Page 83 of The Bound Mage
It spilled golden across the battlefield, painting the bones in and muddy ground in streaks of gold. Somewhere, someone was shouting, but she didn’t bother to look up. Loren still lay in her arms, too still and cold, his chest barely rising and falling.
If he survives.
“Lorendrael,” Araya whispered, holding his face in her hands. “I’m not done with you. Come back to me.”
“Araya—”
Hands gripped her shoulders. She didn’t know whose—Thorne’s, Galen’s, maybe both—but she snarled and twisted, refusing to let go. Tears blurred her vision as she pressed closer, fingers digging into the ruined remnants of his tunic like she could hold them together by will alone.
“No—don’t touch him—don’t touch me—” Her voice cracked as she shook them off, tears pouring freely now. “I can’t—he’s not—he’s not?—”
“Araya, please—” someone pulled at her arm, trying to pry her off of him. “Let them work.”
She shook her head, clinging tighter as blue-robed Healers converged on them.
“Come back to me,” she begged, breathing the words directly into his ear. “You survived. You survived the Arcanum. You don’t get to diehere?—”
But his body stayed limp, the place in her chest where the bond had once lived was silent and still.
Hands grabbed her again. This time, they didn’t ask.
She screamed, fighting against them as they dragged her away from him. “No! Let me go—let me go, please?—”
More Healers pushed in. Someone tried to speak to her—a Healer, asking if she was hurt. But Araya strained against the hands holding her, her chest heaving and her vision blurred with the tears that poured freely down her face. She couldn’t see him anymore. Couldn’tfeelhim. She didn’t even know if he was alive.Shouldn’t she know?He was her mate. She was supposed to know.
“Someone get her out of here, she’s not helping?—”
Araya screamed, but her body gave out before her voice did. Her magic sputtered in her veins, her strength gone. She sagged in their grip, sobs shaking her body as they pulled her away.
Chapter
Thirty-Six
The worldaround him came back in pieces. Heavy limbs. Glass scraping his throat with every breath. Light—too bright—stabbed his eyes as they fluttered open. He cursed, pain lancing through his ribs as he shifted. But when he looked down all he saw were layers of thick white linen draped over his torso, the tang of antiseptic sharp in his nose.
He’d survived. Someone had Healed him and brought him back to Ithralis, tucking him into his bed like a child. But that didn’t make sense. Ifdara’elhadn’t killed him, how had Araya?—
Loren forced himself upright, ignoring the pain that ripped through his torso. His shadows were there—curled like cats under the furniture, draped in the corners—more content than he had ever seen them. Light streamed in the windows,
But she wasn’t there.
He reached inward, clawing for the bond. Nothing. No pull. No warmth. Only a hollow silence that terrified him more than any pain. Had she already broken it? Left him behind without even a goodbye? Or worse—had she died?
Had he failed her? Failed them all?
“Araya,” he rasped, her name scraping against his raw throat.
The door to the bathing chamber slammed open.
She burst out barefoot and breathless, her robe clutched hastily around her body and her damp hair clinging to her skin. Her eyes found his, wild with fear and disbelief.
“Healer!” Her voice cracked as she shouted toward the hall. Footsteps scrambled outside, muffled voices rising just outside the door.
“He’s awake,” Araya said, her silver gaze locked on his. “Go get Thorne!”
She crossed the room without waiting for an answer, halting beside the bed. Her hand hovered over his chest, trembling, like she wanted to touch him but was terrified he would shatter under her fingers.
“Lay back down,” she ordered.
