57. Caliel

57

Caliel

I ran my clawed fingers over Nar.

Our progress down the mountainside had been terrifying. The rocks we'd hidden among had heaved and launched skyward. I flung Nar over my back as the ones underfoot had broken loose, and we slid down the mountain.

Somehow, we had survived it to come to rest much lower than we had been. When I eased him off my back, Nar was deeply unconscious, and I hoped to keep him that way. I had healed his burns and already restarted his heart three times. He was far from out of the woods—I needed to get him to the Watchers.

Behind me, a rock shifted, bouncing off another with a sharp "whack" that had me spinning around to look.

A figure rose from the rubble. Her head streamed blood, staining her white hair as crimson as her eyes.

Aurora.

She raised her hands, and they glowed red.

I was leaping at her before I had even formed a coherent thought. Part of it was in defense of Nar lying helpless at my feet, but my rage had more to do with what she and her kind had done, both to me, and to those I loved.

The healer part of me shattered in a heartbeat. My clawed fingers closed around her throat as my ability speared past her crumbling walls.

She staggered, but the blood energy surged into me, scorching everything it touched. If she had been uninjured, I would not have stood a chance. And if I had been alone… but I was not.

The moment I leaped for her, Bree threw the sword's power—enhanced by Rafael's bond to Nikolai—along the link between us. It flooded through me, and I honed it into a lethal weapon.

Aurora's eyes widened as her glowing hands scrabbled and clawed desperately at my fur-covered arms. Her power slammed against that of the swords', the two battling it out within me.

"You are supposed to be a healer. Instead, you are an abomination," I snarled through gritted teeth. "And for what you have done, you deserve a death far less merciful than what I will give you."

I didn't know if she heard me, and I didn't care as I rode the sword's power past the blood-soaked energy, delving deep within her body to tear apart her heart—tainted by bloodmagic as she was, she no longer possessed the ability to heal herself.

Just to be sure, I moved from her heart to her head—and shredded her brain until there was nothing left of her to save.

Then I opened my hand—and her body fell to the cold, hard stone.

As the rage drained away, the nausea rose.

I was nothing like her. Nothing. But?—

Riggs rumbled through my head. Do you feel joy at what you've done?

No. My denial was vehement.

Did you save many by doing it?

Yes. Yes, I had. Of that, I had no doubt.

Then you are nothing like her. With a "crack" of wind against wing, Riggs landed beside me. His gleaming gaze moved from her to me.

"Well done, my brother," he said.