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Prismatic light flared beneath her palms and into Brand’s chest. She didn’t have time to move with care, part by broken part. This was a hammer’s blow instead of her usual caress.
Brand arched from the ground with a thrashing bellow, features twisted—a mask of pain to match her own. She gritted her teeth against it, cataloguing what she found as it entered her flesh.
The burn of countless cuts and scrapes spread over her like wildfire. His cracked ribs became a knife to her own. A fracture in his leg, pure torture. Shattered jaw and eye socket, now hers to bear. An internal bleed, like swallowing poison.
Their shared torment was its own sort of peace, though. The pain was nothing when compared to losing him a second time. Nothing. Not when he looked her dead in the eye and remembered.
Lunara would gladly break if it meant he healed. If it meant seeing that recognition light his face just one more time.
“You’re doing so well, my love,” she murmured, hoping her soft encouragements lured him to consciousness. “So very well. It’s almost over and you can rest. We can both rest. Just come back to me, Brand. Come back.”
The last of his sundered particles joined, and Lunara sagged. Shitting stars above, she’d never been so drained. So exhausted. Not even when hiding in the Evesong’s wilderness and denying herself regular feedings.
To be this weak after a single day…
Her power should’ve lasted far longer. Shite, it had lasted longer before. Illamiata’s depths were practically endless, and she never came close to draining it. It didn’t make any sense.
Fuck it. A problem for later.
Right.
Her useless arms threatened to give out as she shifted, fire licking through muscle and sinew, throbbing in her joints. “Shite, fuck, arse,” she hissed, settling down on one hip.
The flask landed in her hand, a single, measly swallow left in its bottom. It had to be enough.
“Brand?! Talk to us!”
“Lunara!”
Magnus and Fern’s muffled shouts finally reached through the crumbled wall, followed by the tumble and crash of rock sliding loose. Digging, the two of them no doubt in a complete frenzy.
“We’re here,” she called out. “We’re alright.”
A pause, the silence weighted. “Can you get yourselves free?”
For the second time that day, Lunara knew what Magnus was asking and started crying all over again.
“No. I had to heal him. Without rest, or a gift…” She swiped at her cheek, pissed she hadn’t just misted them out of this stars-forsaken dungeon earlier—damn the consequences. “I’m sorry Magnus, I’ve got nothing left.”
“You’ve got nothing to apologize for. You just take that rest, aye? We’ll have you out in no time.”
There was no stopping the list of her body, a pile perfectly situated behind her for laying on. “Hear that, Brand?” she asked, combing her fingers through his tangled waves. “We’ll be home in no time.” A slow blink, sleep sucking her under. “And then we can finish our conversation.”
Endellion’s eyes snapped open to reality and the solid wall of darkness that ever surrounded her.
“Oh, no.”
That wasn’t supposed to happen.
She ripped her consciousness inward, calling on the Sight to guide her through time and show her where they went wrong. A blur of images rushed by, the tangle of past and present converging on this moment and—
“Shit.”
Endellion’s attention jumped to her fragile connection with the Demon Son, the sliver of light she’d left him multiplying. And multiplying.
Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.
She swept towards the growing glow, gritting her teeth against the discomfort. It was a stretch to join minds with him, his Essence weak and barely able to handle her presence.
