Page 76 of Kissed By the Gods
Then he collapses at my feet, blood pooling black in the dim light.
I stagger back, gasping, my hands slick on the handle, my whole body weak with an exhaustion that’s beyond the physical. Behind me, Ryot calls my name—but it’s distant, like he’s callingfrom across a vast, endless space. Something swirls around me, brushing against my skin like a living thing.
“Leina!” Ryot’s voice cuts through the fog that’s surrounded my brain. “Sweet Serephelle, you’re pale as death and cold as the frost. Did it touch you?”
His hands cup my cheeks, rough and unsteady, his blessed warmth seeping into my skin. The world is tilted sideways—but Ryot is an anchor in the chaos, his blue eyes blazing.
“I’m fine,” I rasp, though my knees threaten to buckle underneath me.
His fingers tighten almost painfully on my face.
“Don’t lie to me.”
“Really, I—” I stop, take a deep breath. I place my hands on top of his, to calm us both. “He didn’t touch me.”
He holds me there, his forehead almost touching mine, breathing hard. His thumbs brush over my cheekbones, slow and reverent, as if he's trying to memorize every line of me—proof that I am still here, still breathing.
“I thought you—” He breaks off, his jaw clenching. “When I saw it diving for the cave?—”
“I know,” I whisper.
He lets out a shuddering breath and presses closer, until our foreheads touch. His scent—leather, adamas, the faintest hint of cinnamon—grounds me more firmly than the cave floor beneath my boots. He tangles one hand in my hair and another grasps under my chin, angling my face toward him. Our lips are a hairsbreadth apart. I can’t help the way my hands grip his shoulders, trying to pull him closer.
Einarr snorts and stomps outside, frantic because he can’t see his Altor. Ryot pulls back, just a hair.
“You scared the hells out of me,” he says, voice so low and raw it scrapes at the hollow places inside me.
“You scared me, too, charging into the air like that.”
He draws back further, and his brow draws into a quizzical line. “How did it know you were in here?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t draw their attention. He—” I stop again, terrified to put this into words. “He knew my name, Ryot.”
He stiffens, the hand still braced against my cheek going rigid.
“What?” he says, voice dropping.
“He knew my name,” I whisper again, like maybe saying it softer will make it less real.
Ryot's jaw clenches so tightly I can see the muscle twitch. His hand drops from my face, only to hold my shoulder instead, grounding me with the weight of his touch.
Behind us, Einnar stomps around, trying to squeeze himself into the narrow opening of the cave, around the draegoth.Get out here, he seems to say. The scent of the creature’s blood is thick in the air, metallic and wrong in a sweet, cloying way.
Ryot looks me over again, from the crown of my head to the tip of my boots. “Can you ride?”
“Yes,” I lie, because the truth is I don’t think my legs could carry me ten feet—but I would drag myself through the dirt before I slowed him down.
He gives me a tight nod, then reaches down and retrieves my scythe from where it clattered to the stone when he grabbed me. He slides it onto his own back. Without another word, he turns, pulling us past the dead creature sprawling across the cave’s entrance.
“Are we continuing on?” I ask.
“No. We’re going back to report to the Synod that the Kher’zenn are hunting. And that they know your godsdamn name.”
He swings us both onto Einarr’s back, but he doesn’t put me behind him, the way a second rider would usually sit in formation. Instead, he tucks me in front of him, against hischest. He wraps one arm around me as Einarr launches us into the air, the beast’s massive body trembling from either exhaustion or rage. I’m guessing rage.
Ryot tightens his hold on me, his palm spread over my stomach. I give into temptation and lean back, resting my head against his chest. My heartbeat eases, my breathing slows, as the wind slices through my hair and Einarr’s feathers. I know the danger hasn’t passed. It’s only distant. But here, against Ryot, the chaos of it is muted, like it can’t quite reach me.
A dozen words skim the edge of my mind, as I try to name the sensation unfurling through my body. Relief. Gratitude. Exhaustion.
