Page 162 of Veinblood
The presence is almost gone now, but it sends one final whisper. “Trust in what you have become. In what those that came before you gave into your care.”
It fades to complete silence, leaving behind the knowledge of what I truly am.
I am not just Ellie Bennett, the girl from Chicago who never belonged anywhere.
I am the keeper of their legacy. The fulfillment of their dying wishes. And I won’t let them down.
My arms lift, I throw back my head, and I scream.
Time lurches back into motion.
Sacha crashes to the floor at my feet on his back. The sound of flesh and bone meeting rock sends nausea rolling through me. Blood spreads beneath his head in a rapidly expanding pool, dark and thick against the stone, reflecting in the flashes of fire that still clings to him. Around us, debris rains down in delayed completion, chunks of rock striking the ground with thunderous crashes that shake dust from the ceiling.
I remember my terror, my fear before everything stopped. But I am no longer the same person who watched him fall.
Power rips through me. Lightning dances between my fingers.
I drop to my knees beside Sacha, and press my hands against the worst of his wounds. Blood still seeps from a gash at the back of his head where his skull struck stone, his breathing comes in shallow, irregular gasps.
The healing power that flows from my touch is warm, familiar,mine. It carries the echo of dozens of Veinblood healers who chose to preserve rather than destroy, but it is mine alone to use.
I pour everything into it. Not just the healing abilities, butthe love that came with them. The desperate hope of parents trying to save their children. The gentle touch of healers who spent their lives tending the wounded. The fierce determination of those who refused to let death have the final word.
His flesh knits together beneath my touch, bone healing, blood vessels reconnecting, bruised tissue returning to healthy pink. His breathing steadies, becomes deeper. Color returns to his face, chasing away the gray pallor that spoke of approaching death.
The healing takes an eternity. It takes less than a second.
When I lift my hands from his body, his eyes snap open.
Chapter Forty-Five
SACHA
“To defeat monsters, one must risk becoming monstrous.”
Wisdom of the Wandering Sages
Power floodsback through me like wildfire burning through a forest. When my vision clears, it’s to see Ellie crouched over me, with eyes of polished silver.
“Mel’shira.”
Her hand grips mine, and she leans down to press a fierce kiss to my lips.
“I’m not going to lose you again,” she breathes.
“Then let’s finish this.”
I push to my feet, testing my balance, and reach for my power. The shadows respond instantly to my call—fluid, eager, alive with renewed strength. I lift my head to find Sereven. He’s standing a few paces away, watching me with an expression that reminds me of a predator who has discovered that the prey he hunts has teeth of its own.
“You’re supposed to be dead.”
“I’m sorry to disappoint you.” I cast a quick look around,tracking where Mira is hunched against the wall, one hand pressed to her side. Varam lies still beside her, and I force down the despair that tries to rise at the image.
“I still command the power of a thousand Veinbloods.” Sereven’s voice brings my attention back to him. “You have only shadows.”
Fire bursts from his palm in a concentrated stream. I raise a hand, darkness forming a barrier that absorbs what they can, but the sheer heat forces me to move back, ducking when ice shards whistle past my head. Stone spikes rise from the ground where I stood moments before, sharp and high enough to impale a horse.
My shadows probe forward, testing his defenses. There are still places around him where my shadows cannot reach, and I’m careful to keep from touching them, for fear of feeding him more power.
