Hot, salty tears stream down my cheeks, but I kiss him back all the same, and when he parts my lips and deepens the kiss, I let myself melt into him.

Just for a moment.

It’s a kiss I promise myself I’ll remember. One I’ll claw through my memories to rediscover.

“Don’t let me catch you too quickly, Wanderer,” he whispers.

But then Farin’s lips falter, and he lets out a shaky breath.

When his knees give out, and he crumples to the floor, I scream.

But then there’s a ripping sound, and a flash of light, and I don’t remember why I’m screaming at all.

CHAPTER 111

NOX

Getting speared in the stomach by a wyvern is not an event I would prefer to repeat.

Ever.

Still, I figure I’ve been through worse.

At least I’m not being burned to a crisp by the Naenden sun. Although it’s so hot here, that might have happened anyway, regardless of my vampire curse.

If Blaise and I make it out of this alive, we’re never coming back to this horrid place.

I doubt she’ll object.

Sprinting across a sandy desert will do that to a person.

The wyvern lands not-so-strategically, directly into an apartment building in the center of Meranthi, spewing shattered clay bits everywhere, including my mouth.

The wyvern’s talon lodges further into my gut when we make impact, but I’ve no time to register the pain.

I grab the scaly tail and yank it from my torso, biting through my tongue in the process.

Shadows from the paldihv my infuriatingly headstrong mate passed along to me swirl around me in waves, hiding the condition of my wound.

I can still feel the muscles and organs knitting back together.

Citizens scream around me, fleeing the demolished building, as the wyvern sprays a jettison of venom out of its mouth. The silvery substance leaks through what’s left of the crushed walls, hissing as it makes its way through the clay.

Excellent.

The wyvern swings its neck around to face me.

Is it just me, or does it have the gall to look pleased to see me?

If that really is a smile snaking through its ugly teeth, it really shouldn’t be.

Because if I’ve scaled across Realms, dove into canyons, and traversed deserts to get to Blaise, I’m certainly not letting this wyvern get in my way.

Wyvern blood is disgusting, in case anyone is wondering.

I highly doubt anyone is.

Especially not the screaming residents who part for me as I make my way back to the palace.

At first, I think they’re probably afraid of me because of the wyvern blood dripping from my mouth, but then I remember I’m swathed in shadows from head to toe.

Yeah, the screaming is probably from that.

I make it back to the palace, the pull of the bloodsharing bond tugging me toward Blaise.

As I step into the gardens, a mere pounces from the brush like it’s been waiting for me.

I’m really not in the mood.

It probably isn’t either, especially now that I’ve torn its jaw from its face with my bare hands.

Through the carnage, I glimpse a silvery orb on the mostly destroyed terrace, one that tugs at the chain intertwined with my soul.

There’s a male whose forehead is pressed to the orb, and he’s whispering something to it, while another pair of fae shoot vines into the sky, spearing wyverns and mere alike as they try to attack the orb.

I tread over the fallen remains of a headless wyvern, the world stilling around me as the orb dissipates, leaving my wife, my mate, fully exposed to the sun.

Fear pulses in my chest, and I’m at her side in an instant, ready to cloak her in my shadows.

The two fae manipulating the plants try to stop me, digging thorns into my flesh, but I rip through them with ease.

Only the bronze-haired male leaning before Blaise holds up a hand, not one intent on stopping me, but one that brings my attention to my wife.

To the sunlight that cuts across her face but doesn’t burn.

To the blood that smells like that of a human.

Relief floods me, followed by confusion mingled with panic as I search my soul for the bloodsharing bond, but it’s still there, tying us together, as strong as it’s ever been.

Blaise’s eyes flutter open, and though I want nothing more than to scoop her into my arms, there’s something so human about her now. Apprehension that I might hurt her stops me.

“They’re alive,” says the male I recognize from the Rip. “Blaise, Ellie and our daughter—they both lived.”

The muscles at the edges of Blaise’s mouth twitch in disbelief. “Andy, I’m so sorry.”

“They’re alive,” he repeats, and Blaise blinks.

“They’re alive,” she whispers back.