Page 85 of Ivy & Bone

Then, Prue’s eyes flew open, and pain burned between her breasts. She choked on blood, gasping for air.

Vasileios had stabbed her. But he’d narrowly missed her heart. She was bleeding out, and she would die if she didn’t do something. Quickly.

Heal, she thought, struggling to form a coherent thought among the anguished haze of her mind. I must heal myself.

Goddess, she couldn’t move. She tried to sit up, but all she felt was utter pain. She cried out, but it was nothing more than a gurgle against the blood rising up her throat.

“I’m here,” said a familiar voice. The warmth of that voice seeped through her, melting away her pain.

Cyrus. Prue wanted to close her eyes in relief, but she feared if she did, she wouldn’t be able to open them.

Gentle hands grasped her, helping her upright. Prue leaned against Cyrus, allowing him to steady her.

“Let me heal you,” Cyrus said.

“No,” Prue said sharply, surprised by the firmness of her voice. She would not let Cyrus give up part of his soul. Not again. “I just . . . your blood.”

Cyrus didn’t protest. He grabbed a jagged rock at their feet and pressed it into his finger until a bead of blood appeared.

“Press it . . . to my chest,” Prue ordered.

Cyrus obeyed, bringing his finger to the raging wound in her chest. She closed her eyes, feeling the heat of their mingled blood, and murmured, “Integro.”

Her skin warmed, and a prickle of awareness shot through her, opening her third eye. Her body lurched from the motion, exacerbating her wound, making her cry out. Cyrus’s grip tightened around her, grounding her against the storm around them.

Cyrus sucked in a breath, and Prue knew her magic was drawing from his strength. But she couldn’t even apologize. Her mouth clamped down, her teeth gritted to keep from screaming as fire scorched every part of her. Cyrus’s arms grew tense, his fingers digging into her from the strain of it.

Then, gradually, the pain faded, leaving behind a stretch of heat in its wake—as if Prue and Cyrus’s magic had melted her wound, sealing it over her skin. Prue gasped out, breathing in, relishing the untethered flow of air in her lungs. She stood, no longer relying on Cyrus, and gingerly patted her chest where her injury had been.

Nothing. No pain. Her dress was still soaked in blood, but she was completely healed.

Smiling, she turned to Cyrus, but his face was ashen. His eyes, normally a vibrant silver, had dulled to a muddy gray. He slumped over, and this time it was Prue’s turn to support his weight.

“Cyrus?” she asked.

“I’m fine,” he mumbled. “Just . . . give me a moment. See to your mother . . . and your sister.”

Prue nodded, remembering the crisis at hand. She carefully set him on the ground, propping him up against a nearby hunk of concrete, before looking around to inspect the scene. In the sky, a storm raged. Thunder cracked and rain began to drizzle from the clouds. Wind whipped at Prue’s hair, and she smelled the pungent tang of magic in the air. In the distance, the wispy forms of ghosts drew nearer, lured by the magic and power saturating the air. It wouldn’t be long before they arrived and possessed them all.

A few feet away rested a figure, his face charred and blackened beyond recognition. But she could tell it was Vasileios. His chest still rose and fell with his labored breaths, indicating he still lived.

It took all of Prue’s restraint not to slice his throat open. But he was a god, and she was almost certain cutting his throat wouldn’t kill him. Besides, she had to find her mother and Mona. They were more important.

Prue’s eyes roved over the wreckage, the jagged slabs of concrete, the cracks and vines and coiling brambles . . .

Prue’s heart lurched in her chest when she recognized her sister, lying motionless on her mother’s lap. Gaia’s face was white, her eyes drawn and haggard as she held her daughter. At first glance, it seemed that Gaia was simply clutching her daughter in an embrace. But as Prue scrutinized them, she realized Gaia’s eyes were closed, her hand pressed against Mona’s throat as she uttered a spell.

A snarl built its way up Prue’s throat as she lunged forward. “Get away from her!”

Gaia’s eyes snapped open and fixed on Prue. “She is already dead.”

“I said get away from her!” Prue screamed. The ground rumbled, and fissures split the earth. Alarm flashed across Gaia’s features as she scanned the rubble. The cracks deepened, widening as Prue’s vines climbed out, snaking toward Gaia.

“Prudence,” Gaia warned.

But Prue’s anger only intensified. “Release her,” she growled, “or I’ll strangle you.”

“I am your mother,” Gaia hissed.

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