CHAPTER 11

SLADE

I surge awake from the bitter cold. It's a brutal bite of an arctic air, like iced teeth tearing into my skin. It gnaws in, leaving me raw and scraped. I open my eyes, making shards of ice peel away from my lids.

After a few blinks, the world comes into focus, showing me a moonlit night and freezing clumps of clouds.

And… also showing me that I'm hanging stomach-down across Argo's back. My legs are dangling just in front of his right wing, getting hit with every flap, while my cricked head lolls over his other side, my face smashed into his neck.

I'm one movement away from plummeting into the air.

Fucking hell!

I jolt, arms flailing, hands grappling. My heart slaps up my throat when I nearly make myself fall off, but I grab a fistful of feathers and manage to stay on, nearly stabbing Argo with the spikes on my arm in the process. At my movement, he jerks around to look back and roars at me with alarmed chastisement.

Panting, I haul my leg up and over until I'm straddling him barebacked. His saddle is completely gone, but there's a single strap still attached around his middle, caught around his hindleg, with my pack hanging off it.

"What the fuck ?" I yell at him. "Why were we flying while I was unconscious ?"

He snaps his razor-sharp teeth and then lets out a series of hisses and clicks and squawks that don't taper off for a good minute. I think he's telling me off.

" You're mad at me ?" I shout incredulously. "You had me flopped on your back unconscious !" I stress again.

I feel the vibration from his disgruntled growl travel up my legs.

"I didn't pass out on purpose," I say with a shake of my head, my pulse still racing.

He snaps at me and faces forward again, continuing to soar across the night sky.

This crazy fucking beast.

I'm covered in frost, my stubble stiff with it, and I look around, but everything is dark, and we're too high up for me to see anything other than clouds. How Argo managed to get me on his back is beyond me.

Panic suddenly hits me, and I quickly shove my hand into my pocket. What if it fell out, what if it—

Relief floods me when my fingers wrap around Auren's strip of ribbon. I can't bear to lose it.

After letting out a few more steadying breaths to calm my sprinting heart, I shake my head and straighten up. I pat Argo on the neck, because despite the rude awakening and his squawked rebuke, at least I wasn't falling to my death.

Now that I'm no longer dangling precariously, I can think more clearly. Yet as I regain my bearings, everything that happened comes rushing back to my mind like a slap to the face.

Fuck.

I glance down where my chest is still exposed, shirt and coat gaping open where I ripped them. From the light of the moon, I see small gray scales, the same color as the ones on my cheeks, except these are rimmed in gold. They stretch from below my right pec, arcing up like a slash, each one slightly larger as they travel closer to the pure golden one over my heart—a heart that's no longer bulging. No longer hurting.

The gold gleams even in the dark. It just goes to show how thoroughly I've bonded with Auren. She's marked me.

Pure male satisfaction bursts through my chest at the sight.

Making sure my knees are notched securely against Argo's sides, I shift my sleeve. Sure enough, my rot lines are back to normal. They're thin, scattered down sparsely, no longer covering every inch of skin. But my spikes are also exposed, my ears pointed, fangs sharp, and scales littering my cheeks.

There's no denying it. Not only have I sprouted new scales on my chest, but my two forms have fused together. Rip and Rot, both on display.

Somehow, becoming pair bonded has fixed me. This isn't just me draining myself of power like at the Conflux and my body going faulty, flipping back and forth to offer me power in both forms just so I didn't fucking die. These are my fae traits actually being blended back together again the way they used to be.

I suppose it doesn't matter now that I let people see me change from one form to the next in public while I was fueled by pure retribution. Because now, I've merged anyway.

Just to make sure I can, I will the spikes along my spine to sink back down, and they easily do, with much less force needed than before.

"Hmm," I say, moving my limbs. Nothing else seems to be different on the outside, but on the inside, I feel stronger. Whole. Fucking amazing.

And with it, I feel her . Feel this new pair bond thriving with Auren's light and warmth. She's healed me.

This euphoria of the bond and my melded forms is incredible. But what makes me break into a cold sweat is remembering the other thing that happened in that bog when the pair bond snapped into place.

The fucking dragon .

After years of my father trying to push my magic, it's funny that I should emit a splintered dragon now. Funny that it took being paired for it to break free.

He forced me to push my rot to the limits, to push me to the limits. But it wasn't just magical-control and immense power that he wanted from me. He saw the scales on my face and the spikes on my arms, and he was waiting for something else to burst out.

Only, it never did. And he never fucking forgave me for it.

