Page 91 of The Bonds of Indigo

“What?” My tone comes out far more irritated than planned, but I was having a good dream. Sue me.

“It’s Amarah⁠—”

He lands on his ass with how fast I’m up and out of the tent. I dart over to hers, and of course it’s empty. When I turn back, Atlas is pushing himself up.

“She’s back in the spring.”

She tried yesterday morning, and nothing happened. She sat in that damn water all day until her fingers pruned. At dinner her skin felt like an elastic band. I told her she needed to wait until tomorrow—now today—to try again.

“Hurry,” he says, but something in his voice is off. Worried, sure… but not genuinely. I don’t have time to diagnose whatever the Beyond that means, because if something’s wrong with her, I need to go.

We’d set up camp close enough to walk, but far enough that the smell didn’t punch us in the face all night. The mineral-rich aroma had nothing on the sulfur—sharp and eggy. Whatever healing properties the water might have, they aren’t worth it to me.

But for Amarah? Walking into a sulfur swamp is the smallest price I’d pay.

Leaving Atlas behind, I reach the edge of the spring in less than a minute. Towering oaks give way to rocky formations surrounding a large pool of steaming water. The mist rises several feet above the surface.

My eyes widen at the sight in front of me. And for someone who’s lived over a thousand years to say he’s never seen anything like this?

That’s saying something.

Amarah is standing naked in the center of the spring, her long white hair soaked and clinging down her back. It doesn’t stop me from seeing the curve of her ass before it disappears beneath the water.

I want to admire her, explore every inch of her, but I can’t.

Not with the creature towering over her, staring at her like she’s either his next meal… or simply, his.

His glowing eyes pulse with a bioluminescent ember, drifting like fireflies. He’s made of living wood and the same energy I feel radiating off Amarah. His body—woven from bark and vines—flows together like some ancient, awakened tree. Branches jut from his shoulders and crown his head, sprouting glowing green leaves.

When he moves, it’s fluid. And the moment his hand touches her cheek, I take a step forward.

The creature jerks his head toward me, and when its mouth opens, I’m not prepared to hear our common tongue.

“You will leave, mortal.”

“Yeah, I don’t fucking think so. Don’t touch her!”

I’m not even into my second step, ready to plow through the thigh-high water, when he simply waves his free hand, and I’m thrown back. Like I weigh nothing—a damn leaf in the wind. I’m hurled straight into a tree.

The creature doesn’t spare me a glance. He turns back to Amarah and, to my absolute horror, his hand draws back… and plunges straight into her chest.

A drifting, detached sensation rips through me. Time loses its grip. My body feels distant, as if I’ve been the one impaled.

“No…”

I’m on my feet and running before the word fully leaves my mouth, only for something to coil around my wrists, then my ankles. I pull, but the pressure tightens, cinching until it’s so taut it threatens to sever the limbs entirely.

It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters but getting to her.

I pull harder. So hard that my hand snaps free from the joint entirely. The crack of bone tears a grunt from my chest.

“Foolish.”

I jerk my gaze up at him just as the same type of vines restraining me slither around my neck. They force me down to my knees. I strain against them, flexing my neck, fighting the tightening coil around my throat.

“L-Let her go!”

“Amarah!” I scream through the bond, but it’s silent.