What’s happening to him?
Then the wind is ripped from my lungs, my stomach caving from a powerful hit. It almost sends me tumbling off my horse. But by some miracle, I stay on.
This isn’t the feeling of hunger from a creature who’s seducing a victim and taking her soul. This is something else. Something violent. It feels like Rowan is fighting for his life.
Panic seizes me.
I kick my horse’s side hard, urging it to go faster. Branches tear at my skin, roots threaten to send my steed sprawling, but I don’t slow.
I have to get to him. I have to?—
Another blow, this one to the side of my head, sends me reeling. My vision spins, my limbs go weak, and before I can react, I’m sliding from the saddle, rolling across the forest floor with a grunt. Every inch of me aches, and my ribs pinch painfully as I try to sit up. Broken. Must be.
Before I can catch my breath, my horse bolts, hooves thundering against the earth, and vanishes into the dark woods.
Then I hear it.
Shouts. Steel clashing. Cries of fury and of pain.
Slowly, I rise and creep toward the noise on wobbly legs. When the trees thin, a clearing opens before me, and what I see has my blood turning to ice.
Rowan stands at the center, encircled by a dozen of the Order’s most lethal men, their swords gleaming with runes meant to kill any creature, mortal or non.
“Don’t let the Cursed One escape!” someone yells from the group.
When they rush for him, he moves with deadly precision, every punch, kick, and strike meant to kill. His torn wings whip through the air and stab like spears into anyone who gets too close. One man swings a sword at his side, aimed for Rowan’s head, but he twists last minute, the blade only grazing him, and the same cut flares across my arms, sharp and burning.
“Monster, you’ll pay for your sins!” another with the Ashen Flame’s fire symbol on his vest bellows as he lunges from behind. Rowan seizes him and wrenches him sideways, slamming the attacker into a second man. Bones snap. Men crumple to the ground, groaning. Rowan kicks, punches, and slashes, using everything he has—his fists, his legs, even his broken wings—to keep them at bay. Arrows whistle past him, but he ducks and weaves, striking back with brutal efficiency.
Every strike he takes leaves a mark on me, mirrored pain ripping across my chest, arms, and legs. My stomach twists with dread. I need to help him.
I nock an arrow, hands shaking, and take aim from the shadows. I release and the arrow flies true. A man cries out as it buries in his stomach and he drops. Quickly, I string another arrow, pull back, and let it go. This one sails mere inches in front of Rowan’s face, but strikes another of the Order’s men in the neck. Blood spurts and within a blink, he hits the ground, dead.
But the sudden appearance of my arrows has Rowan’s gaze swinging my way, a deep worry creasing his brow.
“Lyra,”he shouts. “Go!”
In that second of distraction, one of the warriors comes up from behind him, sword drawn. I ready another arrow, but I’m too late. The blade drives straight into his back, straight through his chest and the glowing gold veins.
I try to scream, but my voice has been stolen from me.
The world shudders.
Light erupts from Rowan’s chest in a blinding surge. The ground cracks beneath him as power screams free. The remaining men stagger back in terror. One of them shouts an order—Retreat!—and they run, vanishing into the trees like frightened animals.
Then, pain. All I feel is the pain.
It tears through me, a blade of fire driven into my own heart through the bond. I collapse to my knees as blood erupts from my chest.
But I have to get to him. I have to.
I’m too slow. The wound tears wider as I crawl toward him, every movement agony. Every breath burning.
Rowan lies on the ground, light flickering weakly beneath his skin, breaths shallow and uneven. His eyes find mine as Ireach him, and I collapse over his body, hands pressing uselessly against the wound that’s killing us both.
“I’m here,” I sob. “I’m here.”
The bond drums wildly, unraveling, pulling us closer even as it drags us toward the same end. My vision begins to darken at the edges. The forest tilts.