Page 160 of Esperance

Anguish crushed her—but only a small part of her, and she was so big now. The power was a flame inside her, growing brighter and brighter.

The smallest part of her was aware of her body quaking. Weakening.

Her body wasn’t meant to hold this much. Stretch this far.

The power was killing her. She was dying, and she couldn’t even scream. She felt locked in her own head. Her own emotions were . . .irrelevant.

Calloused fingers on her cheeks. A forehead pressed against hers. A breaking voice, deep and rough and beautiful. “Come on, sweetheart, I need you to stop.Please, Amryn. Stop.”

More. More. More.

NO.

That voice was hers, and she began to pull back.

No!The power inside her cried.More!

She ignored the pull of the power. Tried to shrink back inside herself. Tobeonly herself.

The power churned inside her, fighting against her. Wanting tobe her, even if it killed her.

She didn’t know where to send the power, but it had to go somewhere.

The amulet vibrated in her hand.

She shoved the power there, and it rushed out of her.

She crumpled into Carver’s arms.

“Amryn!”

She couldn’t speak. Her vision blackened, and her heart stuttered in her chest. She dropped the necklace and it hit the floor, the blood-red stone shining brighter than ever.

As her consciousness fled, Amryn heard that voice in her head that wasn’t her own. It said only one word.

AWAKE.

The first thing Amryn became aware of was the scent of spiced sandalwood. It was followed closely by the realization that her head was lying on something hard, and one of her hands was moving in a steady rhythm of rise and fall, rise and fall. And she was warm.Toowarm. A blanket was tucked around her, and a strong arm lay over her.

Her eyes cracked open.

She was in a dimly lit room—herroom. A lamp glowed on the nightstand, barely illuminating the body beside her.

Carver.

He was on his back, and her head was tucked on his shoulder, one hand on his stomach. He held her with one arm, the other thrown up above his head. He was asleep, and he looked far too pale. Though he held her, he was angled toward the door and any potential threat that might burst into the room.

Even in sleep, he was protective.

Beneath her palm she could feel the rippled muscles of his abdomen, lifting and sinking with each breath.

He was alive.

And so was she.

She curled into him and drifted back to sleep.

This time, oblivion was restful.

---