I’VE STOOD THERE A GOOD FIVE MINUTES BEFORE THE new presence emerges in my consciousness. I feel him before I see him. Standing there watching me.
For the split second after I turn to face him, Eogan looks normal, with the clouded sun rays and rain misting on his broad cloaked shoulders and face. My heart surges. The next moment his expression has morphed into a mixture of annoyance and suspicion and he’s demanding information with his eyes. As if Draewulf’s come to ensure his job of removing my ability has remained intact.
I shove aside my newfound hope and nausea and firm my fists. Get the answers from him, Nym.
He’s walking toward me. I peer past him toward the dining area, but the door’s windows are too small to see through. Where’s Rasha?
And where are my Faelen guards?
“You may think you’re smart sneaking on board this ship, but tell me you didn’t truly believe it was luck that no one caught you,” Draewulf says when he reaches me. “Or did you think me such a fool? You’re playing a bloody game here.”
“Where are my guards?”
He snorts. “I asked them to give us a moment of privacy.”
“And they obeyed?”
“I didn’t really give them a choice.” He holds out his hand.
When I don’t move, he glares down that attractive nose and grabs my arm. And presses into it hard enough that I can feel the pulsing of my own blood in my veins. I jerk away, but he’s already releasing it, seemingly satisfied that I have no power, although how he could tell is beyond me. Perhaps because I didn’t erupt and send a lightning bolt through his face.
He tucks a strand of bangs behind his ear and bends low enough that the wind whips my hair against his. “Make no mistake that I will kill every delegate here the next time you pull a stunt like that.”
He glares at me for one, two, three seconds longer. Then, without another word, he turns to stalk away.
“You’ll kill them but not me?”
He stops.
My arm begins throbbing where the cut is, and the grief and hatred abruptly blend in with the idea that he honestly believes he can take everything that’s mine. I narrow my gaze. “Why not? You could just finish me now. Or is it that you need me for something?”
He snarls. Flips around.
“Or perhaps it’s Eogan inside preventing you.” I step forward until I’m near enough to see the disgusting wolfish black of his eyes rimmed by Eogan’s green. “Tell me how it feels to know he’s still in there fighting you. To know he could still destroy you.”
Before I can dodge, his hand reaches behind me and yanks my head back, exposing my neck. He shoves me against the railing and about breaks my bones with the impact. He raises a fist, his body rippling in rage as he brings it toward my face.
I have found his weak spot.
His arm is an inch from my cheek when it stops.
Suddenly the rage shaking his body is growing stronger, more violent, and an odd look erupts in his eyes.
I frown and watch the black recede from the pupil and the green become brighter as his face flickers with confusion. As if waking from a dream and unsure of what’s real.
He looks around us, at the ship, at the sky, at his own body and me. He drops his hand. “Nymia?”
My heart stops.
My blood stops.
Everything stops.
Because it’s him. It’s those green eyes that are pure and brave and slightly arrogant in their own right. The kind of arrogance earned from a once-unfeeling heart that’s tasted brokenness.
“Nym.” His voice is husky. “Oh kracken—are you all right?” He tips my chin and searches my eyes before sweeping his gaze down as if inspecting every spare inch of me. His tone lowers to anger. “Did he hurt you?”
I have no words. It’s all I can do to breathe while my insides become an instant roar of joy and hope crashing against the broken spaces as his hands slip into my hair. I shake my head because, no, he didn’t, then nod because yes, he has, and I don’t know. I don’t care. The question is—“Did he hurt you?” I push back to look in his handsome face as his expression clouds and run my fingers up his onyx cheeks. I press his jagged bangs from his eyes. “Are you okay? Is he actually gone? What did you—?”
He shakes his head and leans into my fingertips as his body keeps doing that shivering thing. I watch his eyes close. Suddenly he’s pulling me into him, holding me against the warm beating of his chest even as he’s trembling in a way I’ve never seen.
“Nym, you have to kill me before—”
I choke loudly and pull back. What?
“He’ll destroy you and then everyone else. My people. Your people.”
“How do you know? Can you see him? Can you see how to stop him?”
He shudders. “He’s still here. I’m blocking him, but it won’t last long. And I can sense enough to know whatever he’s plotting will end in bloodshed for all of us. I keep trying to do it myself but he’s too strong. If you destroy my body before it’s too late . . .”
I’d rather cut out my own veins. “You don’t know for sure it’ll end badly.”
His green eyes find mine. Yes, he does.
No. I want to cover my mind. I can’t believe this.
“It’s not open for argument. It will happen unless you—”
“Not a chance in hulls,” I whisper. “You can’t ask me to do this—and even if I could, Draewulf took my powers.”
“I know. You’ll have to use a knife. If you plunge it in at the back of my neck, it’ll kill us both.”
I don’t answer. I can’t. My lungs are blocked, my breath is blocked, and how can he think I could do this? How can he ask me to kill him? I look around for something—anything—to fix it. To stop this. Myles. “Myles thinks there may be a way to save you, and if I can just—”
“Myles? He’s dangerous—”
“I know what he is, but are you serious, Eogan? What you’re asking of me . . . I won’t. Not before I have the chance to try. And Myles says—”
“You can’t trust anything he says.” He takes on his trainer tone—the serious one he’d use when Colin or I would take risks too heavy for us. “I’m telling you . . . I’m asking you—”
“I hear what you’re asking! But are you jesting me right now? Your people need you. I need you.” My voice cracks.
