Chapter 6

Kit

Istruggle against Tavias's unyielding weight. It does nothing. Then I do as he demands. I close my eyes and try to force away all sensations, seeking to isolate my magic.

Nothing.

I scream and focus on all the sensations assaulting me instead, attempting to channel the cold and misery into power. I picture my magic as a tangible force and shove it against Tavias. I even try to imagine myself shifting into dragon form, pretending to have wings and scales might manifest them into reality. I try and try, until tears pour down my face, and my scales are numb and I'm shivering uncontrollably.

Still, Tavias doesn't let up. I hate him for it. And then I hate myself.

I reach inside again, to where the magic runs wild through my blood. I try to catch it, but now it feels like I'm trying to catch fish with my bare hands. I can't do it. I can't…

"Stop trying to convince me that this is your best. You did more in your sleep than you are giving me now."

The weight of my failure slams atop me harder than any physical misery the dragon prince could dole out. So much has been sacrificed to protect me, to bring me to this point, only to have me fail. Tavias was right when he said that it's more than just my life that my inability to control my magic is putting in danger. It's the whole pack's. Lee's. It's everything that my mother fought for and died for.

My soul shatters.

"I'm sorry." I press my face down into the cold snow, taking its punishment. Welcoming it. I deserve to hurt and freeze. I know I do. I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry.

As fiercely as Tavias had shoved me down he yanks me out again. His chest heaves, his breath coming in heavy puffs as he brushes the snow away from my skin and hair. All anger is gone from him, replaced with unmitigated concern. "Wildcat."

"I'm sorry," I say again. My voice hitches. "You are right. I'm not… Everything you said. You are right. I've failed everyone, and I'm sorry."

"Rutting stars." He shakes me once, like a ragdoll, and then pulls me against his chest. "That's utter horseshit. You didn't fail anyone. You've nothing to be sorry about. You hear me?"

I push him away.

Tavias releases me immediately and puts his hands up in the air, his magic nowhere to be seen. Devastation paints every line of his body. "You are the one who was right, Kit. About me. About Quinton and Sethis. All of it. You were right all along."

Quinton? I wince, vaguely recalling shouting that the shadow's stealthy departure was somehow Tavias's fault. The notion is ludicrous. I try to pinch the bridge of my nose, but my fingers are too numb and I end up poking myself in the eye.

Tavias flinches as if I'd struck his eye instead. "I'll get a fire set up," his voice is raspy. "You need to warm up. Get dry."

I do. We all do. I glance toward Cyril to find the male's head bowed and jaw tight, his hand pressed knuckle-white into a trunk of a nearby tree. Cyril seems to realize he is being watched because he pushes away from the tree with more force than necessary and stalks off into the snow. An ache coats the bond between us, like a viscous syrup.

I start after him.

"Don't," Cyril orders without turning and increases his pace. He is too fast for me to follow in the snow. In seconds, he is caught up in the blizzard altogether, even his footsteps now gone.

I stare at the spot where he disappeared until Tavias's hand grips my shoulder. "Sorry, but the weather's turning. Fast."

I raise my face to the sky to find it morphing to a deadly shade of blackish gray. Storm clouds, moving quicker than I've ever seen, devour the edge of the horizon. The whole forest suddenly feels too quiet, the air too cold even for this wintry hell. My stomach clenches. "Another avalanche?"

"No," says Tavias, but his body is on full alert. "Just a storm."

Even I know it's not just a storm though. Whatever the mountain intends to throw at us will be deadly. And fast.

Tavias grips the back of my cloak. "This way," he says. He is in command mode now. Certain and decisive and all too calm.

"But Cyril?—"

"Cyril knows how to handle himself, I assure you." Tavias tightens his hold on me as a sudden gale sweeps through the mountain. The wind is strong enough to have knocked me off my feet except for the dragon's grip. Tavias's arm comes around my shoulders, his magic sending up a shield around us. Stars. I couldn't touch my magic when nothing was happening, and here is Tavias handling it with half a thought in the midst of a storm.

"The camp's the other way," I shout through the wind.

"Too far." Tavias urges me to move faster uphill, steering us parallel to the rocky walls. His magic flashes, melting the snow on nearby tree trunks as if looking for something. He grunts in satisfaction when one tree with claw marks is uncovered and starts melting snow along the mountain rocks instead. "Here."

The rock face he steers me toward looks the same as all the others. "What is it?"

"There is a bear den here. Wait." Tavias ducks into a small opening hidden among the boulders. A moment later he emerges and motions for me to come inside.

I duck through the narrow opening, squeezing through a tunnel covered with lichen and moss into a spacious chamber inside. Immediately, the bite of the wind disappears.

"It's empty, but it's the best we have," says Tavias.

"You wanted a bear to be here?"

"It would have been convenient for dinner and warmth, yes."

I shudder. Dragons.

"Stay here. I'll return in a moment." With that, Tavias disappears outside, leaving my new immortal eyes to adjust to the gloom.

As the eerie darkness becomes easier to see in, I discover bones and twigs keeping me company. Remnants of the bear's dinner and bedding. Whatever Tavias says, I hope the resident beast doesn't return to find us squatting in his home. Outside, the howling wind becomes so loud that it hurts my ears. Before I can work myself up into full panic however, Tavias returns with a few massive tree branches.

At least this drill I know by now. The pine boughs go on the ground as insulation and the thicker pieces will become fuel for a fire. I start covering the floor while Tavias clears a space for a fire. He works with the brutal efficiency of someone who knows exactly where each stick and rock must go. When all is done, the place is oddly hospitable, the carefully kept fire already warming the air. Which should make me relieved, but instead… instead everything hits me with a cruel vengeance.

My failure with magic. The memory of my mother. The arrows I launched into Tavias's heart.

I look toward Tavias. Light and shadow from the fire dance over the prince's beautiful face and accent lines of tension around his eyes and mouth. I know he feels the shift too. The return of the day's pain. How can he not? Nothing of what we did and said in training has gone away, except now there is nowhere to run from it.

"Take your clothes off," Tavias says suddenly.

"Excuse me?"

He winces. "They are wet." For someone who was so stars-damn confident with every movement just minutes ago, his sudden trouble stringing more than a few words together is that much more jarring. "Wet is cold. Cold kills."

I don't move.

Tavias drops his head into his hands. "Please don't hurt yourself more just to punish me," he whispers. "I know I deserve it, but find some other way. Please."