Page 85 of Storm of Blood and Shadow

At this height, it doesn’t matter that there’s water below—the impact will kill us both instantly.

I haven’t been able to shift intentionally for weeks. But if I’m going to save her, I must do it now.

Kyreagan’s voice reverberates in my head, drowning out the voice of the Mordvorren.I know you can do it. Be strong for her—for me.

I was born a dragon. My bones carry the strength of a thousand generations before me. I am the son of the Bone-King, but more than that—I am the son of the Bone-Queen, Zemua, the Winged Midnight. I will make her proud, and I will save my life-mate in her name.

With a roar, I call upon my dragon self, my beast of void and lightning. Much as I love my human form, this is my true nature. This is the side of me that Jessiva needs right now.

Lightning and magic burst from my body, and I scream at the scorching heat of it, at the agonizing torture of the change I’m trying to force upon myself, despite the resistance of the Mordvorren. My muscles swell against my skin, ripping my clothes as my body attempts to change—but I revert to human shape again with a cry of despair.

Fuck the storm and the evil that drives it. I’m not done fighting. The Mordvorren will rue the day it decided to settle over Ouroskelle.

Jessiva’s hair is a cloud of scarlet blood in the air as she falls, and I am the shadow and the lightning streaking after her, arrow-straight with desperation. I’m reaching for her—her fingers are nearly in my grasp—

And then I touch them. I have them.

I pull her to me, drag her against my chest, and we’re still falling, but she’s against my heart and it beats stronger now. Her skin, her scent, the red cloud of her hair—it’s everything I need, and I make one final, ferocious effort.

With a crack of bones and lightning, my wings appear. I can feel them on my back, see them out of the corner of my eye. They’re not as large as they usually are—I haven’t fully managed to change—but they’re all I need.

I extend the wings, and they crash against the wind of our speed, battling our descent. We’re halted, caught up, diverted from the freefall. We skim over the surface of the ocean and then I bank upward, heading back to our camp.

Jessiva clings to me with the frenzied strength of terror. She’s still silent, but when we land, she grips my shoulders, staring into my eyes.

“You’re back,” she says raggedly, and kisses me. Her kisses are hungry, frantic, bruising, claiming. “Mine,” she whispers fiercely between them. “Mine, mine, mine.”

I sink my hands into her wind-tossed hair and kiss her with ruthless joy, with a relief so deep it’s rapturous. Her mouth is bliss, warmth, safety. Her body is home, and her skin is salvation. She heals me, makes me whole like nothing else can.

Finally she pulls back a little, breathless. “You beat the Mordvorren, didn’t you?”

“Not entirely,” I confess. “But I dislodged it, at least partly.”

“Do you remember what you were thinking of when it happened?”

I hesitate. “I invoked my mother’s name, and for once I felt no guilt when I thought of her, only strength and love. I did something she would be proud of. I saved you.”

“That’s what it’s using,” Jessiva says. “You’ve known it since the beginning, Varex. Its grip on you has to do with her death. There’s something you’re holding back, something you haven’t resolved.”

“Unless I slay the creature that killed her, I’m not sure it will ever be resolved,” I admit. “But I can’t be apart from you, nor can I keep risking your life by my very presence while thisthinglives inside me. No matter what it costs me, I must do this. I will tell you what occurred that night.”

“Not on an empty stomach. The food should be ready now.” She looks at the wings folded against my back. “Are those going to stay?”

“Later I’ll see if I can make them vanish, but it’s probably best to keep them for now, in case you decide to tumble off a cliff again.” My tone is light, but I realize that I’m holding her waist, grasping it so tightly that it’s probably uncomfortable for her. When I let go, my fingers are trembling.

“You’re in control, Varex,” she says reassuringly. “And we’re going to keep you in control. Come on.”

She takes my hand, and I follow her toward the fire.

25

I have never felt more alive than I do in the moments right after my dragon prince tries to kill me.

It wasn’t him, of course—it was the thing inside him, the great malevolence that he swallowed to save my life.

He savors the stew with me and asks about my family. I tell him everything, even the messy parts about my conflicted feelings of sorrow and relief. His grief for his family is pure and untainted, so I’m not sure he can ever understand how I feel, but he listens, and there is no trace of judgment in his eyes.

He tells me of the hatchlings, Violet and Callim, his niece and nephew, and he apologizes to me for ever suggesting that I abandon my sister’s children.

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