“Hold on to him while you can, Aura,” he whispers. “The moment the sun rises, I will use my magic to tear Nathaniel’s body apart. I might leave you with his hand, but that is all.”
My whimpers turn into a scream—loud now that the arena is nearly empty. “Get away from him!”
Out of control, my power blasts between us, cold starlight sizzling through both of my arms—one outstretched to push Cyrian away, the other pressed against Nathaniel’s chest.
Cyrian jolts away from me.
The wash of dark magic surrounding his body protects him from the burning impact of my starlight—and I’m lucky it does. Until the final fight, I can’t hurt a human. The punishment for breaking that rule is my instant death.
Even so, Cyrian releases my hair so suddenly that my head whips to the side. I end up facing Nathaniel, watching helplessly as the power I released flows through his chest, bright streaks like lightning—a blast strong enough to stop his heart if it were still beating.
A sob rises inside me, but before I can release it, Cyrian backhands me so hard that my head knocks into Nathaniel’s. The impact cracks between us, a spark of starlight igniting across our faces. The flash is so bright, it’s as if our bodies are flint.
Tears of pain stream down my cheeks. I grip Nathaniel’s shoulders, trying to stop the world from spinning as I drag in another scream. My cry chokes in my throat as I inhale the scent of his skin. Powerful burned caramel, so warm I’m sure I’m the one who burned him.
Cyrian grabs me again, but his hands barely brush my shoulders before Hagan barrels into him with a roar. “Let her grieve!”
Shocked, I stare up at Hagan as he grips Cyrian’s chest, pushes him off-balance, and flings him into the dirt.
Hagan was never my friend. He and Nathaniel trained side by side as boys, called each other brothers, but that had been before Cyrian took control of Hagan and the other hunters and turned them into his killers.
Cyrian hits the ground on his backside, his face filling with rage. “That was a mistake, Hagan.”
Quickly jumping to his feet, Cyrian brushes himself off, closing the gap so that the two men stand face to face. Cyrian was once a champion, a warrior. His physical skills have given way to his reliance on magic, but he is still stronger than the average human.
Hagan gives a slow shrug as he stands his ground. He glances at the sky. “I’m guessing I have another ten minutes before your dark magic can touch me again. After that, it’s up to you what you do to me. You should consider the outcome if you hurt your champion before the final fight.”
Dark light fills Cyrian’s eyes. He grits his teeth. “You will regret defying me.”
Hagan returns Cyrian’s stare. He shakes his head, a slow and certain side-to-side motion. “My family’s dead. Christiana’s safe. I have no honor left, no reputation to tarnish. There’s no way for you to hurt me other than to torture and kill me.”
“Everyone has a breaking point.”
Hagan points to the scar that cuts across his stomach. “You already found mine and used it to your advantage. Nathaniel is dead. So is my half-brother. You have no leverage over me now.”
Cyrian takes a step back, his sharp eyes raking across Hagan’s defiant face before landing on me. Cyrian’s hand flies out, dark light spears the air into my chest, and pain shrieks through me again.
In response, Hagan’s fist flies out, catching Cyrian across the chin, but Cyrian continues to pour darkness into me even when Hagan hits him again.
My magic was already simmering at the surface, leaking between Nathaniel and me. It bursts around me, a glowing shield. I can’t afford to use this much of it, but I can’t seem to stop it.
I close my eyes as the pain eases the more I focus on my starlight and its source deep within my chest, far within the reaches of my mind. That vast, silent place where nothing exists except my light.
Dropping my head to Nathaniel’s chest, I drag in the scent of his skin again as my fingers curl into his torn shirt, pressing against his chest.
His warm chest.
I pull back to study him.
He shouldn’t be this warm. He shouldn’t seem this alive.
Pressing my ear to his heart, I listen… waiting… hoping… for a beat. Hoping I was wrong when I saw his breathing stop. When he became completely still.
I don’t hear anything. No breath sounds. No bright heart thudding in his chest.
Tears slip down my cheeks as I open my eyes. I’m conscious of Hagan lifting Cyrian off his feet and throwing him across the arena so hard that Cyrian bounces and rolls. The hunters haven’t returned, but they’ll be back soon. Hagan may be their leader, but it won’t take Cyrian long to order the hunters to restrain him.
“Nathaniel,” I whisper, pressing my cheek to his. “Where are you?”
Running my fingers through his hair, I’m shocked to see his skin flush when I press my hand against his jaw.
His heart may not be beating, but somehow, impossibly…
He’s alive.
There’s no other explanation for his warmth and the reaction of his body to mine—the glow between us, his scent, his immense presence filling my senses…
Acting quickly, I rip at the hole in his shirt where the spike broke through. The wound sits above his heart, through his shoulder.
I stare in shock at the skin around the exit point.
It’s partially cauterized. Blood oozes from the cut but only at a trickle.
My head begins to shake as I try to understand how. The only explanation is that I did it. It might have been when I first pressed my hands to Nathaniel’s chest before Hagan pushed me away and told me he had to end Nathaniel’s life. Or it could have been when my anger soared through me just now and I screamed at Cyrian to get away from Nathaniel.
None of that should be possible.
My fae magic shouldn’t be able to touch him…
Reaching around his chest, I struggle to turn him onto his side to check the entry wound in his back. The weight of his torso and muscles and the blood coating his chest make my task difficult. Quickly repositioning myself and drawing my legs under me, I use my knees as a wedge beneath his back so that I can slowly lift him. With a final heave, I finally succeed in getting his left arm to drop across his chest so that gravity pulls him far enough onto his stomach that I can pull up his shirt and study the wound on this side.
It’s also cauterized.
I don’t understand how my magic worked, but if I did this—if I somehow minimized the flow of blood—then I can finish the job.
Leaning across him, I slip my right hand over his back and my left hand across his chest, covering the entry and exit points of the wound.
I have to be careful.
Yesterday, Nathaniel described my power as having many facets—the capacity to destroy as well as the power to heal. I’d eased the pain in his bruised ribs by warming his torso with my starlight. Now I need the sharp edge of my power—the fiery element. Too much will destroy whatever life clings within him. Too little won’t work.
Drawing on the well of power inside me, conscious of the limited amount I have left, I allow starlight to flow from my chest down my arms. I don’t temper it, don’t soften it, allowing it to remain sharp and prickly. A burning cold.
Pinpoints of starlight widen beneath my palms as I block out Hagan’s and Cyrian’s shouting only a few paces away from me.