8. Sapphire

Sapphire

The Stalo’s roar shakes the forest.

Riven’s sword flashes like silver lightning, and he charges, fluid and precise.

The monster swings a claw toward him. But Riven slashes his blade in a wide arc, and a sheet of ice races across the ground, spreading toward the Stalo’s legs.

From there, everything happens in what feels like a blink as Riven goes in for what should be blow after crippling blow.

Each time he gets in a hit, the Stalo’s skin hardens. The wound sparkles with frost, and in less than a second, it’s sealed. Faster than any supernatural healing I’ve ever seen.

Although I’m hardly the most experienced in all things supernatural, given that I didn’t know supernaturals existed until a little over a week ago.

Still, I clutch my dagger, looking for an in so I can help.

“Its skin is like armor!” Riven calls out, ice forming beneath his feet as he slides gracefully away from a devastating blow.

Where the Stalo’s fist hits, the ground fractures.

It swipes again, but Riven pivots, his sword meeting the Stalo’s arm in a clash of steel and frozen flesh. Frost creeps from his blade, spreading up the creature’s arm and slowing its movements.

Finally spotting an opening, I gather water from the snow and hurl it at the monster’s eyes.

“Riven!” I call out as the Stalo rears back, one massive claw raised to strike.

With a flick of his wrist, an ice spear forms in his free hand, and he hurls it at the Stalo’s chest.

The monster staggers, but it doesn’t fall. Instead, it snarls and pulls out the ice spear, the wound healing in a second.

Riven continues his assault, and my magic stirs within me as I remember the way I attacked the shadow monster. A deadly combination of water and air, pelting it with makeshift bullets until it collapsed in the snow.

My nerves crackle with the need to do it again. To use my air magic combined with my water magic.

I can’t hold it back any longer.

And Riven’s too focused to notice.

So, summoning the moisture from the air, I coax it into tiny droplets and fling them toward the Stalo with as much wind power as possible.

But unlike the shadow monster, the Stalo’s skin is so hard that while the droplets pierce its shoulder and back, they don’t do much damage.

They are, however, enough to turn its attention to me.

Riven curses and slams his hand against the ground.

A wave of frost surges upward, encasing the creature’s legs once more, this time with ice so thick it cracks and groans under the strain of the Stalo’s thrashing.

From there, Riven alternates between sword strikes and ice magic, while I assault the monster with water pulled from the snow. When I’m sure Riven’s attention is elsewhere, I use subtle bursts of air to throw off the monster’s aim.

But it’s not enough. The Stalo is too tuned in—too aware of our movements, making it impossible to catch it by surprise.

Riven curses as another ice spear shatters against the Stalo’s thick hide.

Suddenly, he grabs my arm and drags me to an old, hallowed tree with space inside it for both of us—barely. “Get inside,” he says, and we dive through the opening just in time to miss getting pancaked by the Stalo’s clenched fist.

He presses his hands against the bark, and ice spreads from his fingers, reinforcing our shelter.

“Any bright ideas?” I ask, trying to ignore how close we are in this space—how his magic chills the air around us.

“Yes,” he says sharply. “You.”

“What about me?”

“You need to project. Take my sword. It’s enchanted, so it’ll be more effective than your dagger.” He hands it to me, the hilt cold and heavy in my hand. “Flash right behind the Stalo, take it by surprise, and drive the blade through its heart.”

My stomach drops, and I tighten my grip on the hilt. “Riven,” I say, scrambling for the right words. “When I project, I?—”

“I ran my sword through you, and it was like slicing through air,” he interrupts. “That thing can’t kill you when you’re in your projected form. So, flash yourself out there and kill it. Now.”

The Riven I’m looking up at right now isn’t the one who made teasing innuendos back in the cave.

This is the ice prince. The soldier who killed his knights so he could leave the Winter Court and save my life.

The monster’s fists crash into the tree again, and some of the ice around it cracks.

“Go.” Riven glares at me with so much rage that I swear he’d push me out there if it wouldn’t mean risking my actual body.

The ice cracks further.

Without a second to spare, I look at the space behind the Stalo and project.

