Siljar stepped forward. “Don’t listen.”
Yeah, easy for her to say.
Already he could begin to detect the damage being done to her exquisite face. Not that he gave a shit what she looked like. His love for Nefri wasn’t about flesh and bone. But the fear that she would be destroyed along with the spirit threatened to tip him over the edge.
“You have a minute to do what you have to do,” he hissed. “After that . . . I make no promises.”
Siljar rolled her eyes, muttering something about leeches beneath her breath. Then she shifted her attention to Sally.
“I will need your assistance, witch.”
Sally grimaced, her face drenched in sweat and her slender body trembling as she continued to hold the strange book against Nefri. “I don’t know anything about sorcery,” she said, her voice strained.
“I will start the weave; I just need you to help hold the threads.”
It all sounded like gibberish to Santiago, but Sally gave a hesitant nod. “Okay.”
Siljar closed her eyes and held out her tiny hands. “Let’s begin.”
Santiago was vaguely aware of Roke moving to support Sally’s swaying body and Styx’s hiss of pain as Nefri gave him another head butt, but his sole focus was on the woman wrapped in his arms.
He felt her shudder, her skin turning ashen as the witch and Oracle performed their mystical voodoo.
“Don’t leave me, Nefri,” he husked. “Don’t you dare leave me again.”
The glow began to fade from her eyes and for a horrified moment, Santiago thought he was truly losing her.
No.
He tightened his arms, silently willing her to survive.
At first he could feel nothing. As if she’d already slipped away from him. Then, as he stubbornly refused to concede defeat, he felt a . . . spark. The tiniest awareness of the female he adored beyond all bearing.
A relief so vast it threatened to send him to his knees flooded through him, and ignoring the crowd watching their every move, he gently cupped her face.
“Hey there, beautiful.”
Her brows drew together as she struggled to focus on his face. “Santiago.”
“I’m here.”
She gave a slow, painful nod. “I need . . .”
“Yes, my love?”
“I need you to promise me.”
He leaned closer despite Styx’s growl of warning, trying to catch her soft words. “Promise you what?”
“Promise me you won’t let the spirit control me again.”
“Siljar is here with the witch,” he tried to soothe, knowing that losing control of her body and power was her worst nightmare come true. “They’re going to get rid of it.”
She lifted her hand to weakly clutch at his arm. “If it gets loose again, I want you to swear you’ll kill me before allowing it to use me.”
A part of him wanted to offer comfort.
To say whatever was necessary to ease her fears.
But, a larger part understood he couldn’t lie.
Not to a woman he intended to spend the rest of eternity with.
“No.”
Her dark eyes filled with a fear that sent a stab of agony through his heart.
“Santiago, I couldn’t bear it,” she pleaded, her face still ashen and drawn with weariness. “You know I couldn’t.”
“And I can’t bear to lose you,” he said with a blunt honesty. He’d intended to save his proclamation of love until a more appropriate time. Like when the current life or death situation was over. Perhaps at a location that could be considered at least a little romantic. And at the very least, he’d intended for them to be alone. Now, he accepted that the time or place was meaningless. If the past few months had taught him nothing else, it was that there was no promise of tomorrow. He wasn’t wasting another second without telling this woman what she meant to him. “You are my very reason for living.”
The dark eyes softened with a love that he could tangibly feel flowing between them even as her expression remained set in stubborn lines. “But . . .”
“No.” He brushed his lips over the chilled skin of her cheek to the corner of her mouth. “Ask me to be your mate. Ask me to stand at your side for the rest of eternity. Ask me to love and honor and respect you,” he husked. “But don’t ask me to sacrifice you. I can’t.”
“There will be no further sacrifices required,” Siljar said in a weary voice. “At least not today.”
Santiago glanced up to discover Roke carrying an unconscious Sally toward the door and Siljar leaning against a pile of rubble. He frowned as he realized the book had disappeared.
“Where’s the spirit?”
Siljar grimaced, her devastating power for once muted. “It has been sent to the Commission. There are those qualified to keep it imprisoned.”
Chapter 30