Page 71 of Bound to the Dreadlord

26

VEYLAN

Everything hurts.

The sharp, pulsing ache of torn flesh and exhaustion dragging against my bones. The stench of smoke and blood, thick in my lungs.

Sera sits beside me, hands pressed against my wound. Her fingers tremble, but her touch is unwavering. Determined.

We are alive.

Barely.

The world outside the merchant’s carriage is nothing but the blur of movement, the sway of the wheels rattling over uneven terrain. A stolen escape. Hidden beneath rough fabrics and crates filled with foreign spices, the air is clouded with secrecy.

She does not speak.

Neither do I.

But I feel her watching me.

The cut at my sides is deep. The blade had slipped beneath my armor, slicing through flesh, dangerously close to something vital.

I had not felt it at first.

Not when I was fighting.

Not when I slaughtered the last of Velkiron’s men, their screams ringing in my ears, their blood painting the walls.

But now—it burns.

She will not stop touching me.

Sera leans closer, breath warm against my neck. Her fingers trail across my skin, finding every place I have been broken. She is trying to save me.

She shouldn’t.

“You’re losing too much blood,” she whispers.

The way she looks at me—**like I am something fragile—**it makes my teeth clench.

I am not weak.

And yet, when her palm presses harder against my sides, when her lips part, when the softest note escapes her throat—the world shifts.

The song is nothing more than a hum.

But it moves through me.

It stitches. It mends.

Magic. Her magic.

The same voice that brought men to their knees, that shattered the silence of Velkiron’s stronghold like the howl of a beast—now it is for me.

Only me.

My breathing slows and the pain dulls.

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