Chapter 25

As she dug into the snow, steam rose around her. She tore into the frozen landscape, her hands melting all the snow and ice. It took her ten minutes, but she was able to clear enough snow to get a good look at Bael’s body.

What she saw made her want to cry.

Both of Bael’s legs had been shattered, and his back was bent at an awkward angle. She touched his face again, but he didn’t respond. His chest rose and fell slowly.

Ursula looked up at the darkening sky. The last rays of sun cast the clouds in a deep orange light. On any other day, it would have been beautiful. Now, it only added to the urgency of the situation. Night was falling, and if she didn’t find someplace warm, they’d freeze to death. Without his wings, Bael could die here.

She reached under Bael’s shoulders and began to pull him up onto the snowfield. Blood oozed from the wounds on his back while she tugged him, struggling with the weight of his body. He left smears of blood in his wake, and his broken legs slid over the snow. Her lungs burned and her body ached. Still, this was her only chance to save him.

If it came down to it—if it were life and death—she’d have to use Starkey’s Conjuration spell on him. But she almost thought Bael would rather die than allow her to heal him that way. He’d forbidden her from healing him with magic, because it would seal up the wounds on his back. He’d never get his wings back.

It was dark when she reached the path. Or, where the path once was. The avalanche had torn through the aspen forest, smashing the tree trunks into an impenetrable thicket of splintered logs.

Ursula’s pulse raced. She dropped her grip on Bael’s shoulders, her lungs heaving. The sun had fallen, and the wind nipped at her skin through the holes that had been torn in her clothes. She looked back to the snowfield, streaked with red. Another forest on the opposite side had avoided the majority of the avalanche. She squinted into the remaining light, finding a dark opening in the trees. Ursula reached under Bael’s arms. Maybe I can find some shelter there.

She was dead tired by the time she reached the far side of the snowfield, so cold that her body had begun to shiver uncontrollably. She peered into the darkness of the forest, at the path leading into its depths.

Dragging Bael behind her, she pressed on through the deep snow. It took all of her strength to pull Bael even a few feet.

Part of her wanted to lie down in the soft snow, to burrow underneath the flakes and curl up until spring. She could hibernate, like one of the bears Callum had told her about. Emerazel’s fire would keep her warm.

A low moan from Bael snapped her out of her fantasy—a quiet sound, but one laced with pain, and it brought her back to reality.

She lifted her head and refocused her eyes. The frozen forest was perfectly still, but for a few drifting snowflakes. Inside the tree line, dark green pine boughs blocked out the sky, and the trunks of the trees were as thick as titans’ legs.

Ursula’s breath caught in her throat as she caught a glimpse of something large looming in the shadows. After a moment, she made out the shape of a chimney and a peaked roof.

Hope leapt in her heart. Using the last of her energy, and still dragging Bael behind her, she pushed through the drifts until she reached the steps of a small wooden cabin. She lay Bael down in the snow, then knocked on the door. Her breath froze in the air as she shivered uncontrollably. No one answered, and the tiny windows were too grimy to see through.

She tried to turn the doorknob, but it wouldn’t open. A cold winter wind blew through the treetops, dusting her with snow. An iron lock hung from the latch. She tugged it, but it didn’t open. She slumped against the door. Exhausted. So close to safety. Bael moaned in the snow at her feet. Think, Ursula, think.

She reached out for the lock again, finding the metal ice cold. Digging deep within herself, she summoned her fire, and flames flowed into the lock. She gasped as the heat thawed her frozen fingers. The lock cracked as it broke, and the door swung open.

She’d hoped to hear a worried voice call out with an offer to help, but she was greeted only by a puff of dust and a faint musty odor. She inched forward. I need to get warm.

Her eyes fell on a small cast-iron stove, and she instinctively crawled toward it. Its door was shut, but when she pulled it open, she found a few half-burned logs. Hardly thinking, she channeled the last of Emerazel’s fire into them, and they burst into flame.

She fell back, nearly spent. Show drifted in from the open door. She still needed to bring Bael inside.

One final push, Ursula.

She crawled toward him, now too tired to stand. Somehow, she latched her arms under his and pulled him in behind her. With the very last of her strength, she shut the cabin door.

She awoke shiveringon the cabin floor when the fire died down, and the winter chill began to settle over her again. Bael lay next to her, his face gray. Crawling to her knees, she put her cheek to his mouth. The slimmest of breaths brushed her skin.

I’ll help you as soon as I can.

She stood, her legs shaking. She made her way to the stove, where she found a small pile of logs. She threw a few more on, then turned to survey the room. Judging by the light that shone through two small windows, one on either side of the door, it looked to be midmorning. A small table stood by the stove, and a small bed sat in the corner. A thin layer of dust covered everything in the room.

