the way shadows automatically caress his exposed skin like they’re offering comfort.

The wounds are worse than they appeared through blood-soaked fabric. Not cuts but tears where the Spear forced its waythrough tissue never meant to accommodate such violence. Four parallel gashes across his chest, deep enough to reveal dark lines beneath—the tattoo housing one of the most powerful artifacts in either realm.

“Gods, Kieran. The Spear does this every time?”

“Manifestation always costs.” His voice carries the weight of prices paid repeatedly. “The Treasures take their price in blood and years of your life. Each use ages me, weakens me. Eventually...”

He doesn’t finish. Doesn’t need to.

I uncork the blue vial with fingers that shake despite my attempts at steadiness. Contents glow with soft silver light, warmth radiating through the glass like captured starlight.

“This might hurt.”

“I can handle pain. The question is whether you can handle what comes after.”

Heat races up my spine at the dark promise in his voice. “What comes after?”

His smile turns predatory despite the agony carved across his features. “Guardian magic requires direct application. Skin to skin contact until the magic takes hold.” His voice drops to gravel. “Long enough for the Spear to recognize your magical signature. To decide if you are a threat or ally.”

My breath catches in my throat. “How long?”

“Long enough for magic to recognize magic, Ash. Healing bonds create connections that go deeper than flesh.” His eyes burn with intensity that makes my knees weak. “Are you prepared for that?”

No. Absolutely not. But his blood stains my hands, and something fierce in my chest demands I help him regardless of consequences.

“Yes.”

I pour the potion across the wounds, watching it seep into torn flesh with gentle hiss of regenerative magic. Then, before I can lose nerve, I press my palms against his skin.

Lightning explodes through my nervous system.

Power floods between us—shadow and Wildfire finding impossible harmony. The connection from our earlier encounters deepens, becoming something reaching beyond surface contact into places I didn’t know existed within my own soul.

His wounds knit with visible speed, flesh mending as magic flows between our joined hands like liquid starlight. But it’s more than healing. It’s recognition—the Spear itself acknowledging my presence, my right to touch its guardian, my worth as potential ally rather than threat.

Ancient magic tastes like winter storms and midnight honey as it flows through our connection, carrying information that bypasses conscious thought. I understand things I shouldn’t know—how the Spear chose him, how it’s been protecting someone he loves, how it’s slowly killing him with each manifestation.

A bond forming whether we want it or not.

When the wounds close, leaving only pale scars, I try to pull away.

His hands cover mine, holding me in place with gentle pressure that somehow feels like iron chains.

“Not yet. The magic is not finished.”

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