But it worked. Draven inhaled sharply, taking in a lungful of air. He fought to sit up, but Bijarki and Phoenix both held him down.
“No, don’t move,” Bijarki instructed him, “lie still for now. You’ll only make the pain worse.”
The bleeding seemed to have stopped, but it didn’t seem to mean much. The Druid would be blind—God knew for how long. Bijarki muttered profanities under his breath, cursing the Daughters relentlessly while the rest of us remained silent, too stunned to say a word. Draven’s breathing stopped sounding so labored, and he waved my brother and Bijarki away.
“Leave me,” he snarled. “I’m all right.”
“No, you’re not!” I exploded. “None of this is all right. We should never have come here. I’m so sorry.”
I wanted to scrape off my own skin, I felt so wretched. I had persuaded Draven to come here, kept at him, no matter how many times he and Bijarki had warned me of the danger.
“It’s not your fault,” Draven replied quietly. “I chose to come here. And no matter what has been done, we were right to try—the Oracle asked us to.”
I shook my head in disagreement. We had not been right to try. This had been a stupid, reckless mission.
“We need to get out of here,” Draven continued.
“No, you need to rest,” Bijarki replied firmly. Draven grabbed for his arm, finding the material of his shirt and pulled him closer.
“Do as I say,” he bit out. “We can’t remain here. There’s a stone in my pocket. Re-carve the runes.”
Bijarki averted his eyes so I couldn’t see his expression. He took the stone out, and held it in his hand.
“Please, Draven,” he said. “Don’t make me do this. Let’s wait. You’re in enough pain.”
“Do it,” Draven replied, his teeth clenched.
With a trembling hand, Bijarki parted his friend’s shirt. The runes from earlier were still plainly visible—the blood had dried, but the carved skin was red and puckered. It looked painful, and I knew that if Bijarki were to go over them again, whatever pain the Druid currently felt would be doubled.
“We can stay,” I said hastily. “It doesn’t matter. Why not just go back tomorrow?”
Draven shook his head.
“We leave now. I don’t want to take the risk. We need to get back to the house. Unless, of course, you want the Daughters to return and inflict more of their benevolence on us?”
“Do it,” I said to Bijarki.
I reached for Draven’s hand. I held him tightly, trying to offer the small amount of comfort that I could. Bijarki cut into his flesh again, holding on to his other arm to stop him shaking. I felt the smallest flicker of pity for the incubus. I wouldn’t have liked to be in his place. I imagined that he felt every cut he made almost as keenly as the Druid did.
Draven only hissed as Bijarki got to work. I could barely look, and it wasn’t long before my eyes started to fill with tears and blur, thankfully restricting my vision.
I would have given anything to turn back time in that moment. Had I understood the consequences, I would never have opened my big mouth. Damn the Daughters to hell—they might have been beautiful, but that couldn’t hide the fact that they were the most wretched, despicable creatures I’d come across in both the natural and supernatural world.
Vita
Bijarki and Serena helped the Druid stagger to his feet. Blood ran off him, from his chest and eyes, staining him a brilliant red and matting the front strands of his golden-brown hair.
“Take it easy,” murmured Bijarki as Draven tried to stand on his own. Bijarki and Serena stood either side of him, supporting him as best they could, their arms tucked under his and flung over his back.
“All of you make a connection,” the Druid instructed hoarsely.
We hurried to do his bidding. Bijarki took my hand again, and though my first reaction was to yank it back and move to where Aida or Jovi were, I didn’t want to cause unnecessary fuss. I held on tight, knowing what would be heading our way when we reached the mists. Aida came and stood on the other side of me, clasping my hand and taking Phoenix’s with the other.
Once we were all linked, we started to move toward the sandstorm. I dreaded re-entering it, hearing the voices again with their horrible calls that seemed to penetrate to the truth of my soul—secrets I kept hidden suddenly exposed in a way that made me feel violated and bare, as if they could peer inside my head and heart.
We stepped inside the storm, and like last time, visibility became nil as the hot sands whipped at our faces. It no longer felt like dusk. In the middle of the storm it was impossible to tell what time of day it was or what direction we were heading in.