Page 84 of Storm of Blood and Shadow

Kyreagan grins. “You stink, but it’s more than that.”

“I’ve smelled it too,” I admit. “But I can’t identify the source. It smells like death, but it’s not dead. It smells like… like my nightmares.”

Kyreagan quirks a brow, but doesn’t comment. He steers me into the water and helps me scrub thoroughly with the soap he brought. His presence is strong, authoritative, determined, and the Mordvorren inside me lurks warily, assessing him. I sense the precise moment it decides he is too much of a threat.

“You shouldn’t stay long,” I tell Kyreagan as we leave the water and traverse the sand to a strip of grass. “Once I revert to dragon form, the Mordvorren will force me to kill you. You need to leave, and take Jessiva with you.”

“She won’t go,” he says.

“You can force her to go.”

He shakes his head. “You and I have already imposed our will upon women more often than we should have. I won’t do it again. Live or die, she wants to stay with you.”

“At leastyoumust leave.” My voice trembles. “Please, Kyreagan. Your family, the clan—they need you. And I need to know that you’re alive—that you will live on after me.”

He throws me a towel, his face tense. “Dry off. Get dressed.”

I wipe the water from my body and pull on the clothes he hands me—a pair of black pants and a white shirt.

“I will let the two of you have this night,” Kyreagan says. “Jessiva has things she wishes to say to you, alone. And… things she wants to do with you. I’m going to let her try it her way.”

“If I kill her, it will be your fault,” I tell him gloomily.

“It will be the Mordvorren’s fault. Jessiva is aware of the danger. Let your love for her be a further incentive to fight the evil within you, brother. You’ve always been stronger than I am. I know you can do it.”

He shifts into dragon form before I can reply. I’m so stunned I barely think to pick up the towel and the soap before he seizes me in his claws and takes off, flying toward the grassy meadow on the side of the mountain.

You’ve always been stronger than I am. I know you can do it.

It’s the opposite of what I’ve always believed about myself. Is this how he has viewed me all along?

Perhaps I have only been valuing one or two types of strength. Perhaps there are more different kinds than I realized.

We land on the slope near the ruins of the house. Jessiva has made a fire, and there’s a pot slung over it, hanging from a stick propped on two forked branches. The lid of the pot bobs, letting a savory scent unfurl from beneath it.

Jessiva is standing near the cliff’s edge, staring out at the violent beauty of the sunset, a torment of lavender, pink, and gold. She’s not wearing the dress she arrived in, but a gauzy pink dance costume that leaves most of her beautiful body exposed. The fabric twinkles in the sunlight, glittering like diamonds. The sparkle appeals to my dragon side, to my love of beauty and treasure.

Kyreagan glances from Jessiva to me. “I’ll leave you to it, then. Be strong for her, for yourself—and for me. I’ll return tomorrow evening.”

With thunderous wingbeats he rises into the air. I watch him soar higher and shrink into the distance.

The moment he’s out of sight, the Mordvorren seizes control.

I feel it rushing through my veins, lighting up my nerves, glowing in my brain. It moves me, walks me up the hill toward Jessiva in stoic silence while I scream inside my own skull, imprisoned and voiceless.

As Jessiva turns toward me, the Mordvorren stretches both of my hands. It cannot access my void magic, but somehow with a fierce effort, it manages to draw from its own well of power.

Lightning blasts from my palms, piercing the ground near Jessiva’s feet, sinking in deep.

It missed her. My screams and my resistance had an effect—kept the lightning from striking her in the heart—

But as the ground cracks and crumbles along the cliff’s edge, I realize that the Mordvorren wasn’t aiming for her at all.

The earth disintegrates beneath Jessiva’s feet, and she drops out of sight.

The Mordvorren fades a little in my mind, weakened by using my body for such strenuous magic—and as it slackens, I launch myself from the edge of the cliff.

Jessiva is right below me, plummeting toward the ocean, her eyes and mouth wide with terror, though she doesn’t scream.

---