I shove both hands against his chest and attempt to pull nonexistent lightning from the sky. Instead I’m met with darkness. From inside him.
There’s a flash and one, two, three of the garden lanterns snap out, dimming the space around us as his hand slides to the back of my neck, as if to crack it. He swears in some language I’ve never heard, and that poisoned hunger jolts in my veins, burning my skin beneath his touch as the cold in my bones reacts. Suddenly it’s climbing, clawing, begging to get out of my fingertips to attack him.
He starts murmuring beneath his breath and boring his black eyes into me. I shut mine and push against him and focus on the energy I’m reacting to. On the sensation of power flowing through him. I begin to dig into it, draw from it, imagining I can feel it siphoning off in shallow waves as it whirlpools more and more into the vortex inside me.
I tug harder and the waves grow stronger, until abruptly his murmuring stops and I open my eyes to see Eogan’s body go transparent over Draewulf’s dark shape that’s glued to my hand. And it’s like I’m seeing double. Eogan’s eyes begin to clear.
His hand grips my neck tighter.
Air.
I need air.
The trees around me begin to blur and the shapes of three wraiths appear, but Draewulf doesn’t even glance over—doesn’t even notice Myles’s mental creations dragging their decaying bodies toward us.
My breath is blurring, my head is blurring, and my ears are rushing as the thump, thump, thump of my blood is flailing through my veins to kill him. I scratch at his chest, drawing off his power, but he just squeezes stronger and chuckles until I’m certain my neck is going to break. I hear Myles draw a knife from his spot five paces away, only to see Draewulf swipe his other arm in Myles’s direction, and the lord protectorate goes flying against the rock wall.
“Eogan, please,” I hear my own voice utter, and I narrow my energy’s focus right above his heart. And push.
Draewulf drops his hand and slumps into me.
What in—? I grab my other ankle knives at the same time I’m choking and gulping and trying to shove him off, to knee him in the gut, but a tremble rips through his body, wavering up his backbone, and this time, when his fingers find my arms, it’s for support, not injury.
Eogan?
He lifts his head and there are those green eyes shining through a face that looks old and weary. “For hulls’ sakes, Nym, can you please stop trying to infuriate the blasted fool. You’re going to get yourself killed.”
I raise a brow and draw in another lungful of air. Clearly his personality hasn’t suffered. “Well, forgive me for trying to save us all,” I choke out.
He stands straighter and eyes me, this time with more lucidity, and breaks into that daft smile that makes my idiot self want to drown in his arms.
I return the grin and for whatever reason feel suddenly shy, which is why it takes an entire two seconds more for the realization to dawn on me. “Oh kracken, you’re still alive. Did it work? Did I . . .?” My words fumble over each other as I glance at my hands. The shock and excitement numbing my tongue. Did I separate them?
“Did what work?”
“I brought you to the surface!” I clutch my palms that are still shaking with Draewulf’s energy, then swerve my gaze back up at him, my eyes widening along with my smile.
Only to be met by the flash of wolfish black encircling his emerald green.
Oh.
Not quite.
He squints. “What do you mean?”
“I mean it almost worked! I brought you out!” And even if it didn’t work all the way, I can’t help the relief—the exhilaration—the sheer joy this knowledge brings.
My powers are nearly strong enough.
His lips curl oddly and he coughs. “So it seems.” I can hear it in his undertone—the exhaustion. The wheezing.
I frown. Eogan’s body gives the slightest shudder and his jaw tightens. He droops and I go to catch him. “Oh hulls,” I whisper, because the look on his face says he may not be dead but something’s more than definitely wrong.
A crack of a stick and Myles steps forward, rubbing the back of his head. His expression as he stares at Eogan says he’s fascinated. More than fascinated.
He looks greedy. Even as Eogan suddenly looks like he’s dying.
I will my abilities to hurry. “It’s Lady Isobel, she’s—”
“I know.” Eogan puts his hand on my shoulder to steady himself. “She’s trying her best to finish it.” He brushes his gaze down my face until it reaches my lips, where it lingers as he gives a faint smirk. “Thankfully her powers aren’t quite as effective on me as she remembers.”
I put my hand on his chest and begin to press to absorb whatever it is she’s done to him. “I can almost fix it. Let me—”
Eogan’s face caves with pain. He jerks back and pushes my hand away. “What in—?” He slips his gaze down the rest of me until it lands on my other hand—on my gimpy fingers that are no longer curled but straight. Nearly perfect.
His voice wanes. “Nym, what did you do?”