Page 187 of Wings of Ash & Flame
“Stay with me,” she choked out.
“We can’t linger,”Solflara pressed, flames flaring against the storm. “Beck and I will hold them,but heal him.You have to try.”
“I can’t.” Alaire shook her head vehemently. “My magic won’t answer me.”
“Your magic may be buried,but the bonds are loosening.It may still respond.My healing only works for you—or other celestials.But you…you might reach him.”
Alaire sucked in a breath, pulse thundering in her ears.
“Try,” Solflara urged, voice fierce and unyielding. “I believe in you.”
The crack in the plateau spread wider as Solflara and Beck threw up a protective barrier around them, buying Alaire precious seconds.
Alaire closed her eyes, fighting to block out the frenzy raging around them. She pressed her hands over the packed snow sealing Dawson’s wounds, reaching desperately for that buried part of herself where her magic slept. She prodded and pushed, begging for just a spark.
Nothing.
Letting out a strangled breath, she rolled her neck, forcing herself to focus again—this time not on the void inside her, but on where her hands touched him. Memories surged: his brooding stare, infuriating quips, the way he demanded she repeat training drills until her muscles burned. Always pushing. Always believing she could do more. Be more.
Dawson believed in her.
She could do this. Shehadto.
A spark lit within her. Alaire tried to cling to it, to direct it—but the pounding in her ears, the clamminess of her hands, and the heat flushing her skin snuffed it out before she could grasp it.
Her body slumped over Dawson. Tears burned her eyes. Her magic had failed her again when she needed it most. Worse—she had failed him.
The ground cracked around them, fissures spiderwebbing outward from the plateau into the mountain path above.
“Alaire,” Solflara prodded gently, “we need to go.Beck and I can’t hold them off much longer.We have to get him onto Beck’s back.He’ll carry him until we find somewhere safe.”
Her hands were slick with Dawson’s blood, warm and sticky. Now that the adrenaline had ebbed, panic and terror flooded in, threatening to break her. Her lungs seized. She forced deep, steady breaths through her nose.Not now. Not here. Not when Dawson?—
Solflara nudged her with her beak. “I’m okay. I’m alright.” It was a lie she repeated, as if sheer insistence might make it true.
Beck appeared moments later, packs dangling from his beak. Relief flickered through her. At least they had supplies—but nothing to stop Dawson’s bleeding.
Still slumped against her, he stirred faintly.
“Beck, we need to get him on your back,” she said, voice raw.
Beck’s keen eyes swept over Dawson’s limp form. Together, they hoisted him onto the griffin’s back, securing him as best they could. Every pained sound that escaped him was a knife to her chest.
“I forbid you from dying on me,” she whispered, kissing his brow before pulling leathers from her pack to cover his body.
The plateau fractured beneath them as they left it behind, heading up the narrow mountain path. Snow still fell, though the blizzard had eased to flurries.
Alaire walked beside Beck, one hand steadying Dawson’s back. His breaths were ragged, each one sounding worse than the last.
The ground rumbled, cracking again, deeper this time.
“There.” Solflara pointed with her wing toward a dark opening in the mountainside. “A cave.”
The frigid air gnawed through Alaire’s insulated layers. Even Solflara looked chilled, her flames dimming. Beck’s muscles trembled under the weight he carried. They wouldn’t last much longer. Relief surged when the cave loomed just ahead.
Then a growl cut through the wind.
The pack that climbed ahead had circled back. Massive shapes emerged from the snow. More than before. Their dark eyes glistened with hunger.