His face softens. He flutters a finger down my face, my hair. “I’ve already damaged you enough for one lifetime—there’s no bleeding way I’m doing it again. Or have you forgotten what I did to your parents?”
What a bolcrane. “Don’t you dare use that on me, because honestly? What would you do if I was in your predicament right now?”
He snorts. Then he inhales and pushes a black hand through his black hair, which only succeeds in making it endearingly messy in his all-too-familiar way. “It doesn’t matter because it’s not you. And—”
“Right, it’s not. So are we honestly going to stand here arguing about it when we should be figuring out how to free you?”
He runs a hand through his hair again and eyes me. “I’ve been working on that.”
“And?”
A flash of apology crosses his face.
“I don’t believe that. I refuse to believe that.”
“You have to. Otherwise . . .” His voice hardens even as his gaze drops to my lips. “Please believe me that he’s going to hurt you, Nym. And while that may not matter to you, it certain as hulls matters to . . . others.” I watch him swallow as the expression in those beautiful green eyes turns begging. He traces a finger down my cheek. His thumb stops beneath my chin and nearly crumbles me. Abruptly I am dissolving against his chest like paper flowers in a puddle and he is enclosing himself around me. “Listen. When you get to Bron, I need you to find Sir Gowon and explain what’s happened to me. Tell him about Draewulf.” He leans into me so close, as if to ensure only my ear will hear. “Tell him Elegy 96. He’ll know what it means.”
“Will he be able to help you?”
He doesn’t answer.
“Eogan, will he be able to help you?”
“Hopefully he won’t need to by th—”
I move my mouth to his so fast to shut him up. He startles, but the next moment his lips are pressing down against mine, drinking in as if he’s been thirsty for emotion and warmth for far too long. Melting me into a tangle of heartstrings as everything I am, everything I thought I’d lost, rises to the surface. I push my fingers into his hair to pull him closer, tighter, because I cannot leave, I cannot breathe, I cannot let go of this moment.
His teeth catch my lip just as the shaking in his body grows stronger. He pulls away. “Promise me you’ll end this.”
I shake my head because nothing in me is ready for this. I still need to know—to find out—what will become of us, of him, of our future. I refuse to answer.
His response is one single nod. I can see it in his eyes—he knows I will not do it. Not when hope is standing here in front of me.
The next thing I know he’s gently edging me aside and placing his hands on the airship railing. His fingers grip down, and when I look up he gives me one last look of apology.
What is he—?
He lunges. I grab for his arm but it doesn’t matter—whatever control he has isn’t enough to throw himself over. His knuckles turn white and his muscles are rippling with the effort. He’s straining forward, but his body won’t move, as if pinned by another force.
His expression collapses in pain just before his body flaps like the air around us.
I grab his shoulders and shake, but his eyes are already altering. “No, don’t—” The black seeps over the green and that glimmer of Eogan fades, and Draewulf tips his head at me. As if unsure of where we were in our conversation.
He looks around, then smirks. “Rest assured Eogan will be gone soon enough once Isobel joins us. And then? Every time you look at me, you’ll know what real control is.”
He spins around and takes two steps before halting. I glance around him and see the Bron guard standing there. How much he’s heard I’m not sure, but his face has paled to match the color of ocean foam.
Draewulf utters a deep, guttural growl and strides toward him and, faster than should be possible, yanks the guard off his feet.
No! I gasp, but my grabbing for him is too late. The monster’s already lifted him by the Bron jacket and shoved him toward the railing. He flips him over it and the guard cries out, but the wind carries the sound away, a lone voice fading as his body flutters and floats to the water.
We’re up high enough that I don’t hear the splash when his body hits, but it’s big enough that I know he’s instantly dead.
The next second I’m reaching for my blades, which aren’t there, then I’m throwing myself at Draewulf, pounding his chest. I shove his arms, his shoulders.
His response is a backhand across my cheek.
I teeter at the force but don’t fall—I’ve been struck enough times to know how to take a hit. But my eyes burn all the same. I grit my teeth and watch the guard’s head sink below the waves.
Draewulf grips my gimpy arm and a flash of disgust ignites in his gaze. Followed by a hardening that makes my veins burn. My hand curls beneath his as I will it to scald him with a slew of ice from my fingertips. Nothing happens but I’m clenching his shirt anyway, because I don’t know how to let go as a stream of curses lashes out of my mouth and whips down to share its saltiness with those same waves that consumed the guard.
“I hate you,” I murmur. But my voice is the the broken chirp of a bird.
He laughs without mirth and pushes me off like some girl from a favor house. “You’ve lost already. Don’t debase yourself more than you already have.”
He smooths his shirt just as an enormous horn sounds out above us, causing me to cover my ears and him to jump. He spins around and I follow suit to see land in the distance, just where the sun is peeking out along the purple-ribboned edge of storm clouds and horizon. Below it sits a city gleaming with red, orange, and pink reflections from the sun.
“Welcome to the beginning of your end,” Draewulf snarls behind me.