Page 129 of Realm of Dreams & Shadows

I hesitate, but I owe him the truth. All I can hope is that the truth won’t cost Chase his life. “Yes.”

“I see.”

That isn’t a no. I move closer—close enough to touch him, and I do—my hand on his arm, my eyes locked on his. “Please, Adric. Whatever the price, I’ll pay it. Just save him. He’s your brother. He’s a good man. Don’t let him die.”

He studies my face for a long moment, his expression unreadable. When he speaks, the words are soft and ruthless. “On one condition.”

My stomach drops, but I don’t look away. “What price?”

“Your hand.” He pauses, letting the words sink in. “You will be my Bride. The betrothal ceremony will take place in the morning. You understand the magics behind that ceremony. Once betrothed, I will no longer be bound to this castle and its grounds.”

I nod. “I know.”

“And you must also know that consummation of our marriage will finally bring down the barriers. I wish for you to know these things. Now that you do, you have a choice—you can be my Bride and save my brother, or you can walk away, and let him die.”

My heart stutters, then slams against my ribs. And yet somewhere in me, something low and treacherous isn’t unhappy. It may even be eager.

I stiffen, then force myself to meet his gaze head-on. “You require payment for saving your brother?” My voice is cold. “Fine. I’ll be your thirty pieces of silver. I’ll marry you. Only give him his life.”

The way he exhales tells me he didn’t expect me to agree that easily. “Because you love him.”

“Yes.” The word is firm. True. “Because I love him.”

We don’t waste another breath. He crosses the room and snatches up a blade from a table—nothing ceremonial, just a sharp thing that will do the job. Then we’re moving fast through corridors that no longer feel like a maze. I barely register where we’re going. All I can think about is Chase, dying, and the fact that I might actually be able to save him.

When we arrive, it’s clear that Chase is worse. So much worse. His skin gleams with fever, sweat-soaked and pale except where the flush of infection rides his cheeks. His breath comes shallow and fast, and the wound—god, the wound looks uglier in this light. The darkness has spread, seeping outward from the gashes like spilled ink, staining the skin around it that sickly orange-brown.

Terror engulfs me, but I shove it away and cross to him in three quick steps.

“Hey,” I whisper, and the word cracks. “I’m here. I found it. You’re going to be okay.”

Adric doesn’t ask permission. He steps to the far side of the bed, draws the blade across his own wrist with a clean, decisive line, and holds the bleeding cut above Chase’s mouth.

“Drink,” he says..

Chase’s eyes fight their way open. They find me first, confused and unfocused. Then they slide to Adric and the blood welling from his brother’s wrist. For one heartbeat, there’s only stubbornness in his expression. Resentment.

Then something else. Trust, maybe. Or perhaps just the desire to live. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that he parts his lips.

I lift his head gently, cradling it in my hands, and hold him steady as Adric’s blood runs dark and hot over Chase’s tongue and down his throat. I don’t breathe. I don’t blink. I just watch and pray and count each swallow like it’s a miracle.

When Adric pulls back, he smears what’s left of the blood over the wound itself, his jaw tight.

“Come on,” I whisper, my hand on Chase’s forehead. “Come on, please.”

For a terrible moment, nothing happens.

Then Chase writhes, his back arching off the bed, a strangled sound tearing from his throat. I’m terrified I got it so very wrong. That I’ve somehow made the venom stronger. That it’s refusing to let go.

“Chase!” I press my hand harder against his forehead, his skin hot enough to burn. “Hold on, please hold on.”

Then a shiver ripples through him so hard it shakes the bed and he cries out in agony. Terror cuts through me, then slowly fades as the ugly shadow around the gashes thins, recedes, vanishes like smoke, and clean skin blooms in its wake. His breath evens out. Then his lashes flutter and he blinks like a man waking from a bad dream.

He squints up at me. “Cora?” His voice is rough, barely more than a rasp.

Then he sees Adric standing on the other side of the bed, the cut on his wrist already closing, the blood drying like a line of ink on pale skin.

Something complicated moves through Chase’s face, and I’m not sure if it’s resentment or gratitude. It might even be love.