Her stomach rumbled.

On a shelf on the far wall, she found a few cans of stew, a can opener, and an old pot. This will have to do. She opened the soup—some kind of beef stew with carrots—and dumped two cans into the pot.

As the stew warmed on the stove, she crossed back to Bael, pressing her hand over his heart to feel his heartbeat. His gray eyes fluttered open.

“Ursula?” he muttered, his voice husky with pain.

“Bael, you’re badly hurt, but I found us someplace warm.”

“Ursula...” he said again, but his voice trailed off, and his eyes rolled back into his head.

Fuck.

In the rush to find safety, Ursula hadn’t had time to process Bael’s injuries. Now, she knelt by him for the first time, forcing herself to take in the horror of what the avalanche had done to his body. Grief hit her like a fist to the throat. Both legs had been shattered, broken in multiple places. But that wasn’t the worst of it. His hips were twisted at an entirely wrong angle. His back was broken.

Ursula looked to the bed. That would be the most comfortable place, but with his back broken, she worried that she would make things worse if she moved him onto it.

Instead, she crossed to the bed and pulled off the sheets. Returning to Bael, she began to remove his clothes. “Don’t leave me yet, Bael. I still need to teach you to cook.”

She pulled off his shoes first. His trousers were another matter—with his legs mangled and his back broken, pulling them off would be risky. After searching around the cabin, she found a small knife. Carefully, she cut his trousers off him, revealing a mess of purple bruises.

When she got to his hips, she undid his belt, then cut off the rest of the fabric. Under his trousers, he wore a pair of black boxer-briefs. Throughout all of this, the only movement from Bael was the slow rise and fall of his chest.

Next, she carefully cut off his navy sweater. His chest was bare underneath, and without thinking, she ran her fingers along the dark tattoos inked onto his skin. As she removed the fabric at his stomach, she swallowed hard, her throat tightening. The skin there was a deep purple, and not from tattoo ink. Massive bruises wrapped round his muscular core. This must have been where the chunk of cornice hit him.

Tentatively, she touched the purple skin. Bael’s eyes flashed open—black as the void. He grabbed her wrist in one of his massive hands.

“Nooo,” he growled.

“Sorry,” whispered Ursula.

Bael released his grip, and his eyes closed. As gently as she could, Ursula removed the rest of his sweater. She didn’t try to turn him over, but she could see his back was wounded as well. Blood seeped onto the floor.

She sat back on her haunches and surveyed him. He’d been injured so badly, she didn’t know where to start. The temptation to use a conjuration spell was overwhelming, but Bael would never forgive her for ruining his chance at getting his wings back. She’d only use that as a last resort. Maybe she needed to go back to town after all, to find a healer. She pulled the steaming pot of soup off the stovetop. I’ll come back for that later.

Carefully, she covered Bael with the duvet. Then, she crossed to the door and unlatched it.

Except, when she pulled open the door, her heart fell as a snow drift slid into the room. She slammed the door closed against it. It had snowed while she’d been sleeping, burying them in the cabin. Leaving here right now would be virtually impossible.

Gods damn it. She needed to think clearly, but she could hardly focus. Her stomach rumbled, and she poured the stew into a ceramic bowl. Maybe she could feed a little to Bael, too.

When she returned to Bael, his skin had gone even paler. He moaned softly. When she touched his forehead, she found it hot with fever. Taking a bite of stew, she studied him for a few minutes. Then she sighed and put down the bowl.

There was one way she could save him without ruining his future as a winged demon—but it wouldn’t be pretty. She shivered in her freezing clothes, drenched with snow.

First, to get dry. She peeled off her sodden clothes, stripping down to her underwear, and hung them by the warm stove to dry. In nothing but a skimpy lace bra and knickers, she set about collecting everything she needed.

Five minutes later, she laid out a coil of old rope she’d found hanging from a nail, and a small knife. First, she unwound the rope. Then, as gently as she could, she tied his feet together. The spare end she secured around one of the legs of the cast-iron stove.

She crouched by his head with the blade in her hand.

“Sorry about this, Bael. This will be messy.” She cut into the palm of her hand, then let a little of her blood dribble into his mouth.

The effect was immediate. Bael’s eyes flashed open—red as her blood, and intent on her wrist. She’d planned to pull her hand away, but Bael was faster. He grabbed her arm, drawing it to his lips. His mouth was hot on her skin, and she could feel the blood begin to drain from her.

Bollocks. I am quickly losing control of this.