Page 147 of Alien God

“Just hurry up,” I snapped. “Forget the cursed cushion.”

“Patience, Wylfrael, patience,” he chided. “She’s not going to get any deader.”

Sceadulyr was possibly, no, certainly, the most maddening god in the cosmos. But right now, the putrid shadow wielder was all I had. I ground my fangs against each other, swallowing everything I wanted to say, and focused on Torrance.

But looking at her was even more maddening in its own torturous way. My anger at Sceadulyr froze and shattered inside me, turning to grief that threatened to consume me. I’d lain her on her back, and her head was turned towards me. I peeled away the mask from her pale, cool skin, and knelt beside her, taking her little hand in mine.

Please, please don’t go.

“Stop holding her hand, you sentimental fool. I need you to pull out the sword,” Sceadulyr said. He stood on the opposite side of the chaise longue, his hands poised in the air above Torrance.

“You won’t let her bleed out?” I said, rising unsteadily to my feet and gripping the blade’s handle with both hands.

“Need I remind you of the cushions?” he said crisply. “Besides, her heart has stopped, so there won’t be much pumping out of her before I fix that.”

“Fine. Just fix her. Ready?”

“Always, Wylfrael. I expected you’d know that by now.”

I breathed in deeply, giving Torrance’s beautiful face one last, longing look before I slid the sword smoothly out of her chest. Sceadulyr’s eyes fell shut immediately, concentration furrowing his pale brow. Shadowy shapes swarmed over the table, sinking into Torrance’s wound, stopping blood from flowing out.

“Cursed skies, Wylfrael, you’ve really made a mess of her,” Sceadulyr growled, his lips twitching with the effort of whatever he was directing his shadows to do inside her body.

“Just fix her,” I said again, softly this time. I dropped my blade, unable to stand the red that coated it. Torrance wasn’t breathing. My hands curled into fists.

“Why hasn’t she revived yet? Why is it taking so long?”

Sceadulyr’s eyes opened, and he scowled at me.

“It is taking so long because, Wylfrael, every moment you deprive a mortal creature of blood flow after death is a moment that damage is inflicted, particularly in the brain. Perhaps you cannot appreciate that fact, as you do not seem to have one.”

I bristled at his insult but kept my mouth shut.

“My shadows have to work through every organ. I must make repairs, and her body is unfamiliar to me. If I woke her up now, she’d be alive, but would never stand, walk, or talk again. Is that what you want?”

“No!” I shouted.

“Then kindly make yourself useful by shutting up. You’re distracting me.”

I obeyed him, even though it physically pained me. I wanted to question his every move, wanted to understand what he did every moment. The feeling of helplessness came back, squawking and clawing at me, as I watched another god save my bride when I could not.

Feverish and afraid, I stared at my slaughtered bride, unable to do anything else besides wait and wonder and apologize to her in silence.

Sceadulyr worked all night. The only reason I registered time passing was because warm dawn light began to filter through the room, though there were no windows, replacing the earlier moonlight. By the time dawn became full morning, cracks were showing in Sceadulyr’s control. He’d started out standing upright but was now hunched over Torrance, fingers curling with tension. His eyes were screwed shut, his nose and mouth twitching. His head was tilted slightly to the side, as if listening hard for something just out of earshot.

I wanted to whisper his name, to scream at him, but I was too afraid to break his concentration now. I felt that we were nearing the end of the process. I just did not yet know what the result would be. I’d watched Torrance so closely that I’d almost fooled myself into thinking she had started breathing several times when she had not.

“Almost there,” the Shadowlands god croaked through tense fangs.

Sceadulyr’s voice had broken the silence and shattered my fear of speaking. All the questions I’d held back poured out in a tumbling rush.

“Almost there? Almost where? Stone of the sky, will she live, Sceadulyr?”

Slowly, Sceadulyr straightened up. He rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck, rubbing a hand down his face before opening his eyes.

“She already lives. I venture to think she will continue to do so as long as you don’t run her through with any more swords.”

I’d been standing, having spent much of the night pacing, but now I fell to my knees. I grasped Torrance’s hand, breathing so hard I almost missed the soft, whistling sound of her breath.

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