Page 143 of Wings of Ash & Flame
She barely had time to catch her breath before movement to her right drew her attention. One of the bloodravagers was stalking Dawson.
Alaire didn’t think—she reacted on instinct. Its claws aimed for his back.
She threw herself between them.
The impact knocked the air from her lungs as she hit the unyielding bones beneath her. The creature’s weight made her feel like her chest was caving inward.
Pinning her to the ground, its saliva dripped into her hair. The rancid stench—rotting meat and decay—made her gag.
She struggled against its hold, trying to use her knees and legs to kick it off, but it only dug its claws deeper. Damn, that fuckinghurt.
The bloodravager opened its jowls, razor-sharp canines piercing flesh.
A deafening roar exploded around her.
Dawson.
Her breath hitched as the bloodravager faltered before it could sink its full maw into her neck.
A wave of adamant power blasted through the cave, obliterating everything around her. The bloodravager disintegrated into flecks of black snow, but it was too late.
An inferno swept through her blood like rushing water. It started at the bite and spread outward in burning tendrils, making her limbs feel disconnected from her body. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears.
All she felt was excruciating pain.
Rough hands cradled her face, pushing damp hair from her forehead. Dawson. His eyes were murderous—fear and concern warring within them.
Despite the agony, her body flared to life at his touch. Her breaths came in ragged bursts. She tried to smile. “You couldn’t have done that earlier?”
Dawson ignored her weak attempt at humor. His hands roamed over her skin, searching.
“Neck,” she choked out.
She didn’t miss how his pupils swallowed the aqua of his irises. Not good. Dawson’s jaw clenched, thumb tracing the wound with reverence, aching gentleness.
“Look at me, Alaire,” he murmured as his forefinger traced the torn skin. “You’re going to be fine.”
“Liar.” She forced a smirk, but her words came out gurgled, strained.
His voice grew distant. A relentless throbbing filled her, sharp with agony. It felt like she was being flayed from the inside out. The world tilted, blurred.
“This will hurt, Alaire, but it’s the only way to get the poison out. Hang on, okay?” His nostrils flared. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”
She tried to respond, to tell him it would be okay. But her body refused to answer, paralyzed by the pain. His fear bled into the air around them.
Was this how it ended? There were worse ways to go than in a blaze of battle. She took comfort in knowing Dawson would survive. That Solflara had never been in danger. That she’d finally be free.
Dawson bent over her, desperation etched across his face. Slow and gentler than she ever thought him capable of, his lips brushed her neck. A goodbye.
Then his mouth pressed directly to her wound.
What was he doing? Did he want to die with her?
The sensation pulled at her skin, an unbearable burn tearing through her. It felt like being flayed alive. Dawson’s fingers flexed against her shoulders and collarbone as he drew the venom out, spitting it violently onto the ground before repeating.
The poison scorched as it left her body, lighting every nerve on fire. Then, for a heartbeat, cool relief—like dawn air across her skin—until the agony resumed with a vengeance.
Alaire tried to say thank you, but she couldn’t. She was just so tired. Darkness crept in, and she surrendered to the sweet numbness of oblivion.
