Page 91 of The Bound Blood
It rights itself unnaturally fast.
“Behind me,” Dorian barks at the girl without looking away from the monster. His stance is low, controlled, a predator facing a predator. “Do not move.”
The girl whimpers and crawls behind him, shaking violently.
The creature lunges again, this time aiming for both of them. And another appears on the other side of the Veil.
“No—” The word tears out of me as my magic surges toward the tear behind it, instinctive and hot, like a hand grabbing mine and pulling.
The Veil pulses.
My mark sears awake, threads of silver-blue spiraling outward toward the tear. I don’t think about what I’m doing, it’s all instinct.
The tear reacts instantly—snapping, pulling, resisting. The creature thrashes, half its body still tangled in the Veil, half in our world.
“Lindsay!” Dorian shouts, but I can’t stop. I’m locked in place, held by something ancient and enormous.
Magic rushes through me, wrapping the tear in bright, burning light as I imagine stitching it shut. It fights. I push back.
The tear begins to close.
The creature lets out one last distorted shriek before it’s yanked backward—slammed fully into the Veil as the crack seals with a snap similar to thunder.
Silence crashes down around us.
I stagger, breathing hard, my knees nearly giving out. The world spins for a second before I catch myself.
The Veil is whole again. The magic settles around us, and it feels like a normal winter night.
When I lift my head, Dorian has the girl tucked against him, one hand braced on her shoulder, murmuring something low and soothing in a language I don’t understand.
But he isn’t watching her.
He’s watchingme.
His expression is unreadable—equal parts impressed, unsettled, and ravenously curious.
Slowly, he rises to his full height, still shielding the trembling girl with one arm as his eyes lock onto mine.
“You,” he says quietly, voice a low ripple, “should not be able to do that.”
I swallow, my chest still heaving. “Surprise?”
The girl sobs once, clinging to his sleeve. Dorian steadies her gently, but his gaze never leaves me—not for a heartbeat.
There is something new in it now. Recognition. Awe. And the kind of interest that makes my skin prickle.
“Well,” he murmurs, “this changes everything.”
THIRTY-THREE
KAEL
The shadow-glass thrumsbefore anything else shifts inside my room.
It always reacts to her first.
I feel the bond pulse—a single, sharp tug beneath my ribs— and the surface of the artifact ripples like disturbed water. Shadows coil outward, stretching into a distorted image of the north path.