One second I’m inside the tree, my body pressed against Riven’s. The next, I’m standing behind the Stalo, watching it methodically hit the tree—where I just left Riven alone with my now unconscious body.

The monster doesn’t notice me standing behind it. Not yet.

Riven’s frost-covered sword hums with magic in my hands.

I rush forward, the air behind my heels, and I jump, driving the blade into the Stalo’s back, deeper and deeper, until it pierces its heart.

The Stalo roars, its body freezing mid-punch.

Frost spreads from the wound, turning the monster into an ice sculpture.

Cracks splinter through the ice.

It explodes into shards, and the shattered pieces fall to the ground, leaving the forest eerily silent.

It’s done.

I killed it.

Just like how I killed that dark angel.

But I can’t dwell on that right now. So, I snap back into my body with a gasp, open my eyes… and find myself cradled in Riven’s arms.

His face is tight with barely controlled rage.

“This was how I found you that first night,” he says, sounding far calmer than he looks. “By the silver tree. I thought you hit your head and passed out. But you weren’t unconscious—you were projecting.”

“Yes,” I tell him, and as I look at him, I’m not sure why I didn’t tell him yet.

Although, we haven’t exactly had much time to go over the finer details of my ability. We’ve either been fighting, making bargains, trying not to kill each other, or saving each other’s lives.

Not to mention the kissing.

I could never forget the kissing.

“I thought you hit your head,” he says, and beneath the anger, I hear something else. Fear? “I didn’t realize you just... die every time you project.”

“I don’t die.” I squirm out of his arms, which he doesn’t look happy about. “I go unconscious. And yes, it makes using the ability risky. I’m aware of that.”

“You should have told me.” His voice is tight and controlled, like he’s holding back an explosion. “We’re going on a dangerous journey, and you left out an important detail about how your magic works. Do you have any idea how insanely careless that is?”

My heart jumps into my throat.

If he’s this angry about not knowing that my body becomes defenseless while projecting myself, I don’t want to know what’ll happen if he finds out about my air magic.

I have to divert him from this conversation.

Now.

“I don’t know much more about my projection magic then you do,” I quickly tell him. “But now you know what happens when I project. And I did what you asked. I killed that thing. It’s done. We can move on now.”

“That’s your defense?” His voice rises again. “You think you don’t owe it to the people you’re working with to mention that an important ability of yours leaves you—the real you—helpless?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I snap. “Were we going to discuss the pros and cons of my magic while the Stalo was punching its way through the tree?”

“Don’t try twisting this around.” He moves closer, reminding me just how little space we have inside of here. “You had plenty of chances to tell me. But instead, I had to figure it out by watching you collapse like you were?—”

“Like I was dead,” I finish for him. “That’s what this is really about, isn’t it? You thought I wasn’t coming back. You were scared.”

His jaw tenses, and for a moment, I think he’s going to deny it.

“I thought you were gone,” he says flatly. “And that there was nothing I could do to save you.”

The vulnerability in his tone catches me by surprise, and I shift the satchel on my shoulder, buying myself a second to think.

“I’m sorry,” I finally say. “Really. I am. And maybe it wasn’t the ideal way for you to learn what happens to me when I project, but it’s done now, and I can’t change how you found out.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re alive,” he says, gathering himself back together. “You wouldn’t be any use to me—or to my father’s sanity—if you were dead.”

There he is.

The cold winter prince that I know and definitely don’t love

“You’ll never forget to remind me where I stand with you,” I say, and a breeze blows through the tree’s opening, as if it’s testing me—or reminding me what else I’m keeping from him. “But we need to find that dove. And I doubt you’re helping me to the best of your ability by hanging out brooding in this tree.”

“I’m not brooding,” he snaps, although from the way his silver eyes twist with irritation as he makes his way out of the tree, he definitely was brooding.

At least now I know how to get to him—make him think I’m gone.

“Yes, you were.” I make my way out as well, brushing some dirt off my pants and taking a deep breath of fresh air. “Now, are you going to help me find this bird, or are we going to stand here until another Stalo shows up?”

“Let’s go,” he says, and he brushes past me, not checking to see if I’m following before he continues to lead the way through the forest.