The scent led him to a sight he wasn’t expecting. He should’ve known what it meant when it didn’t move. Leona’s body had been thrown from the airship and lay face-first in the pine needles not far off, her ruby-colored skin illuminated by the orange flames. Cvareh knew she was dead before he flipped her over and saw the hole in her chest.
Arianna had done it. She’d killed the King’s Master Rider. Cvareh wanted to cheer, but a sort of quiet fear underscored the thought. This was Leona, a woman with more beads than any other Rider. She was known for being equal parts ruthlessness and loyalty. And she’d been felled by a Chimera.
The wind shifted, and his nose was no longer cluttered with the smoke and flame.
“Who is that?” Florence called nervously, seeing the body he was crouched over.
“We’re safe, for now. She’s dead.” Cvareh stood, sniffing the air. It was clear and fresh, just the heady scent of pine riding the wind. Had he imagined it?
Another gust, and the rogue scent of cedar cut through the trees, accented by honeysuckle. It brightened the night and restored his every sense. His feet found strength, his heart beat harder, his mouth watered. Even his magic pulsed outward, an automatic reaction to the magic he had imbibed.
It was like smelling his favorite meal when he hadn’t eaten for months. It was like finding the accent to a fine coat. He didn’t need her, but gods he wanted her.
Arianna lay prone a short distance from Leona’s glider. She’d been trying to fly it away, he realized. Magic that most Dragons struggled to muster, she’d tackled when presented with no other choice.
“Ari! Is it Ari?” Florence was slow behind him. He heard her curse under her breath as she collapsed against a tree to regain her strength before continuing forward again.
“It is.” He fell to his knees beside the woman.
“Is she alive? Is she breathing? Will she be all right?”
“She’s alive.” He didn’t know the answers to the rest of her frantic questions.
The woman’s magic was weak and struggling to repair the internal bleeding that was drowning her. Her left arm was twisted and her foot was snapped. Cvareh popped them back into place so they’d heal right.
Even unconscious, the pain of it brought a moan from Arianna’s lips.
“Can you give her your magic? Like she gave you?” Florence asked.
It would certainly help. But he’d never let anyone imbibe off him before. It raised warning flags, despite the fact that she’d let him consume her magic.
Scowling at himself, Cvareh bit his tongue. Blood filled his mouth from where his canine had pierced the muscle. His hands grabbed her cheeks gently, situating her face upward. He couldn’t stop his thumb from smearing away the remnants of the drawn Guild Mark. It was nothing but a blemish on her beautiful face.
Gently prying open her lips, Cvareh leaned forward. He felt her breath on his cheek as his face neared. His own lips parted slightly, letting the blood drip into her mouth. He waited, mouth on hers, for her reflex to swallow.
For a woman who looked like she was made of stone and steel, she was soft and warm. She was strong, and yet in that moment seemed so fragile under his hands. He opened his mouth again, letting more blood—more magic—seep into her.
He didn’t like this delicate Arianna. He wanted the woman he knew back. He wanted the woman who would challenge him at every turn. Drive him crazy. Push him to the edge that made him want to cling harder and beg for more. He wanted it all. He wanted her to always be at his side, threatening to cut him if he was stupid.
His magic began to grow in her. He felt the connection of warmth it sparked from his body to hers. Like an ember fanned to a flame by both of their lives. They were entwined, slowly, surely, certainly. As long as he lived, she would. He would see to that much.
He opened his mouth again and her tongue pressed against his, her mouth moving to fit his hungrily. Her teeth raked against his lip and blood smeared between them.
Cvareh’s fingers pressed around the back of her neck, and he almost held his breath. He wanted to stop time for her, with her, so that he could savor her shamelessly for another long moment. But he pulled away, meeting her open eyes—they glowed the color of lavender in the night, heightened by the flood of his magic.
She didn’t push him away, she didn’t scold him, she didn’t reach for her daggers—if she even still had them. Arianna stared up at him, and he stared down at her, holding her face, holding her in the small corner of the world in which they existed. And if he were to exist nowhere else, ever, he would be content.
“I finally know what you taste like,” she whispered.
If she had asked, he would’ve let her have a second chance at the flavor.
34. Arianna
A cool gust rushed through her veins. It was crisp and fresh, like winter air across a frozen lake. Shocking to her system, but not in a way that slowed her down. Rather, in a way that reminded her what the reason was for her very existence.