Page 94 of Taken

Talon’s hand closes over mine, preventing me from drawing the crystal out. “You’re too weak,” he murmurs. “Whatever you’re thinking, it’ll kill you.”

“Let go.” I meet his gaze, unflinching despite the tremors wracking my body. “Please.”

Something shifts in his eyes—recognition, perhaps. Respect. His hand falls away.

I pull out the Shard, its crimson light bathing the helicopter’s interior. Several operatives tense, hands moving toward weapons.

“Stand down,” Zoe orders, her eyes narrow as she watches me.

The crystal burns against my palm, hungry, eager. Power stirs beneath my skin, answering its call. With my free hand, I reach for Hargen, fingers finding the pulse point at his throat. So weak. Barely there.

“I need a knife,” I say, instinct telling me what I need to do.

No one moves.

“Now,” I snap, strength returning to my voice.

The medic reluctantly hands me a small scalpel from her kit. My fingers close around it, familiar memories surfacing—my mother’s hands guiding mine, her voice murmuring ancient words. A ritual passed down through Rossewyn blood, meant to heal, to bind, to save.

“Only in the gravest need,”she’d warned.“It takes as much as it gives.”

Except, I don’t even know if this is going to work.Blood to blood, she’d said. Hargen isn’t my blood. But with the bond we’ve shared, maybe it’ll be a strong enough connection.

All you can do is try…

I draw the blade across my palm, blood welling crimson in the hollow of my hand. I press the Shard into the wound, hissing as power surges through the connection, exponentially stronger than before. My blood activates something in the crystal. Something ancient. Something hungry.

“What are you doing?” Zoe demands, half-rising from her seat.

“Saving him.” At least I hope I am. I reach for Hargen, my bloodied palm finding the exposed skin of his abdomen, fingers spreading wide over the bullet wound.

The connection forms instantly. Hargen’s life force, the Shard’s power, my blood. A circuit of energy, raw and dangerous. I close my eyes, focusing on the thread that has connected us for years, that tether of magic the Syndicate forced between us to make him my handler, my buffer, my prison guard.

But it was never just that. Not to him. Not to me, if I’m honest.

Please let it be enough…

I push the Shard’s power through that connection, directing it to knit damaged tissue, to halt bleeding, to restore what bullets have torn through. Pain lashes through me as the crystal draws from my own life force to fuel the healing. My breath stutters, vision going dark at the edges.

Voices blur around me, urgent but meaningless. I feel Hargen’s body jolt beneath my hand, his mouth opening in a silent scream as the Shard’s energy courses through him. The bond between us flares, stronger than it’s ever been, opening channels I didn’t know existed.

Images flood my consciousness—Hargen’s memories, not mine. A younger man, seeing me in that chair for the first time, horror dawning as he realizes what they expect him to do. Syndicate scientists watching coldly. His silent rage when Creed pushed visions too far, when my blood painted steel tables. His quiet vigil beside my bed after sessions that nearly killed me.

Years of small kindnesses hidden from surveillance. Moments of connection disguised as medical necessity. The gentle brush of his fingers against mine when passing food or medication. His fear each time they threatened to replace him.

And beneath it all, a current of emotion so strong it steals what little breath I have left. Not duty. Not obligation.

Love.

My eyes snap open as the realization hits. Hargen’s gaze meets mine, his consciousness returning as the healing takes hold. He knows what I’ve seen. What I’ve felt.

“Lila,” he whispers, his voice rough with blood and pain. “Don’t.”

But it’s too late. The ritual is in motion, power flowing between us, the Shard feeding on our connection to work its magic. Hargen’s wound closes beneath my palm, flesh knitting, blood flow slowing, then stopping. His color improves with each beat of his heart, strength returning to his limbs even as mine fails.

The price of such healing is always high, my mother had said. And she was right.

My vision tunnels to a pinpoint of light. The last thing I see is Talon lunging toward me as I pitch forward, darkness swallowing the world whole.

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