Page 159 of Wings of Ash & Flame
The final strains of the waltz echoed through the ballroom, and they slowed to a stop, still wrapped in each other’s arms. His fingers found the end of her braid, tugging gently until the strands came loose, spilling like silk over his hand. He threaded them through his fingers, holding on.
“I can’t stay away from you,” he whispered, frustration laced with need. “No matter how much I should.”
Her heart pounded, a war waging inside her. Could she really let him in—let him see the parts of her she kept hidden from everyone else? His confession cracked fissures in her fortified walls.
And then everything around them began to shake.
Thirty-Seven
Pandemonium erupted as the manor’s walls shook violently. The music died with a screech, drowned by screams and the distant roar of celestials. Dawson’s grip tightened around Alaire, worry etched into the lines of his face. He glanced toward the windows as waves of fae poured into the ballroom.
“The manor is under attack,” Dawson said, urgency bleeding through his voice. “I have to go.”
“I’m coming.”
His eyes snapped to hers amid the chaos, panic flashing across his face. “No. You need to stay here.”
“To do what? Hide?” Alaire broke their contact, hands on her hips. “I can help, Dawson. You know I can fight.”
She needed him to understand one thing: she would never be the type of person to sit on the sidelines. Not when there was a battle to fight. Not when she could do something.
“Fine. Find Kaia and Caius. They’ll figure out how you can help.”
Dawson stared into her eyes for endless moments they didn’t have. His hand threaded through her hair before he released her, patting down his suit pockets for weapons. But he was a weapon himself, honed and ready to strike.
“Stay safe,” he commanded, eyes never leaving hers. “I trust you can handle yourself. Don’t take unnecessary risks. You’re much too valuable, mean too much… And if you need me?—”
“Go.” She squeezed his forearm, feeling the tension coiled in his muscles. “They need you.”
“Ineed you.” He brushed a tender kiss across her forehead. With one last lingering look, Dawson sprinted toward the fray.
He was swallowed by the chaos in seconds. Panic clawed at her throat. She wanted to pull him back, to tell him that somewhere along the way she had come to need him too—needed him whole, needed him to know that losing him would shatter pieces of her she’d spent years rebuilding.
But the battle wouldn’t wait, and neither could she.
Reaching for her breathbind reliquary, cleverly stitched into her dress, she took two inhalations before spurring into motion.
Frigid mist cloaked the view from the towering arched windows, cutting off any sense of what was happening beyond the glass. Inside, rows of fae lined themselves in battle formation against the fog seeping under the doors.
Whatever it was, it was coming.
And her phoenix was out there.
“Solflara,” Alaire called down the bond. “Where are you?Are you okay?”
Silence. Dread pressed heavily against her ribs. Her heart hammered as panic fed her imagination—images of Solflara bleeding, injured, broken. She rubbed a hand over her chest, desperate to shake off the suffocating silence.
“Solflara!” Alaire shouted. “Are you hurt?”
“Darkness is here.”
The words sent a shiver down her spine. “What can you see?”
“Evil.”
Streams of flame cut through the shrouds of mist, masking what was happening outside. Relief sagged her shoulders. Solflara was alive.
“Don’t scare me like that.”
