Page 44 of Tempest Blazing
"Rest," Kane's voice seemed to come from very far away. "Your body needs time to recover."
I tried to respond, to thank him, but sleep claimed me first.
???
I woke to moonlight filtering through unfamiliar windows and knew immediately—while I felt better than before, I was nowhere close to healed. My throat burned raw, my ribsscreamed with every breath, and there was this bone-deep exhaustion that Kane's emergency healing couldn't touch.
The physical pain was nothing compared to what settled in my chest as everything came flooding back.
I'd been taken. Completely, utterly helpless. Without my magic, without my bonds, I'd been nothing more than a victim waiting for rescue. All my training, all my supposed growth as a Dragon Rider—none of it mattered when it counted.
The bedroom door opened softly, and Draven entered carrying a small vial filled with swirling silver liquid. Ciaran followed behind him, his silver eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that stole my breath.
"How are you feeling?" Draven asked, his steps careful as he approached the bed.
"Like I got hit by a truck," I said, my voice hoarse. "But alive, so there's that."
Ciaran moved to the foot of the bed, his presence both comforting and overwhelming. "This is a healing potion," he said, nodding toward the vial in Draven's hands. "It will help with the deeper injuries Kane couldn't fully address."
I looked at the potion, then at both of them, and something ugly twisted in my stomach. They were trying to take care of me, to heal me, to make everything better. But they couldn't fix the fundamental problem.
"I don't want it," I said, turning my face away.
Draven frowned. "Tess, you're still seriously injured. This will—"
"I said I don't want it." The words came out sharper than I'd intended, but I couldn't stop them. "I'm fine. I'll heal on my own."
Ciaran's silver eyes narrowed slightly. "You're being stubborn for no reason, a rúnsearc. There's no shame in accepting help."
Wasn't there? I'd needed help for everything last night. Rescue, healing, even basic transportation. I was supposed to be a Dragon Rider, the first human to bond with a dragon, and I'd been as helpless as a child the moment someone put a collar around my neck.
"Just... leave it on the table," I said, pulling the quilts up to my chin. "I'll take it later."
They exchanged a look I pretended not to see. Even the fact that Ciaran could shift into dragon form—something that should have been earth-shattering news—felt distant and unimportant compared to the crushing weight of my own inadequacy.
"We'll be nearby if you need anything," Draven said finally, setting the vial on the nightstand. His voice was gentle, understanding in a way that made my chest tighten with guilt.
They left me alone with my thoughts and the untouched healing potion, closing the door with a soft click that somehow sounded like disappointment.
I stared at the ceiling and tried to make sense of what churned inside me. Shame, yes, but deeper than that. Terror. Not of Dominick or the Harbingers or even death—but of my own uselessness. Without my magic, without my bonds, I was nothing special. Just a human woman who'd gotten in over her head.
What if this happened again? What if next time, there was no dramatic rescue? What if I was just... forgotten?
The thought hit so hard I pressed my hands against my chest, like I could physically hold my heart together. I'd spent my whole life feeling invisible, unimportant, easily discarded.Becoming a Dragon Rider was supposed to change that. But last night proved it was all just an illusion.
Take away my magic, and I was still just Tess Whittaker—the girl nobody noticed, nobody chose, nobody came back for.
Exhaustion pulled at me again, my body demanding rest even as my mind spiraled. I closed my eyes and let sleep take me, hoping unconsciousness might provide some escape from the weight of my own thoughts.
My dreams offered no mercy.
I was back in the arena, the collar heavy around my throat, my magic locked away beyond reach. The crowd roared around me, but their faces were blurred, indistinct. I stood in the center of the ring, waiting for something, someone—but the minutes stretched on and no one came.
No golden dragon burst through the ceiling. No rescue party fought through enemy lines. No bonds flared to life in my mind.
Just me, alone and powerless, while the crowd grew bored and began to leave.
"Please," I called out, but my voice was swallowed by the empty arena. "I'm here. I'm still here."
