A Kiss of Flame (Shadows Eternal #3)

Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

Manchester

one day left to find levian

B arith had spent precious days trying to track Levian with no success. He'd even managed to get his arse to Veldaraen, only to wait on that cursed little island for an entire day before finally coming to terms with the fact that he’d likely missed her. The mage hadn’t returned a single one of his calls or texts. Barith knew she was probably ignoring him, but he couldn’t be sure, and the not knowing gnawed at him, driving him mad with worry. His gut twisted at the thought of her in trouble, and the relentless ache of anxiety kept him going, kept him searching.

The cold, misting rain soaked through his clothes as he swooped down below the low clouds, circling the large estate. The house was large and well-appointed, with a lovely garden in the back. It brimmed with signs of the party His Daemon Lordliness had mentioned.

The last person Barith had expected to help him find Levian was Carvatticus. The daemon had called an hour earlier, ordering Barith to get to Manchester because he couldn’t. Levian was about to get herself into trouble. She was sneaking into a party to meet some old acquaintance of her father’s to get something she needed to track her thieves. She’d promised Car via text she’d be careful, but neither the daemon nor Barith had believed her. Levian could be clever and resourceful, but her stubbornness could also make her reckless. The fact that she was doing this alone, without anyone else, proved point enough.

Barith circled the house again, dipping lower. He wasn’t sure how he would find Levian beyond bursting in and snarling her name. It was pure desperation at this point—if something had gone wrong, if she was hurt or in danger, he couldn't bear the thought of it. And then he saw a bright flash from one of the upper-floor windows. His heart skipped a beat, then pounded furiously as a surge of adrenaline hit him. He didn't need his heart’s confirming thumps to know it was her. He was already diving toward the window.

The dragon crashed through the glass, the force sending shards flying in every direction as he pulled his flaming sword from his chest, preparing for battle. He barely registered the chaos of broken glass as he landed, scanning the room. Levian spun around to face him. “Barith,” she breathed, her voice filled with shock and a hint of relief. His heart immediately lightened to see her alive, but his gaze fell on the blood trailing down her arm, and his heart hardened. Levian stood over an unconscious man, her arm bleeding badly, a Dokk blade in her hand.

A black-haired woman hiding behind a chair suddenly lunged at Levian. Barith snarled, trying to close the gap, but wasn't quick enough. He watched, a moment of panic seizing him as the woman caught Levian around the waist, hauling her to the floor. He tried to grab the woman—but a whip of shadow magick coiled around his wrist, yanking him backward. The magic burned against his skin, dark energy binding his movement.

Barith turned with a growl, his eyes locking on the once-unconscious man holding the other end of the whip, struggling to stand. The man's nose was broken and bleeding, much like Deckland’s had been back at Kamár, and he cradled his hand as if it, too, was injured. Before either could move, the Dokk blade flew through the air and bounced, landing between them. Barith swung his flaming sword, slicing through the shadow whip, and lunged for the blade.

A ball of shadow magick flew toward his face, and Barith dropped low to avoid it, his fingers missing the blade. He turned, narrowly dodging another attack, his body a whirl of instinct and fury. He kicked a chair into the man’s legs, knocking him over, sending his next shadowy attack careening into a glass case full of relics that shattered and splintered.

Levian screamed, and Barith whipped around, his blood roaring in his ears. The black-haired woman was straddling the mage, one hand smashing her face into the floor, the other holding a silver blade that was plunged deep into Levian’s bad arm. Barith roared, charging forward, and shoved the woman off the mage, sending her crashing into the front of a desk. She hit her head and fell to the floor in a heap.

Barith helped Levian off the floor, cradling her protectively against his chest. He could feel her trembling, her breaths shallow, her face pale with pain. “How did you find me?” she panted, her voice shaky.

“Car,” he growled.

Levian huffed a little pained laugh of understanding as she reached over to yank the knife from her arm, hissing in pain. “I can’t do magick,” she told him. “The room is enchanted.”

It suddenly made sense why Levian hadn't been protecting herself—why she'd seemed so vulnerable. The realization made his rage burn hotter. He pulled her toward the window, intent on getting her out of there, but she stilled him. “The Dokk blade,” she gasped, her eyes full of determination even as her body sagged against his. “We can’t leave it here with Vane.”

Barith’s heart twisted in conflict. He wanted to get her out of danger. “We need to go,” he growled as he saw the man begin to regain his footing.

“I can handle her. Get the blade,” Levian insisted, stumbling toward the desk.

Barith knew better than to argue with her when she looked like that. He nodded, fury pumping through his veins, and lunged toward Vane, who was hobbling to his feet. The man's furious black eyes met his, and Barith felt a chill emanate from him. The dragon brushed it off, lifting his sword to cut down the ball of shadow Vane sent hurtling toward him. Barith didn’t rely on magick like Levian, so he was used to facing magick slingers with nothing but his sword.

“You will pay for this,” Vane snarled. “Both of you. You have no idea?—”

“Who we’re messing with?” Barith finished condescendingly. “Aye, I don’t. And I don’t give a toss either.”

