I said the words to myself, wishing there was a way to say them aloud, to make her feel them and know it was true.
It was the only promise I could give her, but one I would work until my dying day to make happen. I wanted her to be whole, to be happy. I wanted to see that smile on her face again.
Her eyes were welcoming and so I took a chance and moved myself under the frame, lifting the heavy wood just enough to make room. She didn’t shy away from me; she kept still, so I continued to move until I was right up against her, our bodies wedged in the tiny space under the bed, a place that offered Joclyn security.
I lay near her, and we looked into each other’s eyes, hers panicked, mine soft. Before I was even aware she had moved, her fingers reached up to run through the short hair that now lined the top of my head. My heart jolted at the contact, a smile coming to my lips as I moved a bit closer. I wanted her touch to continue but her hand left, my movement obviously too much too fast.
“I cut it for you, after what you said in Italy. When you couldn’t wake up… I was…” I had to stop. I didn’t know what to say, how to explain what had happened. How do you tell the woman you love about the fear and pain you felt when you thought you had lost her? Even thinking about it brought the anxiety I had felt back into my gut.
Her fingers brushed my arm in apology before she moved into me, her body melding against mine. My arms moved around her as if they belonged there, even though they didn’t. But for this moment, because she needed them, they did, they needed to. She could have whatever she needed from me until I could make her whole.
Our song filled our cramped space as I sang and held her against me. My lips brushed against the skin of her temple as I sang, the raw skin of my palm rubbing up and down her arm, opening the connection between us again.
I felt her heart as it beat alongside mine. I felt her breathing as it calmed and settled into a rate that was almost near my own. I let my magic surge into her, let it swirl through her as it calmed her and she became the strong girl she was only a few weeks ago.
I could give her that back, and I would.
I would stand by her, love her, and protect her until the day I died.
We stayed like that, pressed against each other for a few precious minutes. Minutes that would forever be marked in my mind as the last before everything fell apart.
The last moment until I heard a yell I thought I would never hear. The sound of death and love and heartbreak all melded into a scream that I knew would signal the start of a war.
Ovailia’s voice rang through the Abby, the sound of Sain’s name on her lips.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Joclyn jumped in my arms at the name, her heart beating rapidly in recognition. Her silver eyes looked into mine in longing and fear, the pupils growing as Ovailia’s shout rang out again.
“Stay here,” I instructed quietly, the words causing her heart to thump wildly. “Stay under the bed. I will shield you here and keep you safe.”
She said nothing, and for once, I wished she would. I wished she would snap back at me about how I couldn’t tell her what to do or make a joke about the ridiculous situation. But nothing came but a slow nod of understanding.
I looked into her eyes for one more second as another scream tore through the air.
“I love you, and I will always protect you.” It was foolish of me to say, and I shouldn’t have done it, but I couldn’t stop myself. Hearing Sain’s name echo through the Abbey only triggered a million warnings of what was coming, and I wanted her to hear it. I wanted to leave her with one beautiful thing.
I was gone before she could respond. I left the shield over her body as I took off through the door, only to signal for Ryland to follow me. We flew out through the window, my body speeding through the air to land in the large courtyard, the camps of the Trpaslíks glittering in the forest behind us.
Dirt and rocks exploded into the air on my landing, the ground rocking with my anger at what was unfolding before me.
Ovailia stood in the center of the garden ruins, her feet having taken her out of the Abbey and directly into the path of an escaped pair seeking shelter.
I almost couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw them.
Sain and Wynifred.
Sain was on the ground between Ovailia and me, his hair long and shaggy, a long beard plastered on his face. He looked even more haggard than when he had sought me out to tell me of Joclyn’s existence. He cried toward Ovailia, pleading with her in Czech, French, and Mandarin only for Ovailia to counter each plea angrily, her arms moving around and tossing a small, weak-looking figure through the air with each gesture.