Fall of Ruin and Wrath (Awakening, #1)

Taking the glass from him, I placed it on the table. “Is the room still moving?”

“Unfortunately.” His hands fell to the edge of the bed. “Legs don’t feel attached at the moment and the light— my eyes . . . aren’t quite ready for it.”

I cursed, not having thought of that. “Sorry,” I mumbled, quickly turning the lamp off.

The Lord had gone quiet as I faced him. Trepidation rose as I inched closer to him— one of the most powerful beings in all the realm, and he was . . . he was shaking. His legs. Arms. “Is it the hemlock or the . . . the blood loss?”

“Those things . . . and the lunea. That alone weakens us— sickens us,” he explained. “When any . . . lunea blade is left in us or its wound goes untreated, it turns into a toxin, breaking down our tissues. . . .” His large shoulders curled inward. “Another of my kind would need far more than water and time to heal.”

Meaning that if he weren’t a lord, the injuries would’ve likely ended his life. I felt the need to apologize again but managed to stop myself.

I needed to get him cleaned up and safely out of here before others came to check on him . . . or Weber. “What would they need?” I asked, just in case the water wasn’t enough, as I knelt before him. “To heal?”

“I . . . I would need to feed.”

“Um.” I glanced at the door. “I can probably find you something to eat.”

“I’m not talking . . . about food.”

My brows lifted as I fumbled in the darkness, running my hands over his boot until I found the top. For the short period of time things had been intimate between Claude and me, I’d gained quite a bit of experience undressing a half-conscious man, but I still felt a little out of my element as I grasped the shaft of the boot and yanked it off. “What are you talking about?”

A sudden soft glow sparked to life, drawing my gaze up as I moved on to his other boot. I looked up to see that he’d picked up a candle from the nightstand and had lit it . . . with his touch. My lips parted with a soft inhale at the reminder of exactly what he was. “How . . . did you do that?”

“Magic.”

My brows inched up. I’d never actually seen a Hyhborn use the elements. “Really?”

“No.”

I stared at him a second, then shook my head. Unnerved, I grabbed ahold of his other boot. “Does the candlelight hurt your eyes?”

“No,” he answered.

I wasn’t sure if I believed him as I dropped his boot. I glanced at the bathing chamber, then took the candle from him. “I’ll get the shower ready for you.” I rose. “But I can’t promise it will be warm.”

“It’ll . . . be fine.”

Nibbling on my lip, I reentered the bathing chamber, placing the candle on a shelf. I spared a glance at my reflection and winced. The skin had split along the bridge of my nose and there was already a puffiness beneath my eyes. My nose didn’t appear broken, but I had no idea how I was going to explain this to Grady.

Going to the shower, I quickly cranked the knobs on the wall. Steady streams of water pounded off the porcelain floor of the stall. I thrust my hand beneath the stream. Blood ran between my fingers, splattering off the floor as I tested the temperature. It wasn’t exactly hot, but it wasn’t freezing. I washed the blood from my other hand, then turned.

The Lord leaned against the doorframe. How he moved so quietly while injured and so . . . well, so large, was beyond me.

“Should you be standing?” I asked.

“The chamber stopped moving.”

“That sounds like good . . .” I trailed off as he swayed away from the doorframe.

His head hung weakly as he reached for his pants. Realizing he was about to undress, I started to turn away. His fingers fumbled, though, nearly useless as he stumbled. “Fuck.”

I snapped forward, catching the Hyhborn. His weight was immense, the bare flesh of his chest hot as I kept my arms around him. “You okay?”

He steadied a little. “Yeah.”

I started to let go, but he began to wobble. “You are not okay.”

“Yeah,” he repeated, reaching around me to plant a hand on the rim of the sink basin.

Throat dry, I looked over my shoulder at the running water, mind racing. I then glanced down at the length of cloak I wore and finally at his pants. I sighed. “Can you hold on to the sink for a moment?”

Head bent, he nodded.

Sliding my arms away, I waited to make sure he wasn’t going to fall. When he didn’t, I toed off my boots and kicked them back into the bedchamber. I unhooked the clasps beneath my neck.

“What are you doing?” he rasped, voice hoarse.

“You need to get cleaned up, right?” I let the cloak fall to the floor. “And it doesn’t look like you’re going to be able to do that on your own.”

“And here I thought . . .” He shuddered, muscles along his arms spasming. “I thought you were planning to take advantage of me.”

I froze. “Are you serious?”

“No.” He seemed to shudder. “The room is moving again, na’laa.”

Damn it. I went still, thinking that it might help if I didn’t move. Wait. What did he call me? “ ‘Na’laa’?”

“It’s Enochian.” One arm dropped to rest on his bent knee. “A phrase . . . in our language.”

I knew Hyhborn had their own language, but I’d never heard it spoken before. “What does it mean?”

“It . . . has many meanings. One of them is . . . used to describe . . . someone who is brave.”

My cheeks warmed for some reason.

“There . . . must be . . . a lot of conjurer activity in your city,” he said after a moment.

Thinking of all the times in the past I’d been accused of being such a person, I glanced at him. “I honestly don’t know if there is,” I answered. “I’m not even sure I believe any of what is said to be done with bone magic is possible.”

“Oh, it’s real.” His arms trembled as he held himself there. “Ingesting our blood would kill a mortal, but smooth . . . it over a wound? A scar? It will be healed. Sprinkle it on barren land and crops will flourish. Bury a hand . . . in freshly plowed soil, and crops will flourish there too, ones insusceptible . . . to drought or disease.” His chin dropped even farther. “Our teeth dropped into water can create coin.”

“Really?” Doubt crept into my tone as I realized his blood had seeped through my cloak and stained the nightgown.

“Really,” he confirmed. “But that’s not all.”

“Of course not,” I murmured.

“Keeping an eye of ours . . . near will warn the wearer of anyone . . . who approaches,” he continued, and I didn’t even want to know how one wore an eye. I could go my entire life not knowing that. “Our tongues will force the truth . . . from anyone who speaks, and weaving strands of our hair . . . among yours? It will ensure one remains . . . in good health as long as the hair stays in place. Our bones . . . can restore one’s health.”

“Oh,” I whispered, somewhat transfixed.

“Burying our fingers and toes . . . will bring water from deep within the land,” he went on. “Strips of our . . . of our skin hung above a door will ward off the nix.”

“That’s disgusting.” A chill swept through me, though, at the mention of the creature. The nix were related to the Hyhborn in some fashion and were found in the woods where usually only long game hunters entered, especially in the Wychwoods— the vast sacred forest rumored to have trees that bled. The woods skirted the territories of the Lowlands and the Midlands and traveled all the way to the Highlands. The creatures found within them didn’t look remotely mortal and were more frightening than birdeaters— ridiculously large and horrifying spiders with claws. I’d never seen one, either a birdeater or a nix.

“What do . . . they look like? The nix?” I asked.

“Have you . . . seen a Rae?”

I shuddered, thinking of the Hyhborn riders that were more bone than flesh. “Once.”

“Imagine that . . . but thinner, faster, and with sharp teeth and claws,” he told me. “And they can get in your head, make you think you’re seeing and experiencing . . . what is not there.”