The Heart Of Asariel

19 || Protect You

Micah felt as if he were hanging from the ceiling of Elysia's cathedral again.

This time, however, the gaping emptiness beneath him was dark and cold, the stagnant air dragging at his ankles and squeezing the strength from his panicked kicks. Each spot it touched was rendered numb. Everywhere else pounded with agony.

His only light was the gleaming, golden slab he clung to. It cut into his palms, yet he gripped it tighter, desperate not to let go.

He flicked his tongue, searching for that tingle of spice he recalled, but all he tasted was blood.

"Micah, come on."

Corinne's voice sounded broken, impossibly distant, the air's swiping claws muffling it, but he snatched for the sound of her regardless. A drop of cool, glittering relief sunk under his skin, speeding into his veins. It carried with it a sliver of strength. He pushed it into his arms, yanking with shaking effort at the ceiling slab. His wings snapped open. He had to get up there. He had to.

More energy trickled into him, the stream growing fiercer with every passing second. He pulled again, and something gave way.

He gasped. The gold tipped and swirled, crowding his vision in a blinding haze, before it seemed to catch alight and fade entirely, bleeding out into real, speckled light. He squinted into it and found Corinne's face.

Joy tumbled out in his burst of an exhale. With it came the rest of the world, filling in around her as if it were a stage she stood upon. He was aware of the floorboards hard against his side, the cold sweat clinging to his skin, the bandages caging his chest. A light touch traced the underside of his arm in a damp, sticky trail. He did his best not to flinch.

Ignoring the dull ache carved into his temples, he lifted his head. His eyes were adjusting, gradually, enough to scan over Corinne. The navy shade of her jacket was hidden almost entirely by the blood that caked her, swirling splashes of crimson and silver spreading out from the centre of her chest in a poor imitation of an explosion. Red, human blood coated her hands, too, as if the thick liquid was drying to form a second skin. Yet somehow, despite all that, he was drawn to the darker patch of scarlet above her hip. Fresher, still flowing. The shredded slit in her jacket betrayed the wound.

His heart twisted. "You're hurt."

"I'm fine," she said. He yanked forward his arm anyway, biting down on his cry as pain lanced in jagged strings of lightning through his flesh. It faltered him enough for her to catch his wrist. "Don't," she warned, though he could hear every crack in the hard coating of the word. "Please, don't."

The sharp breath he sucked in rasped dry as desert sand. Swallowing, he dragged his gaze up further.

Her cheeks were spotted with blood as well, although he paid that barely any attention. What he saw were the streaks of tears, the way she gnawed at her lip, the pain gleaming soft and amber in her eyes. Whatever claws had hold of his heart squeezed harder.

"I can't believe you..." Her whisper trailed into nothing.

A metallic bitterness crawled up his throat, poking the dark pit back into his awareness. He tried to push it back, to focus on the ground beneath him and on her face, but he still had the distinct sense of dangling helpless, placed in a precarious position of his own doing. The reasoning he plastered over it peeled at the edges.

Against his will, he was drawn to look beyond her. It was only a few paces away, close enough to make it out with ease even as his head spun. Khalida's body. Motionless, with dark blood pooling around her head. Dizziness wracked his insides, sickening and hollow, sprawling in his stomach. His fingers curled inward. Perhaps he did know how a gun worked after all.