A Kingdom of Flesh and Fire(81)

I drew my hand back, twisting toward Kieran. “That’s right. You said I smelled like a dead person.”

“I didn’t say you smelled like a dead person,” he countered. “I said you smelled of death.”

“How is that different?” I demanded.

“That’s a good question.” Casteel turned his head, brows lifting. “You’re really smelling her, aren’t you, Netta?”

I looked to find Vonetta’s head close to mine. “Please don’t say I smell of death.”

“You don’t.” She drew back. “But there is a unique scent to you.” Her dark brows knitted together. “You smell…old.”

“Um.” I shifted uncomfortably. “I’m not sure if that’s any better.”

Casteel dipped his head, and I felt the bridge of his nose along the side of my neck. “You don’t smell like that to me,” he murmured, and a shiver curled its way down my spine. “You smell like honeydew.”

Oh, my gods….

“I’m not saying she smells like mothballs and stale peppermint candy,” Vonetta said, and Kieran laughed. “It’s just… I don’t know how to explain what I mean.”

“I think I understand.” Casteel sat back.

“You do?” I questioned.

He nodded. “Your blood tastes old to me—old in a way that it’s rich. Powerful for someone who is not full-blooded Atlantian. It’s probably the bloodline.”

Vonetta tilted her head. “And what kind of—?”

A sudden, loud crash from outside interrupted us. Shouts of alarm rang out, and all three of them were on their feet in a matter of seconds.

“Sounds like that came from up the street where the houses are being worked on,” Vonetta said as I rose to my feet. Casteel was already out the terrace doors, Kieran following quickly behind him.

I trailed them out into the late-afternoon sun. We didn’t have to go far. Alastir rushed down the dirt-packed road, carrying the limp form of a small wolven.

Beckett.

I already knew he was in pain. I could feel it pinging against my skin, hot and sharp. I swallowed hard.

“What happened?” Casteel demanded.

“Beckett was being—well, he was being Beckett.” Alastir’s face was pale as he gently laid his nephew down in a patch of grass. The wolven’s growl ended in a whimper. “A piece of the roof collapsed, and he couldn’t move out of the way quick enough.”

“Shit,” Casteel grunted, kneeling beside Beckett.

Emil appeared behind Alastir. “Where is the Healer?”

“Talia is in the training fields,” a mortal woman said. “Someone was injured during practice.”

“Go and summon her. Tell her to come as soon as she can,” Casteel ordered one of the wolven. The man took off, shifting into his wolven form in a blur of speed. “It’s okay, Beckett. We’re getting help.”

Beckett’s chest rose and fell rapidly, and his mouth hung open. The whites of his eyes were stark against his dark fur. My senses stretched and pushed at my skin, and I tensed, trying to prepare myself as I opened up. Burning, acute pain rolled through the connection, stealing my breath. It was throbbing and endless, painting the soft grass in shades of red and soaking the sky in embers. This was definitely no minor hurt.

“I think his back legs are broken,” Alastir said, his hands trembling as he placed them on the ground. “He needs to shift. He needs to do it now.”

“Oh, no,” Vonetta whispered.

“If he doesn’t, the bones will start healing before we can straighten them.”

“I know,” Casteel said as I severed the connection before his physical pain overwhelmed me. “Beckett, you have to shift. I know it hurts, but you have to shift.”

The young wolven whimpered as he shuddered.

“He’s in too much pain.” I stepped around Vonetta.

“He’s too young,” Kieran said in a low voice, to no one in particular. “He won’t be able to do it.”

My gift hummed, demanding to be used as it guided me toward the wolven. My fingers tingled with the urge. Vonetta caught my arm. “Don’t get too close, Penellaphe.” Concern clouded her pale eyes. “An injured wolven is a very dangerous one, no matter how young.”

“It’s okay. I can help him.” I stepped to the side, slipping free of her grip as I searched out Casteel’s gaze. “I can help him.”

Casteel was still for a half a second and then nodded. “Come to his back. Beside me and away from those teeth.”