For generations, every son born in my father's bloodline was able to manifest a dragon. The first Cull to do it was covered head to toe in blood-red scales that isolated him from other fae. When he manifested a fully corporeal dragon years later, he punished everyone for their snub by having his dragon wipe out the entire village.

Culls became king of the skies for centuries, until that inherited magic dwindled away. Fewer scales, fewer spikes, no dragons. I was the first to be born with both spikes and scales after five generations.

And now, I've actually manifested one. Not solid, only formed with shadow, but still. What the fuck.

I never actually thought it would happen, and when I was younger, I was glad. The maniacal gleam in my father's eye was enough for me to know that being punished for failing was going to be better than whatever he'd do to me if I actually managed to manifest.

I'm not quite sure how I did it or if I can control it. But…one thing at a time. I don't feel the dragon's presence right now, but I do feel Auren's, and that's more than enough.

The pair bond thrums in my chest, warming me from the inside out. It's the reassurance that I desperately needed. It's the confirmation that she's alive. A promise that, even apart, we are connected.

And she's calling to me. Like her aura did that night on the pirate ship. Leading me.

Until we're back together, our bond will carry this underlying urge. P?yurs don't do well apart. We are meant to be together. That's why we're a pair. We're no longer meant to be separated.

I instantly reach out for my raw magic just to see if…

But no. There's nothing. That well of power that allowed me to open a rip lies empty. I still can't tear open the world to get to her. I've been healed. Put back together. Yet it seems that part of my magic that allowed me to get into Orea and get Auren into Annwyn has been drained away forever.

Bitter disappointment presses into me, but I'm thankful for Auren's presence that runs beneath my skin. I may not be able to open a rip still, but I have the bridge, so my plan is the same.

Get to her.

My bond seems satisfied because I'm on the move, and I have Argo to thank for that. I stroke my hand down his neck again. "I don't know how the fuck you got me on your back, but you did good, beast," I tell him.

He flicks his head to look at me over his shoulder, iridescent gaze glinting in the dark, and I swear, he arches his brow at me.

"Okay, yes, you did very good."

He trills as if satisfied, and I roll my eyes. I brush some frost off his feathers. "You obviously got us into Fifth already," I say, because it's far too cold for us to still be within Fourth's borders. I must've been out for a while.

Argo wavers suddenly, dipping down before catching himself.

"Shit," I hiss. "You're fucking exhausted."

I should've noticed it right away—the strain in his wings and the froth frozen at his mouth. I have no idea how long he's been flying me. Who knows when he last hunted for food? I've been a dead weight on his back, and now that I'm conscious, it seems like he's ready to drop right out of the sky.

"We need to land."

As if he was waiting for me to say just that, he starts descending, far less graceful than usual. The rise and fall of his wings are choppy, his breathing labored. He cuts through the clouds, but the landscape is bleak and foggy. However, his vision is far better than mine, and soon, I see the copse of trees he's aiming for.

He nearly hits the treetops, only righting himself just before his wings knock into the branches. He swoops down, body angled as he maneuvers between the trees.

"Find a spot to perch for the night," I tell him, and like always, he understands.

Just like the messenger hawks seem to be able to know what I'm saying to them. Just as the marewings once did.

Winged creatures will feel a kinship toward you.

The scales on my chest seem to pulse, like the dragon inside of me is proving a point. That for once, my father was partially right.

Argo flies further in, and after a couple of minutes, he begins to circle one of the massive trees. A second later, I see what he already noticed. The base of its large trunk is cracked open like it was damaged centuries ago. Though it seems the tree lived and just kept on growing despite the wound. The dead spot on the ground has cleaved away and left a hollowed space like an eye socket. Argo swoops right in, and although it's a tight fit, he notches us inside the space.

Dismounting, I have just enough room to stand beside him inside the spot that feels like a wooden cave. He shakes out the snow and frost from his wings, sending out an icy splatter.

"Get some rest before you collapse," I tell him, scratching his chin. Argo chuffs and then lets out a jaw-cracking yawn. He spins around, knocking me down in the process. I land hard on my ass. "You did that on purpose," I grumble.

His slow blink says it all, though he's too exhausted to let out an amused rumble. He twists his body into a tight circle like he's trying to curl onto my damn lap, which he's entirely too fucking big for.

I manage to sit down, legs stretched out in front of me, just as he flops his heavy head onto my thighs. He lifts a wing to cover us both and ward off the cold. Between that, his body heat, and the tree's natural protection, I no longer feel the sharp bite of freeze.

With that, and with Auren's warmth feeding in through the bond, I fall asleep almost as quickly as Argo.