The Hunter and the Mage (The Raven and the Dove #2) - Kaitlyn Davis Page 0,146

Not a dragon. Not even Rafe.

"Lyana!"

She turned from her king and wrapped her other hand around Rafe's, so his fingers were completely enveloped by hers.

Please win, she prayed. Please, please win.

"Lyana!"

Malek's voice was softer, farther away. She wasn't sure if it was by her magic or by his own doing, or maybe by the force pushing against her chest, so strong she had to beat her wings to keep from stumbling back. Her feet rose off the floor. Her arms straightened. Her body stretched. Every muscle burned beneath the strain.

Leave. Leave. Leave, the very air seemed to whisper, wrapping around her limbs and pulling her toward the door. Get out. Get out. Get out.

But she wouldn't.

Not when Rafe still held her. Not when he still needed her.

"I'm here," she whispered, the words so soft she could barely hear them over the drumming in her ears. A tear leaked from her eye as her shoulder muscles tore, her arm bones about to pop from their sockets. Still she wouldn't let go. "I'm right here."

The pressure mounted.

The agony grew.

Their hands began to slip.

For a moment, time stopped.

Then the room exploded.

Gold and silver, flame and ash, all were released in a burst that stole her vision, turning the world dark. Rafe screamed. So did she. The dragon roared. In the chaos, wood splintered and groaned, coming apart with a deafening crack. Lyana scrambled onto the table and threw herself on top of Rafe's body, no time to wonder if it was man or beast below her, no time for anything at all.

46

Rafe

Rafe woke with a gasp, his lungs burning as he sucked in air. He waited for cool relief, but it never came. His throat was dry. His skin was hot. His chest boiled. Coughs spilled from his lips and the smell of smoke tickled his nose. Through it all, what he felt the most was the warm hand upon his face and the thumb tenderly brushing his cheek.

"Shh," a gentle voice whispered. "Shh."

Rafe didn't open his eyes. He couldn't. He was too afraid it would destroy the dream. Instead, he lifted his arm, trying to ignore how different his body felt, how unfamiliar, his muscles flaring and firing with a heat he didn’t understand. When he neared her skin, he paused, curling his fingers into a fist.

"It's all right," she whispered. "I'm here."

He pressed his palm over her hand, their fingers entwining against his cheek. Her magic sank into his skin, and his magic rose to meet it. Their souls grazed in that forbidden place, and for a moment it felt as though no time had passed at all.

Rafe opened his eyes.

Lyana leaned over him, concern written in the grooves of her brow and the pursing of her lips, her face framed by deep ebony braids. Firelight caught her skin, enriching its dark color, and beyond her there was nothing but shadow. He studied the curves of her cheekbones and the elegant angle of her neck in a slow perusal of the face he'd seen so often in his dreams but hadn’t looked upon in weeks. His imagination hadn't done her justice.

"Rafe."

At the sound of his name, he finally, at long last, found her eyes. He'd been afraid that maybe, after so long, she wouldn’t look at him the way she had that night, his bed like a private world where the two of them could finally be free. Now he realized he had nothing to fear. A sparkle lit her emerald eyes. She still gazed at him the way no one else in the world ever had, as though it didn't matter that he was a bastard or that he had magic, as though his walls were as transparent as her crystal home and she could see right into his soul, as though all the things he hated most about himself were the very reasons she stayed beside him.

"Ana," he tried to say, but his throat was too dry.

The word tapered off into a cough, and his body convulsed, his lungs on fire. He rolled onto his side, wood crunching beneath him as he moved. Lyana kept a hold on his hand as the fit wracked through him. When it subsided, he realized they were sitting on a broken tabletop, surrounded by splintered pieces of burning wood. Flames licked the charcoal sky, ash and fog becoming one. The only spot not crackling with the blaze was the small circle where they sat unharmed.

"What…?" He trailed off as the memories rushed back.