Their Fireheart

Chapter Thirty Eight

Rhysand

The trek back through Oakwald felt like the longest journey of my long, long life. My body thrummed with residual tension, my heartbeat refusing to settle into anything resembling a normal rhythm no matter how much distance we put between us and the ravine.

The ravine where my mate almost fell to her death.

Aelin was fine. She was right beside me. The only evidence of her brutal battle with the white-haired witch was a spattering of superficial wounds - wounds that Rowan had still insisted on dressing before we left the clearing behind.

Still, I couldn't keep my eyes off her as we hurried through the forest, reassuring myself that she was here, that she was whole. I was in a daze, the edges of my vision slightly blurry, the forest floor unsteady beneath my feet. As though my mind hadn't comprehended that we had left the temple behind, cycling through the events of mere hours ago as though they were happening in real time, and - I. Couldn't. Stop.

Couldn't banish the vision of Aelin turning away from us, running - not towards the bridge to safety - but back into danger to rescue the witch on the other side of the crumbling island. Couldn't stop seeing the heart-stopping moment she lept from the collapsing bridge, stop feeling the surge of panic that overtook every cell of my being - the one that still lingered like the morning fog.

The journey passed silently - all of us muted, faces drained of color - senses straining for any indication that the witches hadn't left us behind after all - waiting for the beat of leathery wings, the scent of blood and wickedness, anything. Throughout it all, my mind raced, my thoughts spiraled.

Constantly landing on one, singular fact.

Nowhere to go. She'd had nowhere to go except down. Into the depths of the ravine, plunging into the distantly rushing river below. Down, down, down. To her death.

And there was nothing I could have done to stop it. Nothing I could do except watch. Even now - with Aelin beside me, two feet on solid ground - the memory of the bridge snapping into pieces as she raced across it filled me with an immediate, visceral horror so strong I nearly vomited.

But she was safe. She was here. And if I kept my gaze glued to her, maybe I could ensure she stayed that way.

The setting sun dipped below the treeline, and Aedion broke the tremulous silence. "We should stop, to make sure we haven't been followed. The last thing we want is to lead the coven straight to our front door."

Aelin paused, her lithe figure framed by rays of sunlight filtering through towering oaks. The afternoon rays shone on what little of her luminescent skin wasn't coated with dust and grime as she looked around in contemplation.

She should have left the witch to die.

"We can't just camp out in the middle of the woods," she sighed. "That wouldn't give us nearly enough protection if they are, indeed, coming after us."

Sighed. As if this was all just a minor inconvenience.

Rage flickered up my spine - blazing hot - momentarily pulling me free of the terror-laden fog that clouded my mind. At that moment, I wanted the witches to come after us. Wanted them to hunt us, to try and harm my mate. I fucking dared them to try.

The call for blood, for pain and carnage, was a siren song in my head. I wouldn't be sidelined again. I'd carve my retribution from their flesh, revel in their cries of horror, glory in the stench of their deaths.

"I know where we can go," Chaol said hesitantly.

I dragged my eyes over to the captain, the sight of him only stoking the blistering fire of my rage. Aelin should have let the witch kill him, too. Let him face the consequences of his own idiotic actions. If that meant he lost his life, well - that was his own damn fault.