Shattered by the Sea Lord - Starla Night Page 0,73

she’d been present when Eliot had died?

His lashes fluttered. He moaned.

No, no. There was still hope.

She had powers. Not strong, but Ciran believed in her. She clenched his Sea Opal, her focus during the earlier tests. That was the problem. When she’d been so terrified for him, she hadn’t been able to tear her gaze away from the fight to focus on his Sea Opal. Of course she hadn’t made the shield.

She held his Sea Opal in front of her and stared into its swirling depths. If she had any healing powers, let it flow now…

Oh, no.

A massive crack fractured the Sea Opal nearly in half.

Her scream. Her terror scream. She’d clenched it too hard and cracked it.

She had no useful powers.

Her chest convulsed. A sob, or throwing up, one of the two.

She had no healing powers. She had nothing.

What was she doing? What was she thinking?

“Meg?” Dannika clutched his uninjured hand and towed him to the shore. “Meg, you have to heal Ciran. Meg!”

Something tickled Ciran’s shoulder.

And then a sharp pain jolted him back to awareness. Heat radiated from an agonizing wound in his shoulder. Meg leaned over him, her brow furrowed, her straight black hair floating around her.

“What happened?”

“You got hit.” Dannika floated on his other side. Her eyes were red and her soul light dim as night. “Your shoulder. That’s my fault. I’m so sorry. I was so upset—I couldn’t focus. I didn’t shield you.”

“It is okay.” He summoned the strength to comfort her and raise her soul light. “You did your best.”

“No, I didn’t do anything. You were right there. I couldn’t stop those warriors. I made you weak and slow, and I…I cracked your Sea Opal.”

His strength drained. He wanted to comfort her, reassure her, but his words were all gone. Her sadness was his sadness. His soul reacted to hers and shrank into a dense, protective ball.

Itime gripped the trident still sticking out of his shoulder. “This will hurt.” He yanked.

White-hot pain snatched his consciousness.

Then, the cool ocean seeped in. Heat seared his shoulder, and the pain eased.

He opened his eyes again.

Meg’s glowing hands hovered over his shoulder.

Everyone else hovered over his other side, anxious. The warriors relaxed and eased back. But Dannika looked destroyed.

“Not bad, if I do say so.” Meg poked his shoulder. “Try it out.”

The deep cuts still rubbed and stung, but it no longer felt like his ligaments were severed. He made a fist, dared to move his shoulder back and forth, and shrugged. Ouch. But he had a small range of motion, and with his healing rate amplified by Meg’s powers, he should be back to full health in hours.

“Good.” Meg folded her lips in rueful apology. “I so didn’t mean to send the animals after you. I directed them after ‘the warriors who didn’t belong,’ which was obviously a mistake. So, oops.”

“We all made mistakes,” he vibrated.

Dannika’s soul light dimmed again. She pressed her palms to her collarbone. Even if she couldn’t see soul lights, she must feel the terrible ache.

Konomelu was grim. “We will talk more on the shore.”

Where they would have to face the rest of the islanders.

They staggered out of the ocean. The women collapsed as they shifted back to human, coughing out the fluids they hadn’t yet learned to expel gracefully. Itime and Konomelu had both been injured like him and they limped.

The young fry gathered in a silent crowd by Val at the top of the beach. Angie stood in the front. She took a few steps toward Konomelu. Her gaze raked them and desperately looked past to the ocean, then returned to her husband.

“Nuno?” Her voice broke on the second syllable.

Konomelu shook his head.

A sob burst from her. She covered her mouth, forcing the emotion back in, and then her knees bent. Konomelu caught her before she hit the sand. He held her, silently grieving, while the wind swept across their isolated beach.

Nuno had been taken.

The coral lattice was down.

No one would come to rescue them.

They had to rescue themselves.

After a few minutes, Angie recovered. She stood, dry-eyed, and neatened her hair, straightened her grass dress, and removed the crushed flower on her chest. “You’re leaving today?”

“As soon as we are fit.” Konomelu touched his bruised abdomen.

“You’ll need lunch.” She turned and strode through the solemn young fry into the structure, then almost mechanically began pulling out the containers of food to create a meal that nobody felt like eating.

Itime and Konomelu conferenced quietly. They were planning to go to the echo