Page 85 of Claim the Light
“Okay.” I give her a cautious nod, uncertain where she’s going with this. “We don’t have to hide from moonlight anymore. We can shift different parts of our bodies at will. We have dragon souls that are our own—”
“Good things, yes,” she says, her voice becoming a snarl. “But what of the dragon who craved power and delighted in cruelty? What sort of evolution would such a dragon experience?”
“You’re talking about Tyler,” I whisper.
“He has evolved into a source of misery and fear. He has a heart of ash that infects all others so they become like him.”
Lana’s hard expression falters and now tears form in her eyes. “Now consider: What effect would Tyler’s power have on an angel-dragon who was born to be a hunter and a killer? How dangerous could she become if she had no soul and no heart?”
My eyes widen as I realize she’s now talking about herself. “You wouldn’t hurt us—”
“Wouldn’t I?” Her grip on me hasn’t eased and now it’s painful. “I could kill you right now, Sophia. I don’t need a weapon. It’s my mind, my heart, and my reason that stops me. It’s my love for you that stops me.”
Tears burn hot behind my eyes as she continues.
“Soon, I won’t be halted by anything. Dark magic delights in death. And I will bring it.”
I shudder, but once again, she’s relentless.
“As for Micah, raised in the most brutal clan, do you think he would hesitate to break your neck if his mind were gone and Tyler ordered him to do it? Or Beatrix and Felix, who were born into the Scorn clan and taught only violence until the Dread took them in?”
She takes a breath, gasping into the silence. “Or Callan…”
Her voice breaks, but she rallies and continues. “I already faced a future where Callan’s power could be used for destruction and it terrified me. But it’s nothing compared to a future where we all become soulless weapons.”
Lana’s fear cuts through my foundations and there’s no denying her words now.
I squeeze my eyes closed, praying for courage, before I open them again and ask, “What can I do?”
Her blue eyes sear me like fire and even though she doesn’t speak, I feel the power in her contemplation, the silent assessment of my failings and weaknesses. It’s as if, with a single look, she can pluck at every thread of guilt in my soul and judge my worth.
She speaks much more quietly than before. “You can heal us, Sophia.”
Her words wash over me, her conviction so impossible that I’m sure I can’t have heard her right.
I shake my head, my eyes brimming. “I can’t heal anything. I’m struggling to heal myself.”
And there it is. These wounds in my heart and mind that I’ve been stitching together for years—imperfect, desperate stitches—have only just begun healing.
I’m still raw and fragile. The past isn’t going to magically disappear because I’ve been offered love and family. Trust takes time. Healing takes time. A lifetime, even. Micah knew it even more acutely than I did. He promised me that he would prove to me how much he loves me every day, even if it takes a lifetime for me to truly believe him.
Lana’s hold on my hand finally loosens and her voice softens, but she doesn’t let me go. “Sophia, I want to tell you what I felt in the moments before I woke up. And I need you to hear me.”
I give her a nod, and she turns her hand over so that it’s now resting in mine.
“In the darkness, I was lying on a slab of ice,” she says. “My heart was pumping ash through my body instead of blood; I could see the black soot flowing through the veins in my arms. I should have been alarmed, but the ash brought an alluring nothingness. An absence of struggle. There was no longer any need to worry or care. Fuck, it was actually a relief. So much weight lifted off my shoulders.
“Then came a torrent of light. It felt like sunlight was being poured over me and it burned like lava.” Her eyes widen as if she’s remembering it. “Suddenly, I was screaming to be let up off that slab, to face the struggles again, to feel the fear and pain and loss, to welcome all of it back. Because then I would be alive. Because that is life.”
Tears trickle down her cheeks as she continues. “That river of light wasyou, Sophia. Your tears. Your power.”
I stare down at our entwined hands. The back of her fingers are smeared where I’d cried. My tears have dried, but her skin glows in subtle streaks where the tears fell.
“I wasn’t lying,” I whisper, not a denial, but a plea for understanding. “I don’t understand my power or how to use it. I don’t even know what it is.”
She smiles through her tears. “But I think I might,” she says. “Because I can see it.”
My eyes fly wide.
