Page 172 of Fallen Nocturne

Mal vanishes first. The gates of Hel begin to close behind him, their enormous doors grinding together. The screams weaken as the hands of the damned retreat into the Hollow. When the gates finally meet, the chasm contracts and the broken floor begins to seal over it.

Elli dissolves into pale mist. Before the last of her disappears, her ancient eyes settle on Rhianelle. “Whatever comes next, be brave, Rhianelle.”

Blight does not disappear. She darts behind a pillar instead and peers around it like a child hiding during a game.

The throne room is suddenly, oppressively quiet.

Rhianelle sways on her feet. I see it happening before it does. Her knees begin to buckle and her eyes lose focus as the bone-weary exhaustion finally catches up to her.

Summoning the Un, calling the creatures of Astefar onto the battlefield, and fighting Lilith have taken everything from her.

I catch her before she can fall. My arms wrap around her, pulling her against my chest.

“I’ve got you,” I murmur into her silver hair. “I’ve got you, Nel.”

She feels impossibly light in my arms. How does someone so small and delicate contain so much power?

Her head tilts back, and those lilac eyes find mine. Even exhausted, even pushed beyond all limits, she’s beautiful.

Rhianelle smiles.

“Arescaine,” she whispers. “You came back. You didn’t betray us.”

My arms tighten around her. "I'll always come back to you."

“I know,” she whispers.

Her hand lifts, trembling with effort, and touches my face. Then her fingers freeze.

Her eyes widen, focusing on something on my chest.

“Arescaine, you’re hurt,” she says, and her voice cracks. “You’re—there’s blood. There’s so much blood.”

Is there? I hadn’t noticed.

I glance down and—

Oh.

Lilith’s dagger is still buried in my chest. I’d forgotten about it. There are claw marks across my chest that should have healed minutes ago.

Huh?

“It’s nothing,” I try to say, but my voice seems strained. “I’m a vampire, remember? I heal. Just give me a moment and I’ll—”

Pain is nothing new to a Strigon. We still feel every wound, even when our bodies repair themselves. But this does not feel like pain.

It feels numb.

I haven’t felt like this in more than three thousand years.

“Arescaine!” Rhianelle’s voice sounds distant now, like she’s calling from the other end of a long tunnel.

The world tilts sideways.

Rhianelle tries to hold me up but she’s so tired. We sink together, down to the blood-stained floor of the throne room.

That’s when I understand.