Aware of Kieran shadowing my steps and us gaining an audience, I lowered to my knees. Beckett’s rear legs were twisted at awful, unnatural angles. Beckett growled, lifting his head and kicking out with his front leg, both weak attempts to warn us off, but I knew he could strike a lot more quickly.

“Can you do it?” Alastir whispered. “What you did in New Haven?”

I nodded.

“If you can help him and he’s able to shift,” Casteel spoke low and fast, “that’ll make it so much easier for Talia.”

“Okay,” I said as Casteel angled his body so he would have to go through him first if the wolven reared. “I’m not going to hurt you, Beckett. I promise.”

Lips peeled back, revealing canines sharp enough to pierce skin and strong enough to crunch bones. I tried not to think of that as I placed my hand on his back. Opening myself up again so I could monitor his pain, I swallowed back the bile crowding my throat. His pain…it made me want to throw up. I started to drum up warm, happy memories—

Something… something different happened the moment my fingers sank into Beckett’s soft fur.

The tingling sensation in my palms ramped up as if static danced over my skin, and my hands heated. The wolven twitched, whimpering quietly as a muted glow appeared between my fingers, peeking through the strands of fur before washing over my hands.

My lips parted. “Uh…”

“That’s not normal,” Casteel observed, a dark eyebrow raised. “Right?”

Out of the corner of my eyes, I registered Emil’s mouth drop open. I saw the same reaction from most of those around us. Alastir rocked backward, paling even further as he stared at me. Whispers and gasps echoed around me.

“Well,” I heard Vonetta say. “I think you forgot to tell me something, Kieran.”

I don’t know what Kieran said in response. I heard Casteel whisper my name, but I shook my head as Beckett’s head lowered to the grass. I could feel his pain lessening. “It’s working, but I’ve never seen it do this before.”

“You mean you’ve never seen your hands glow?” he asked. “Like twin stars?”

“They’re not glowing that brightly,” I denied.

“Yeah, they kind of are,” Kieran murmured, and Emil nodded when I looked up.

“Okay. Whatever,” I muttered. My hands were glowing brightly now. “I’ll freak out over that later.”

Beckett’s breathing steadied, and the whites of his eyes became less visible.

“Sweet gods of mercy,” someone murmured.

“Princess?”

“Hmm?” I focused on Beckett. Emotional pain was harder to cut through and whatever release I brought was incredibly short-lived, but physical pain took longer to ease. I believed it had to do with all the important nerves and veins, and physical pain almost always carried an emotional anguish with it, especially if it was as intense as it was for Beckett. Easing his pain was two-fold, but the throbbing was dulling, becoming little more than an ache. He only needed a few more moments.

“Poppy,” Casteel called, and this time, I looked over at him. Sunlight glinted off the curve of his cheek as his gaze swept over me, around me. “You’re glowing. Not just your hands. You.”





Chapter 29





Good gods, I was.

A silvery glow radiated out from under the sleeves of my tunic.

“You look like moonlight,” Casteel whispered, and it wasn’t the sunlight reflecting over his cheek. It was me.

The fur thinned under my fingers, replaced by clammy skin as Beckett shifted into his mortal form. I lifted my hands, rocking back on my rear as Vonetta swept forward, draping a blanket she must’ve grabbed over the boy’s waist. His legs…they were a mottled, angry shade of red and violet, but they were straight and no longer twisted.

Aided by Alastir, Beckett sat up, his pale, sweat-slick face quickly gaining color. Someone was talking. Maybe Casteel asking if he were in pain? Beckett didn’t answer as he stared at me, eyes as wide as saucers.

“Am I still glowing?” My hands weren’t, but maybe my face was? Because it felt like everyone was staring at me.

Casteel shook his head and then looked down at Beckett. “I think…I think you healed his legs.”

“No.” I glanced down at my hands—at my normal, flesh-toned palms. “I can’t do that.”

“But you did,” Casteel insisted.

Beckett still stared at me. So did Alastir. And Emil. And everyone else.

“I can’t,” I repeated.

“Can you move your legs?” Kieran asked, and when Beckett continued to do nothing but stare, the wolven leaned over me and snapped his fingers. “Beckett. Focus. Can you move your legs?”