"Go," he grunted, his face twisting as golden waves of power crashed into his back and dissolved into his skin. His fiery wings were spread like a protective wall, catching Malek's magic before it could strike her.
"How…?"
"I don’t know." His voice was labored, each word more taxing than the rest. Tendrils of flame flickered in his clear blue eyes as he stared at her, his biceps clenched and his feet braced, his every muscle straining. "Go," Rafe repeated. "I'm not sure how long I can hold him."
Lyana stepped back, but she couldn’t quite turn away. Something held her entranced—something she was only just beginning to see. Every man she'd ever met had wanted to cage her. Not all of them had meant ill, but they'd been controlling just the same. Malek had wanted to mold her into his perfect queen. Xander had held her duty-bound to be his mate. Even her brother, in all his protectiveness, had wanted to rein in her spirit.
But not Rafe.
He was here, fighting with every ounce of strength he possessed to set her free. And he always had been, right from the very start. When he'd been injured, he hadn't shied from her magic. He'd let her heal him. And when she'd gone to him with a foolhardy plan to save raven lives, he hadn't shut her down. He'd gone with her. And when she'd stood in his room that night, he hadn't asked for things he knew she couldn't give. He'd accepted any part of her she was willing to offer. He didn’t take. He didn’t demand. While the rest of the world tried to tell her who she had to be, he accepted her for who she was. Even better—he looked at her as though she were already perfect.
That was what held her.
That was why she'd never been able to let him go. Not upon finding out his true identity. Not in the face of a terrible betrayal. Not even after so many weeks apart.
That was why she loved him.
"Ana," Rafe rasped. "Please."
She saw the hopes and fears swirling in his eyes, the life he was entrusting to her safekeeping. Xander. Save Xander. He was putting all his faith in her, and for that gift, she wouldn't let him down.
With Rafe as her shield, Lyana ran from Malek and all the walls he'd tried to build around her. Untamed and untethered, she took to the sky.
53
Xander
"Hello!" Xander shouted as he walked through the city streets, stumbling on debris and straining to see through the dense, shadowy gray. The ground swayed and sank, the sound of crashing waves becoming louder with each passing second. Wet air licked his cheeks, forming droplets along his skin. His clothes grew sticky and his feathers heavy with the dampness. "Can anyone hear me? Do you need help?"
"Here!" someone shouted. "I'm over here!"
Xander ran, biting his tongue to keep back a curse as he stubbed his toe on a fallen stone. His wings caught him as he raced forward. It was nearly impossible to see without the light of the moon. He'd never been surrounded by such thick fog. "Where?"
"Here!"
They shouted back and forth a few more times until Xander caught sight of movement. The man was stuck beneath a pile of crumbled stones, his legs lost beneath the rubble. He lay facedown with his wings outstretched, seemingly unharmed. When Xander got close, the man's eyes widened with shock.
"My prince," he said, trying to dip his chin even with his cheek squished against the street. "I'm honored you—"
"None of that," Xander cut him off as he knelt by his side. "Where are you hurt and what can I do? Most importantly, can you fly?"
"I think I can. It's my legs. The building fell and I couldn't get away in time."
"Stay still," he cautioned as he reached for the stones. Lifting the small ones first, he brushed as much debris away as possible. A boulder crushed the man's calves, a large piece of masonry held together with grout. The left leg was mostly untouched, but the right one was flattened beyond repair. He wasn't sure how the man was still awake, let alone aware enough to speak.
"Can you help?"
"I will." Xander frowned, staring at the bloody strips of the man's leg. He'd read books about medicinal practices, but he’d never thought he would have to use them in real life. "Do you have a belt on?"
"I do."
"Can I borrow it?"
The man nodded, a bit of fear seeping into his dark brown eyes. He gritted his teeth as Xander slid the leather strap free.
"I'm going to tie this around your thigh, all right? Don't touch it and don't try to remove it. As soon as you can slide your legs out, I want you to take to the sky. Fly as fast as you can for the House of Song. Don't wait for me. Don't wait for anyone. Just go. On the count of three."
The man swallowed.
Xander tried to hide his gulp as he used his teeth to secure the belt in place, tying it as tightly as possible to stop the bleeding. The leg was lost, but the man's life didn’t need to be. Upon rising to his feet, he pressed his shoulder into the boulder and prepared to push.
"One. Two. Three!"
He shoved with every ounce of muscle he possessed, heaving as his heels dug into the ground. His feet slid on the damp rock. A grunt escaped his lips and he pushed harder. Come on. Come on. The stone gave, just a little, just enough. The man scrambled, dragging his arms and wings across the street as he screamed. A little more. A little more. Xander refused to give up. His legs and arms shook. His body burned. Go. Go.
The man was free.
"Go!" Xander shouted.
Onyx wings disappeared into the mist, and he dropped the boulder back to the ground with a thud. Xander rested his forehead upon it, breathing heavily for a few spared moments. With a sigh, he stood again.
"Hello! Can anyone hear me? Do you need help?"
On and on it went. Sometimes he stumbled upon nothing but bodies. Sometimes there were people he could help. Other times, the worst times, all he could do was provide a merciful end to the pain. He had no idea how much time passed, as the ground dropped and swayed beneath him. A few of the shifts were so great he took to the sky to keep from careening over, but the island always seemed to right itself before dipping the other way, as though two opposing sides were fighting for control. Eventually one would win, he knew, and then he'd have no choice but to abandon the people still left.
"Help!" a voice shouted, high-pitched with youth. "Please, help!"
"I'm coming!"
"Help!"
He followed her cries until he found her, a young girl of no more than twelve, still growing into her wings. But that wasn't what made him freeze. It was the tears streaming down her pale cheeks, the pain in her eyes, and mostly, the bloodied end of a metal shard sticking through her stomach.
"Prince Lysander," she cried. "Oh, please help me. Please!"
"Shh," he whispered, putting his palm to her brow to wipe off the sweat. She trembled beneath him. A knot formed in his throat, but he swallowed it and forced the soothing lie to his lips. "I'm here. I'll help you."
"I told my mother I was right behind her." The girl wept as she spoke. "She had my baby brother in her arms, and I told her I was right behind her. But I wanted the necklace my father gave me. I went back for it even though she told me not to. Am I going to die?"