Page 157 of The Seeker
“So how do we finish him?” Damien asked.
The Wolf reached into her belt and pulled out a small black blade. “The French did steal it. I just stole it back.” She handed it to Damien. “A singer cannot wield a black blade.”
“No, but she can ruin an angel with her voice.” Damien looked at Meera. “Well done, sister.”
Meera felt bruised all over. She felt sick. She wanted to vomit. Wanted fresh, clean water in her stomach. She wanted to lay next to Rhys and sleep. Wanted to wake next to him and banish his nightmares.
“Finish it.”
Damien plunged the knife into the back of Bozidar’s neck. The earth rocked beneath them and the angel rose to heaven, dissolving to dust in the air.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Rhys knelt in the burned cane field; the bitter smoke stung his eyes and nose. The ground was muddy beneath him, and black ruin stretched to the horizon.
“Gone.”
It was all gone. Hope. The future. He’d grasped for beauty beyond his reach, and it had been taken from him. His pride had led to this. His greed. His dishonor.
A soft hand touched his shoulder. “It’s not gone.”
His shoulders began to shake. “I’m dreaming.”
“Yes.” She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and the sweet scent of her skin brought a flood of new tears. “You’re dream-walking. With me.”
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“For what?”
“For letting you die.” The wound bled fresh. Every night would be this way. Every night he would relive her life. Her death. It was what he deserved. He’d known hope wasn’t for him. He’d known it wasn’t what he deserved.
“Reshon, wake up.”
“No.” He clutched her arm. Reliving her loss was worth it if he remained in her presence for even a few more moments. “Stay with me.”
“I’m here.” She bent to his cheek and kissed it. “Do you understand?” She sang in his ear, and green shoots speared through the mud. She sang and the sun rose over the horizon. “The nightmare cannot have you,” she whispered, “because you are mine.”
Soft grass grew beneath his knees. He bent down and touched his lips to the earth. The stink of death was gone and the air smelled sweet.
“Open your eyes, my love.”
Rhys opened his eyes,and Meera was lying next to him. Her cheek was stained with ash and her eyes were bloodshot, but she was there.
She was alive.
A hoarse groan ripped from his throat. He reached for her and clutched her to his chest. Raw cries ripped his chest. He coughed and wept, holding her and touching every part of her.
Her arms. Her precious hands and fingers. He kissed her knuckles and felt down her body. Her legs were strong and whole. No gash marked her belly. No blood stained her skin.
He kissed every inch of her face and rocked her back and forth.
Alive. Alive. Alive.
The terror hadn’t been real. The visions were lies.
“My mother?” he asked roughly. “My father? Your parents?”
“Safe. They’re all safe and mostly whole.”
