But it’s not, because it only takes one look to realize that something is very, very wrong.

He’s completely motionless, and he’s surrounded by a growing puddle of blood.

He’s not dead—I know he’s not dead, or his bones would have been called back to the Dragon Boneyard. But he’s not okay, either. This isn’t some flesh wound he’ll get back up from.

“We need to be there,” I tell Hudson, who picks me up and fades us straight across the distance. He doesn’t stop until we’re next to Flint’s head, and once I look down at his body, it’s all I can do not to give in to the terror trying to claw its way out of my chest. The nausea rising in my throat. The dizziness that steals the strength from my legs as I collapse on my knees beside his body.

Thunderous explosions are going off all around us—I know they are because I can see rocks and trees and dirt flying through the air—but I can’t hear anything above the sound of my own screaming in my head. Because what I’m looking at is the most horrific thing I have ever seen. And it’s Flint.

His leg is sliced open from ankle to past the knee, all the way to the bone. His foot is barely attached to his leg, and blood is pumping out from a severed artery in his leg so fast, it can’t even soak into the sand. Instead, his life is pooling all around him in a sticky, sandy, bloody mess and I know—I know I can’t save him. No one can.

I can heal, but not this. Never anything like this. It’s too much. It’s just too much.

I turn to Hudson, who looks as shaken as I feel, but he grabs my arm and says, “Take whatever you need.”

I don’t know what I need, don’t know how much power I’d have to find to possibly counteract this. But I’m running out of time to think. I have to do something, or Flint is going to die. My heart is pounding in my chest and my hands are shaking so badly, I can barely hold on to Hudson. But I do. For Flint.

Closing my eyes, I reach deep inside Hudson and pull out as much of his power as I can take. He’s still weak from the Pit, but I gave him enough energy earlier to start the healing process, and he’s a lot better off than he was even a few hours ago.

My tattoo burns as the magic lights each tiny needle prick in incandescent light, starting at my wrist and winding, winding, winding around my arm. By the time the tattoo is lit halfway up my arm, I decide I’ve taken enough. “Go!” I yell to Hudson as I turn toward Flint and set to work trying to heal him.

I close my eyes again and channel as much of my energy into Flint as I can, as fast as I can.

All around us, witches and vampires are attacking with fangs and spells and paranormal powers. But I don’t pay attention to any of it. I can’t. Flint has lost so much blood, he’s in such bad shape, that any break in my concentration might end up harming him irreparably.

It’s not like I’m an expert at this, not like I know what I’m doing. Like with Mekhi back before we came here the first time, I just follow the pain, follow the injury, and do whatever I can to bind what’s been broken back together again.

Besides, Hudson has my back. I can hear him throwing vamps and witches away from Flint and me, know he’s fading around and around to keep us safe, and I’ve never been more grateful that I have such a badass mate in my life.

I might not have enough confidence to trust anyone else like this, to just give my life and Flint’s life up to them so completely. But this is Hudson, and if there’s one thing I know, it’s that as long as he has a breath in his body, nothing will touch us again.

So I focus on Flint and start with the artery, because if I don’t get that stopped, fixing the rest doesn’t matter. He’s already lost so much blood. His breathing is shallow, his heartbeat too slow, and I know he doesn’t have a chance if I don’t hurry.

I’m not exactly a biology major, but I’m going to go with the small, slippery thing gushing blood as being the artery. I grab on to it—thankful it hasn’t rolled back up his leg like I’ve seen in a few war movies—and get to work healing the opening.

It’s harder than I expected it to be, and I don’t know if that’s because I’ve never had to heal something this serious before or if it’s because Flint is so far gone.

I don’t like the thought of it being the second reason, so I block out the fear and concentrate only on what I know, on what I can figure out.

“Don’t you die on me, Flint,” I order as I squeeze the artery together and try to mend it by envisioning hundreds and hundreds of little stitches closing the severed pieces of tissue, holding them together.

