Page 46 of King of the Damned
Please, please, please, I beg of you–let me in. Show me where you are.
My only solace to be found as I search for Adelasia deep in the Blackwood is that I can still feel my magic tethered to her. While it cannot guide me, it’s proof that she’s still alive.
To know that she was so angry with me and felt so betrayed by my lies that she would risk her life in the most dangerous territory in the world only goes to show how fractured her heart is. I cannot bear the thought of her dying, let alone dying because of me.
I can’t imagine she got very far, but in the time I was recovering from the dark magic’s effects on my body, she could have gone any number of ways. She could be anywhere, and my mind only races with terrible assumptions.
The forest air is so thick with foul magic that it makes her scent nearly impossible to pick up. She could be bleeding out ten feet from me and I wouldn’t know. All I have to rely on is my sight and sound.
I find myself in a clearing and before me lie three werewolf carcasses. I rush to them to find them surrounding a pool of dried blood. I grab a handful of the dirt and the blood to inhale deeply, half-relieved and half-afraid when I catch the sweet scent of Adelasia, nearly fully engulfed by the smell of her terror.
I examine the werewolves to find deep lacerations in their torsos. Werewolf skin is too thick for a human’s blade to penetrate this deep. Whatever killed these creatures had supernatural strength.
That in turn means that whatever killed these creatures probably has Adelasia, too.
And then it happens.
I feel the icy-cold spear of dread rip through my very soul as all of my magic comes rushing back to me in an instant. I can do nothing but fall to my knees, gasping for air that I do not need; clutching my chest to feel a heart that does not beat.
“No,” I whisper to myself.
It’s not true. It can’t be. This is some vile trick of the forest.She’s not dead. She can’t be.
The weight of the pain in my chest makes it hard to stand, but I force myself to my feet and cry out her name over and over, searching for any sign of her at all.
I pause when I hear something in the distance. A gagging sort of sound like when humans are sick. And then a labored inhale, and a wet cough.
It must be her. It has to be. I close my eyes and will all of my focus into tracking which direction she’s in. On the wind, I catch the smell of stale water…infected flesh…lavender.
I sprint through the forest towards the smell, and only through the grace of my supernatural sight do I spot her in the distance, face down on the bank of a river.
“Adelasia!”
I rush over to her, only to find myself still filled with dread as I gently flip her over and take her in. Her eyes are sunken and dark. Blood pools in her tear ducts and drips out of her nose. Her skin has gone gray and the claw marks at her side ooze far too much blood for her to make it much longer. She’s soaked through to the bone and shivering.
I need to get her back to the Obsidian Palace. Now.
I pick her up and hold her tight to my chest as I sprint faster than my supernatural speed has ever carried me. Adelasia moans in pain, coughing out blood and the toxins invading her body.
When I make it back to the valley, I immediately bring her to my bed. I force her to drink a tonic for the pain, and then begin cleaning her wound.
As I scrape out the hardened toxins from the gashes, I find Witchfoil tightly and skillfully packed into it. No human in her condition could have done this on their own.First the wolves…now the blossoms…
I know the tonic has done its job when I rub a thick cream over the wound and she doesn’t scream, and the temporary paralytic properties keep her still.
I am no medicinal expert, but I’ve seen my fair share of werewolf injuries over my lifetimes to know how to treat them.
But I’ve never had to do so on a human, and deep within me, I know there’s no guarantee that she will survive. It terrifies me.
After I clean her wound and cover it with the highly concentrated Witchfoil salve, I hover my hands over the injury and close my eyes.
I concentrate on healing magic, willing the Bloodstone around my neck to help her.
In response, I feel nothing. Not even a whisper of magic. I open my eyes and stare at my hands before trying again. I watch as a faint glow radiates from my fingers and then dissipates before reaching Adelasia.
My mouth falls open in desperation and confusion. I don’t understand. I remove the chain of the Bloodstone from my neck and stare at it. It has completely lost its aura–as if I stole too much magic when I used Amatisi’s stone with Yekaterina’s to banish the Priestesses.
Adelasia’s wound suddenly begins to fade to grey and then black. The salve is failing. She will die.
