A heavy hand landed on the scruff of my neck, and for the second time in two days, I was lifted into the air. The only difference this time was that I wasn’t bedazzled by who was holding me.

Just really grossed out.

The air in front of me started to warp, and my heart dropped. Oh, Hell, no—it was not going to creepy magic pop me out of here.

Reaching back with one hand, I gripped the arm that held me, pulling my legs up toward my chest and then swinging them out and back. I slammed my feet into the midsection of the Ghoul, breaking its hold.

I fell, twisting at the last moment to land on my hip. That poor bone had just about had it. The pain in my hips slowed me down as I rolled onto my back, groaning.

When this was all over, I was going to be in the record books as one of the youngest people ever to need a hip replacement.

Before I could even get onto my feet, the Ghoul appeared in my line of vision. Pushing back on my elbows, I kicked out. The Ghoul caught my ankle.

“Dammit!” Sitting, I started to swing on the arm with the dagger as he pulled me toward him. The air charged with electricity once more.

This Ghoul wasn’t as dumb. He saw the move coming, and promptly lifted my entire body into the air. He shook me like a rattle. My grace sparked to life once more, and this time I didn’t stop it. If I did, this punk was going to take me through some portal, and I was sure wherever it ended was where I didn’t want to be. The corners of my vision turned white—

Without warning, the Ghoul let go and I dropped to the ground like a sack of lumpy potatoes. Landing first on my shoulder and then my ribs, I grunted. At least I hadn’t dropped my daggers. So, win?

I was also going to need rib replacement if that existed. The grace retracted as I planted my hand in the grass and started to push up.

Something rolled past me. Something bullet-shaped and white. It smacked into the ledge of the fountain.

It was a Ghoul head.

Dumbly, I watched it catch fire as I let out of a tired breath.

“Thanks, Dez,” I said, this close to lying down and taking a breather.

“That wasn’t me,” Dez replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

The corners of my lips turned down as I stared at the scorched cement of the ledge. The smell of an overused Porta-Potty receded, and a different scent washed over me—a fresher, crisp scent.

Wintermint.

My heart stuttered.

Slowly, I rolled to my back and onto my other side, looking up. The first thing I saw was bare feet. Somehow they were clean. I had no idea why I noticed that, but I had. How were his feet still clean? Had he just been flying around this whole time? My gaze lifted, and as close as he was now, I realized that the pants were the same kind of linen that the Throne had worn, a linen that looked incredibly well tailored. I kept looking up. The stomach and chest were still bare. Then I saw wings, gloriously white wings streaked with grace, spread wide and blocking out everything beyond them.

Zayne stood above, staring down at me with eyes that were too blue to be real, too cold to be his.

“Zayne,” I whispered.

He didn’t move. “That thing was going to kill you.”

My heart started hammering. “Probably. Eventually.”

Zayne tilted his head. “I couldn’t allow that.”

That was good. That was more than good actually. Relief started to creep into me—

“If you are to die,” he continued, “then it seems only fitting that it should be by my hands.”

8

Well.

The relief and rising sense of hope was short-lived, crashing and burning rather spectacularly.

“How romantic,” I muttered, ignoring the aching hollowness those words caused.

“You think?” he asked in a flatly apathetic way that was both unnerving and impressive. “After all, you said that I died because of you. Shouldn’t you then die because of me?”

“I said you died for me, not because of me,” I corrected.

“How is that any different?” He turned his head just slightly, and I could see that there was no wound under his chin. I hadn’t cut him deep, but he’d already healed. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

I couldn’t see beyond his wings, but it didn’t take a leap of logic to figure that Dez had been about to do something really brave and really stupid. And that he’d listened to Zayne’s warning.

“Smart choice,” Zayne said, his gaze settling back on me. There was a brief moment where I got to really look at that golden hue of his skin—at the luminosity that hadn’t been there before Gabriel killed him. It was a subtle glow that probably wouldn’t be noticeable to most, but it was his grace.

Tags: Jennifer L. Armentrout The Harbinger Fantasy
Source: readsnovelonline.net