Vane glowered at him, pulling the shadow magick into his bad right hand. Barith replied by summoning the fire from within him, setting his sword ablaze. Vane smirked, vanishing in a swirl of shadow. Barith grunted and went still. He knew the trick but hoped Vane was arrogant enough to try and get close. Using transport magick meant Vane had to know precisely where he was reappearing, and Barith was keen enough to catch the slight shift in the air to his right. He spun around, swiping his sword just as Vane reappeared, ready to attack.

The blade sliced across Vane’s outstretched hand, and he howled in pain. Several of his fingers landed on the floor as Barith slammed the hilt of his sword into Vane's face, the impact hard enough to send the half-fae sprawling to the ground, unconscious once more.

“Look out!” Levian yelled.

Barith didn’t have time to turn before the black-haired woman kicked him square in the back between his wings, sending him stumbling into the wall. She grabbed the Dokk blade off the floor, her eyes wild and furious as she looked down at Vane.

“You’re both dead!” she snarled, her voice dripping with venom. She lunged at Barith, her movements quick and calculated. He swung his sword in response, but she dodged him with precision. She slashed again, her blade grazing his chest, and an icy chill spread through his body, making him shiver.

The woman’s glare was filled with hatred, her eyes blazing with fury. “You will pay,” she spat, her voice dripping with malice. Barith gripped his sword tighter, ready to take her. She spun around suddenly, launching the blade straight at Levian.

Barith’s heart dropped as he watched the black blade fly through the air, knowing Levian was helpless to stop it. He saw her lift her hands instinctively, desperation in her eyes, but no magick came. The blade plunged into the flesh just below her collarbone, and Barith’s heart twisted in agony. He roared and brought his flaming sword down toward the woman. She ducked away, narrowly avoiding his strike, and grabbed Vane. In a swirl of ashen smoke, they both vanished.

Barith rushed to Levian, his heart pounding in his ears, panic tightening his chest. She lay on the floor, the hilt of the blade protruding from her chest, her face contorted in pain. She groaned, her body trembling violently. He dropped to his knees beside her, his hands shaking as he grabbed the blade and yanked it free, knowing the longer it remained, the worse the injury would be. Levian screamed, the sound raw and agonizing, and it pierced his heart. “You’ll be alright,” he promised, pressing his hand against the wound to still the bleeding.

Levian’s violet eyes met his, wide with fear and pain, her breaths coming in short gasps. A tear slipped down her cheek, and Barith felt his heart break. He had to save her—he couldn’t lose her, not now, not like this. “I’ll get you out of here,” he said, his voice trembling with emotion. “It’s not but a wee scratch.”

Voices and shouts echoed from the hall beyond as reinforcements began to descend.

“Purse,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Stepping stone.”

Barith spotted her purse, snatched it up, and fumbled through it. He found two vibrantly colored stepping stones, two of Vane’s severed fingers, and another flash bomb. He took one of the stones in his fingers, threw the vile Dokk blade in her bag, and placed it in her lap. The dragon hauled the mage into his arms, holding her fragile body close.

He flew out the shattered window into the cold rain, the icy drops pelting his face. Levian’s breathing was shallow, her body limp in his arms. He ducked down to the first door he could find down the next block. “Just hold on,” he murmured, his voice cracking as he saw her eyes begin to grow heavy, the blood flowing freely down her grey gown from the wound in her chest. “ Láta bren otium lor padra diutius quam nó ,” he chanted.

The vibrantly colored stone began to glow as he clumsily smashed it into the door’s surface while holding Levian. The stone burst into flame, and the door beneath splintered and cracked, glowing in vibrant colors. Barith waited, impatience clawing at him until the cracks reached the handle. “ Thol Roath ,” he said—Ember Hall in the fae tongue—and yanked the door open.

Barith kicked open the terrace doors to Ember Hall just as Levian went limp in his arms, her weight sagging against him. “No, no, no, dinnae fall asleep,” he muttered, his heart pounding with fear. He couldn’t lose her, not like this. Catrìona flew out from the hallway, her hand still in a box of chocolate biscuits, ready to rip into him for running away. When she caught sight of him, his sister cursed, tossing the biscuits aside and rushing to help, her face hardening as she took in the amount of blood.

“What happened?” Cat asked as Barith carried Levian into a small sitting room, laying her on the settee. His hands were covered in blood, and his heart ached at the sight of the mage so fragile. Her usually vibrant, rich caramel skin was growing pale.

“A Dokk blade,” he growled, tossing Levian’s purse aside to examine her wound. Cat cursed. Barith pulled aside the strap of her blood-soaked dress, and his stomach lurched. The deep cut was turning an ugly shade of black and bleeding heavily. Cat handed him a blanket, and he pressed it against the wound, his hands trembling as he tried to stop the flow of blood.

“Barith, what in the—” Jude began to snarl from the doorway but froze at the scene. Her eyes widened in shock.

“A Dokk blade,” Cat repeated, her voice shaky.

