Page 114 of Claim the Twilight
Kaster lands in front of us, his face a pale mask of horror. “I told her to wait. I said we had to evacuate.”
“Where is she!” Lorenzo demands.
“She went into Loviator’s realm. She went to find Hemlock.”
He’s barely finished his sentence before I’m running past him, deep into the gray landscape.
MERRY
Crush lies still and ashen, his breath coming in shallow gasps. The world around us is crumbling, and I don’t care. All that matters is Crush. All that matters is that he’s dying.
The sounds of battle mean nothing to me. I hold his hand, hot tears spilling from my lips.
“Fuck,” Kalveen growls.
“If we get him to Brimswood, maybe we can?—”
“He can heal in Brimswood?”
“The ritual to block it off might not be done, and if we can get him in the wards, then?—”
“He won’t make it. The wound is too bad,” Breyburn says.
“But if it wasn’t so bad?”
“What do you mean?” Kalveen asks.
“If I could heal it a little?”
“Wait…I thought healing stole your memories?” Breyburn rightfully points out.
I blink back tears. “It does. It will but…I can’t lose him.” I clutch at Kalveen’s arm. “You’ll remind me. All of you. I…I have a journal, and I won’t forget if you remind me.”
The ogre bloods exchange glances. “Are you sure about this?” Kalveen asks.
I press my palms to the wound in Crush’s chest and channel every ounce of healing energy I have into him. “I love you. I love you so fucking much. Please don’t die. Please.”
Darkness swallows me.
ORINA
I moved so fast that the world seemed to slow around me, and yet I ate away at the distance between myself and the storm. It made no scientific sense, and I didn’t care. All that mattered was that I could do this. I could get to Hemlock. I could maybe save him.
Get him out. Yes, maybe I could blur him out with me. I was stronger now. I could force him.
But even as I thought it, my gut clenched, guilt ripping through me because what kind of person did it make me to take his autonomy?
But doing otherwise meant watching him die.
Could I do that?
The storm moved overhead, and I spotted Hemlock on his knees, his mouth bloody, eyes dark pits of despair as he looked up at Loviator, who was holding him up by the hair.
The silver edge of a blade flashed in her free hand.
I pushed myself harder, came out beside her, and grabbed her wrist, twisting until it snapped. She yelped, dropping the blade, then punched me in the chest, sending me flying away from her.
“Orina!” Hemlock’s voice cracked.
