Page 150 of At the Mercy of Midnight
Knowing that she would be pulled violently, unerringly, to the centre of the Rift, to Silas, in a matter of hours.
She could already feel the magic stretching towards him, and with the pendant removed at the right moment, there would be nothing to stop that riotous magic from claiming them.
Amelia lowered herself to the ground slowly, blinking down at the darkness of the moonlit grass. She closed her eyes, breathed in deeply, and tried to ignore the pounding of her heart, the sickness roiling in her gut.
Amelia thought instead of Silas. Of his hands and the strength in them, the gentleness.
She thought of the way he looked at her when he was afraid, when he wanted to pretend that he wasn’t. She thought of the feel of his lips, the touch of his hands at the cottage by the beachside. His gentle whispers, his sinful words. His trust in her, and hers in him.
She thought of the day they met. Of how much they’d hated each other, or at least, how much she had hated him.
And still…still, they had chosen each other in these moments.
The bond stirred in her chest, like some effervescent liquid bubbling there.
She sat beneath the moon and the stars, the distant hum of the Rift cloying at her, and she waited.
For midnight, and for Silas.
THIRTY-FOUR
The pull was as painful as the very first, his body tearing itself apart and piecing back together like an excruciating artwork, until he collided with another body.
His feet hit ground less solid than the one he had left, close to losing his balance, except the warm body pressed to him helped keep him steady.
The arcane crystal he’d attached to his cloak with a sticking rune flickered worryingly. As he groaned from the pain and stood upright, the golden glow emanated from it, and from the one attached to Amelia’s chest, burning on brightly.
She panted, her arms firmly around his waist.
“You okay?” he asked, as they both looked around swiftly, trying to gauge where they had ended up. By Brinkley’s calculations, their starting points should have sent them as close as possible to the Ruins of Veilthorne.
In the dome of light they created around them, Silas could not spot any landmark or familiar sign that would point to their location.
“Yes,” she breathed, but her body was shaking as she pressed herself to him, glancing left and right.
He knew what she was searching for, what she was afraid of.
The Rift Crawlers.
Silas held her tightly. “We’re safe as long as our crystals hold out, and don’t forget…we’re pretty powerful, Winslow. Those things can’t imagine what they would be up against if they tried it.”
She didn’t respond but for the slightest increase in pressure of her fingers against his spine. A hush descended between them as they tried to get their bearings.
It was the quiet between them that had his ears picking up the sounds of movement and chittering, and by the tension in her muscles, Silas knew they had both become aware of the danger just beyond the glow of their crystals.
He slowly released her, as though any sudden movement would bring the Crawlers descending upon them, razor sharp appendages tearing into their flesh.
They got to work, pulling out more lamps, igniting them hastily. They made a perimeter around them before erecting a small tent, and only then did he feel they were somewhat safe from the horrors of this terrible land.
The tent was barely big enough for two as they both crawled inside and laid out small bedrolls. The canvas rustled noisily in the wind, held upright more by stubborn will than anyreal structural integrity. They had borrowed it from Brinkley, and as he watched the canvas pull tight from the wind, he wondered whether they should have brought something sturdier. The air inside the tent was thick with their worry, their tension, laden even further by the scents of dust and slithering magic that seemed to coat everything. They laid quietly together, the heat from their bodies the only thing keeping the chill at bay.
Their shoulders brushed as he crossed his arms over his chest, a blanket tucked over them both, the Midnight Blades sitting at their sides like watchful omens.
They were quiet for a long while before Amelia broke the silence.
“I’m thinking a good night’s sleep would be needed for what we face tomorrow…but did you know that you snore, Finley?”
Silas blinked up at the roof of the tent, uncertain he’d heard her right. He turned his head, finding a quiet smile on her face. “Excuse me?”
