Page 65 of The Fated and the Damned
“Comebacktome.”
I lay my head against Dante’s chest, comforted by the steady heartbeat and the gentle rise and fall of his torso. After running myself ragged with András over the last few days, then training with both sword and magic, I’d fallen asleep in a chair by Dante’s side, having woken myself with a snort and an unsightly pool of dribble where my head had been resting on the table.
I sighed, scrubbing a hand over my face. The hour was late, judging by the candles that had melted down into small stubs since starting my vigil. After Sylvie’s visit yesterday morning, I’d barely slept a wink and could hardly keep my eyes open during meetings with our allies. Thankfully, most of the clans had agreed to stand by Mistvellen and those too cowardly to join the fight had slunk back to their territories.
Viktória had burned for her crimes, just like her mother. An ironic and fitting end for their bloodline. Several water witches involved in the coup had joined the High Witch after refusing to bend the knee, but many seemed relieved to be rid of their dictator and any agreements with the cultists.
Just in case, I had Lukasz and Erika keeping a watchful eye on them. One step—one toe—out of line, and I would incinerate them without a second thought, trials be damned.
We were in the middle of a war. I hadn’t the time for rebellious witches, nor the patience, which is why I’d stayed far away from anyone likely to set a spark to my fragile temper. There was a hungry beast on permanent patrol these days and it didn’t seem satisfied, no matter how many cultists I fed it. I hardly wanted it turning on allies, too, lest I really let the world see the monster I was becoming.
I sat up, stroking Dante’s hand with my thumb, studying the lines of his face. A muscle in his jaw ticked, his eyes shifting beneath the lids as though dreaming. My brows pulled together, my heart constricting with worry. To any onlooker, one might mistake him for sleeping, but I knew he was living a nightmare, hunting for the crown.
He should have found it by now. He should be here, in my arms, smirking with those damn dimples or whispering dirty little nothings in my ear. Gods, I had never wanted to hear his voice so badly or look into those brown eyes ringed with gold.
My wolf lord.
Dante’s body spasmed suddenly, his whole back lifting off the table, his mouth opening in a silent scream.
“Dante!” I leapt up, my chair crashing to the floor as I leaned over him, sliding my hands under his head to prevent his skull from cracking on the table. He continued shuddering violently and I clutched him tighter, my heart threatening to crack out of my chest.
“What’s going on?” Margit cried as she raced down the steps, restraining his arms as he thrashed wildly. “What’s happened to him?”
“H-he just started convulsing,” I stammered.
Blood began trickling out of his ears, his mouth, and all sense of calm fled from my bones. My voice sounded shrill to my own ears as I shouted, “I thought his spirit form couldn’t be harmed in the Under World?”
“His body cannot, but any physical harm to the spirit can still break the mind.” She shook her head, her brow creasing as she gazed down at Dante. “This is no mere demon or lesser magic. Something bigger and more powerful is causing this. Something I can’t begin to understand.”
I peered at her with wide eyes, tears threatening to fall down my cheeks as he shook in my arms. “I don’t care what it is, he can’t stay there like that. Pull him out Margit.”
Margit’s eyes snapped to mine as she pressed down on Dante’s bulging arms. “Kitarni—”
“Pull. Him. Out.”
A strangled sound of frustration clawed from her throat. “If something is trapping his mind or he’s being tethered bysomeonein the Under World, he might not come back the same. The mind is a fragile thing, it must be treated with care. You know the risk.”
I bit my lip hard enough to draw blood. Dante writhed beneath me, the lines around his eyes pulling taut and his teeth gnashing. “We have no choice. If we don’t get him out of there, there will be nothing left to bring back.”
Her blue eyes hardened like diamonds, but she shoved her sleeves up, revealing smooth, milky skin and soft hands that she pressed to Dante’s sweaty forehead. She began chanting the words to that ancient spell. Forbidden, haunting words that made the hair on my arms stand on end and a swell of magic gust around the room.
Paper tore from books and the blood dripping from Dante’s ears and nose began to float above his still thrashing body. I placed my palms to his chest, ignoring the way the wind pulled at my hair and tugged at my clothes, focusing only on sending healing energy into his very soul from the golden glow at my fingertips.
Margit gasped under the onslaught of the wind, but not once did she falter or stumble. I gritted my teeth as a power stronger than any I’d ever sensed filled the room, settling over me, threatening to consume me.
At some stage, I felt András’s presence beside me, his body wrapping around me like a human shield as I continued to heal Dante. My bones felt like they would snap, my skin threatening to peel away from my face.
A surge of power suddenly blasted from Dante’s body, and the three of us were sent hurtling into the walls, András grabbing me to his chest and taking the brunt of the fall. When I looked up, the room was silent, but magic radiated in waves from a source in the centre of the chamber.
I crawled to Dante, one agonising elbow and knee at a time as I fought to reach my husband. Blood dripped from my nose onto the cold stone floor and the pressure in my head felt like it would explode. But I kept fighting, kept crawling and, when I had clawed my way to standing, the sight on the table made the breath whoosh from my lungs.
A golden crown bejewelled with rubies and emeralds rested on my husband’s head, the sheer power and otherness of it still pumping magic out in waves. Dante’s skin was paler than the moon, his flesh seeming to tighten and hollow out with every passing second.
Gritting my teeth, I reached my arm over, curled my fingers around the gilded metal, and yanked the crown from his head.
The moment he was freed, the power sucked back in on itself and the room stilled. I wilted, resting my head against Dante’s chest momentarily as I panted. When I looked up, I was relieved to see colour returning to his cheeks, the skin filling in to return his smile lines and the normal set of his eyes.
He was unconscious, but breathing. After the toll the crown had taken, I suspected his body would need rest to recover from the onslaught and whatever else had happened in the Under World.
