Page 90 of Dynasty of the Wicked

But even as she tried to pull magic from deep within herself, it was useless. A tremor ran through her limbs, and her arms were number than before. Every broken bone, bruise, and gash stung, ached, and throbbed at once. Nausea rolled over her body, and she wondered if the adrenaline rush was wearing off and she was now feeling the effects of battle.

She still had to fight. And even if they managed to survive this all, she had to deal with Chanming, becausehe knew who she was.

“Feng Mian!” Her tongue felt heavy in her mouth. “He?—”

Something struck her on her stomach, and she flew back several feet, her surroundings becoming a blur of white and blue, and crashed onto the ground. Her head cracked against something hard, and she tasted iron. She could barely crack her eyes open. She doubled over on the ground, spewing vomit and blood, her breathing erratic. She could barely hear anything for a moment, a static numbness overcoming her senses.

Slowly, her surroundings came to her, as did the shouting.

“—what have you done?”

“You knew who she was!”

“She is my wife!”

“She is our enemy!”

She blinked up at the sky; one of her eyes was still swollen shut, but now the other was barely open and twitching too. She swallowed down the bile clawing up her throat. Everything hurt. Her stomach throbbed and she already knew there were welts across her flesh now, given how everything burned, but whatever had struck her had also electrified her whole body. Her limbs ached and the blast seemed to exacerbate every gash, bruise, and broken bone.

She had used up too much magic against Wyer, and now she was suffering the price of it.

“You dare raise your sword at me?”

“I won’t let you kill her.”

“We don’t have time for this, Feng Mian.” There was a warning in Chanming’s growling voice. “Lower your weapon.”

“I refuse.”

Zhi Ruo tried turning with great difficult, moaning in pain as ink-like blotches filled her vision. She nearly vomited when she finally managed to roll to one side. Her shoulder screamed in pain and she nearly passed out from the effort. Sweat dotted her forehead and she forced herself to stare ahead, to see what was happening.

Feng Mian and Chanming fought each other swiftly. Feng Mian’s shadowy sword collided with Chanming’s blue-lighted one, and the blasts caused the ground to reverberate and shockwaves to disrupt the snow. Even the half-ghouls kept their distance. Feng Mian’s face was a patchwork of black lines, his silver eyes flashing with determination and pain.

Her chest tightened and tears stung her eyes. He wouldn’t last the battle; she knew it deep in her heart. Chanming would kill him, and then he would kill her, too.

“Stop,” she protested weakly. “Please.”

Neither of them listened to her—or maybe they couldn’t even hear her. She sounded weak and broken even to her own ears.

Zhi Ruo fixed her hands on the frozen earth and pushed herself up. She gasped, her trembling arms giving out beneath her, and fell back onto the packed snow. Pain radiated over her body, so intense that she cried out. It hurt. It hurt so badly, but what hurt more was knowing that Feng Mian was fighting for her, and she could do nothing to save him.

She forced herself again, trying and failing to move. She choked back a strangled sob. Feng Mian and Chanming continued fighting, their attacks growing more furious, more lethal as they both seemed to realize they would fight to the death over this matter.

“Just … kill me instead,” she croaked, clawing at the snow in futile attempts to right herself. Tears streamed down her cheeks, mixing with her blood. “Please … spare him.Please.”

A stir of magic from behind made her stiffen. She turned her head just in time to find the dragon crouching beside her. The front of his threadbare clothes was drenched in dried blood, and the holes in his shirt revealed his black and silver scaled body. Blood was smeared over his chin and down his neck, but she doubted it was his. He tilted his head at her, the dark horns catching in the light and appearing silvery.

“Drakkon,” she murmured through her tears. “You’re alive.”

He placed a hand on her cheek, wiping the tear with his blood-streaked hands. His eyebrows pulled together. His childish face appeared so young in that moment as concern washed over him.

“He’s going to die,” she whispered, inhaling sharply as the words came out. Her face crumpled and she bit down on her lip to keep from weeping loudly. “He’s going to die.”

He stared at her and then over at the two men fighting.

“I don’t want him to die. I love him too much.”

If only she was stronger. If only she had enough strength to get up.To fight.

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