Page 103 of Stolen
Rivers vanish beneath us.
Wewillourselves forward like divine weapons shot from the gods’ own bowstring.
My wings tear through the sky.
And I feel her.
My viyella.
My mate.
My whole fucking heart.
The zareth burns inside me. It’s an ache, a tether, a compass that leads only to her.
I feel her terror. Her courage. The battle in her soul as she fights for the home we barely had time to build together.
“Hold on, Jules,” I growl, voice deep and echoing in the wind. “I’m coming.”
Nightfall itself splits open before us.
And the sky prepares toburn.
Then—we’re there.
I can see the Eyrie, and it’s under siege.
Fuck.
Screams echo through the valley as flames lick the lofty towers.
Smoke pours from shattered windows.
The great gates are splintered, and monsters swarm the halls I swore to protect.
But none of that stops me.
Because I see her.
My Myrrin. My sweet, furious, shining Jules.
She’s a streak of motion on the marble steps—barefoot, blood-spattered, hair unbound and silver, catching the light like threads of starlight spun from war. A shield is clenched in one hand, her knuckles white, her eyes blazing with fire as she uses the other arm to usher a cluster of terrified children through the keep’s inner gate.
Shade is at her back, staff whirling like a blade of moonlight, felling enemies twice her size with terrifying grace. They’re both bloodied, battered, breathing hard.
But they arestill standing.
And itshattersme.
A child screams. One of the SoulTakers lunges—more shadow than flesh—and Jules pivots with brutal efficiency, slamming her shield into its face with a crack of silver magic.
It drops with a howl, vanishing into a curl of black smoke, and she shouts something—orders—to the children, her voice fierce and commanding.
They run. They get to safety. And all because of her.
She doesn’t see me.
Not yet.