I don’t know if that’s right, don’t know if anything I’m doing is right, but the longer I hold the artery and stitch, the slower the blood flows. And in the middle of all this epic disaster, I’m going to consider that a win.

Heat burns through my hand, up my arm, and I nearly weep with relief at the proof that my healing powers have finally kicked in, are able to draw energy from my tattoo. And so I keep doing what I’m doing, imagining the stitches, imagining the artery weaving itself back together slowly, slowly, slowly.

But it doesn’t take long before the heat starts to go away, and I know it’s because I’m running out of power. I open my eyes, look around for the first time in several minutes, and realize Hudson is taking no prisoners. He’s fading all over the area around us, and more than one vampire body hits the ground in the next few seconds.

I want to call to him, want to tell him that I need more, but I don’t want to distract him. Not when people are dying out there and, with one distraction, he could just as easily be next.

He must feel me staring at him, though, because less than a minute passes before he’s back, sitting down next to me. His face and hands are streaked with blood, he’s breathing hard—a surefire sign that his energy reserves are running as low as mine are. But his cobalt eyes are as bright as ever as he offers his hand to me.

“I’m sorry,” I tell him, hating what I need to do even though I have no other choice.

But Hudson just shakes his head, as if to ask, What for? And even manages a grin as he says, “Take whatever you need, baby. I’ll be fine.”

153

With Grace Power

Comes Grace

Responsibility

I take as little as possible from Hudson. I know it’s not enough to even begin to heal what I’m dealing with from Flint, but I also know there’s nothing I can say to keep Hudson from going back out there. I can’t send him off with nothing, no matter what he says.

“You sure that’s all you need?” Hudson asks as I turn back to Flint, and I nod, making sure he can’t see my face as I do.

“Okay,” he says, brushing a gentle hand over my hair. “Good luck.” And then he’s gone again, fading straight back into the fray.

I know it’s bad out there. I can hear the screams and the growls, the sounds of bodies hitting bodies and bodies hitting the ground or the water. I still don’t look, though. I don’t want to know, not when Flint is still so close to death. And not when there’s a chance I can save him.

I finally have the artery closed to my satisfaction, but there’s so much more to repair. To begin with, if we don’t get the muscle at least somewhat pieced back together, I am afraid the artery is going to roll all the way back up his leg. Plus, if I don’t get the artery that’s in his calf repaired, he’s going to lose his leg—and that’s if I can keep him alive.

I dig down deep, try to find more energy to do this next step, but there’s almost nothing left. I’m exhausted, worn down, my power completely drained. But if I can’t find something soon, I’ll lose Flint, and I can’t let that happen.

So I reach out for earth magic, let it flow up my legs and into my tattoo—but nothing happens. I glance down at the delicate pattern of flowers and leaves, but I can’t seem to get earth magic to store inside my tattoo. I only spare a moment to wonder if the ink doesn’t work with elemental magic before I decide that’s a question for another day and instead try to just channel the earth magic to heal Flint.

But where Hudson’s magic in my tattoo was strong and enabled me to quickly close an artery, earth magic is clearly only good for healing more minor injuries. I can’t draw in enough power to heal Flint faster than he’s losing blood. I’m about to give up and call out for Hudson to give me a little more juice when I glance left and spot Jaxon standing ten feet away, staring at Flint’s mangled body.

“I’m here,” Jaxon says as he fades to the mouth of the cave. And oh my God. I thought Jaxon looked bad before? As he stares down at Flint, the agony etched in his hollowed features grows exponentially. He thrusts his arm at me, shaken, his gaze never leaving Flint’s leg. “Take whatever you need.”

I don’t think twice. I just grab on to him and channel and channel and channel, even as I keep my other hand on Flint’s leg, sending some into Flint, filling my tattoo with the rest.

“Is it too much?” I ask after a minute, because Jaxon’s looking mighty gray.