“How?” Flòraidh asked with worry, coming to Levian’s side. Barith met his eldest sister’s warm and worried gaze. Flòra was a decade younger but the closest to him in age. Close enough that the two of them had come to Ember Hall with their father often when they were wee things. She looked and acted like the perfect combination of their parents, which was fitting since she was frequently the family’s peacemaker. The fact that his other sisters were still at Ember Hall and she’d joined them meant his mother must be raging.

“I've no time tae explain,” he stammered, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ve got to find a doctor.” Levian had always been the one doing the mending, not the other way around.

Barith stood, fumbling over his soaked pockets to find his phone. Cat bent over Levian, her hands pressing against the wound. Cat was far from a nursemaid, so seeing his sister trying to help filled him with an affectionate ache.

The tender feeling evaporated the moment Jude spoke. “Find her a doctor,” his baby sister declared from behind him, her voice sharp with urgency, “but then yer comin’ home wi’ us.”

“Git awa,” Barith snarled, pulling his waterlogged phone from his pocket. It was dead. He threw it across the room, shattering it against the wall, his frustration boiling over. How was he supposed to save Levian if he couldn’t call for help? A different phone appeared in his hand—Flòra’s.

“Find her a doctor,” his sister told him firmly. “But Jude's right, Barith. Mum didnae send me. I came 'cause you didnae come back with Cat an’ Jude, so now she's swearin' tae send the guard after you next.”

“I dinnae give a shite if she sends the whole bloody horde!” Barith roared, his voice cracking with emotion. “I’m no’ leavin’ her here to die!”

He tried to search on Flòra’s phone for a doctor, but he didn’t know where to begin. There were healers and doctors for the Folk if you knew how to look, but he needed someone who knew how to deal with a wound from a Dokk blade. He wished Levian was awake to tell him what to do. He tried to call Gwen, but it went to voicemail, so he hung up with a snarl. Barith couldn’t remember Carvatticus’s number.

“What about Ismay?” Cat chimed in.

“What about bloody Ismay?” Barith growled, panic still clawing at his chest. He turned to check on Levian, who shifted uneasily, her breaths ragged.

“It’s a bad idea,” Jude grumbled.

Flòra dropped a box labeled “ Healing ” onto the rug next to the settee, threw her thick auburn hair over her shoulder, and began rifling through the vials marked with the mage’s indiscernible shorthand. Barith hadn’t even noticed she’d gone.

“I found these in the library,” she told him. “Maybe one can help.” She handed him a vial. “This one’s for bleedin’, I think,” she said, then gave him another. “An’ this one’s for pain.”

Barith popped the tops off both vials as Cat pulled back the blood-soaked blanket. He poured the contents over the wound without a second thought. Levian’s skin sizzled, and she groaned, her face straining with pain, her forehead damp with sweat. The bleeding slowed, and Barith felt a slight sense of relief, but it wasn’t enough.

“Ismay is an amazing healer,” Cat said, continuing her earlier thought. “I’m sure she can help, dinnae ye think, Flòra?”

“Aye,” Flòra agreed. “Mum says she’s as gifted as great granny was with healin’.”

“I cannae take her to the island— it’s too far,” Barith growled. “I need to find a doctor here.“

“Aye, I agree,” Jude added, some tiny sliver of empathy slipping in. “She cannae fly that far like tha’.”

“No’ if ye’ve got a Stepping Stone,” Cat argued. “It only takes twenty minutes tae fly to the island from Orkney if we’ve a stone. She’s a mage—she must have one?”

“Ye figured that out easy enough,” Jude said, eyeing Cat down.

Cat grunted. “Dinnae worry yer wee head about it,” she snarked back.

Barith tensed, his mind racing as his sisters squabbled. He spun around, searching for Levian’s purse, and snatched it up from the chair where he’d thrown it. His stomach turned, looking at the blood-soaked Dokk blade, but he fished past it and found one more Stepping Stone nestled among Vane’s severed fingers.

“Och,” Cat grumbled as she peered over his shoulder. “She collects fingers?” His sister smirked. “I think I might actually like her a bit now.”

Barith ignored Cat, shoving the little purse into her bloody hands, which she held out like it was a smelly piece of rotting fish. He didn’t know why Levian had collected the fingers, but she’d done it for some reason. Barith leaned back over Levian, her face pale, her breathing ragged. She had a fever now, her body trembling, her skin damp with sweat. He hesitated momentarily, looking at her face, his heart torn and aching. Barith grabbed a blanket and pulled it over her shivering shoulders. He knew he had to move—Levian wasn’t bleeding out, but she wasn’t getting better either.

He thought about taking her to Rath, Sirus’s ghūl mentor. The creature was from a different realm, the Shadow Dark, and knew a lot about Dokk magicks, having been ripped away from his realm because of them. But Rath wasn’t a healer, and Levian needed someone capable of more than knowledge.

“Barith,” Flòra said, her voice soft but firm as he wavered in his choice. He looked up at her, his eyes filled with desperation. “Ismay can help. Bring her to the island. Ye can deal wi' Mum an' be close to Levian too.”

“We'll have tae sneak her in,” Jude pointed out, giving up her protests. “Mum'll nae be happy if she finds out we brought Barith's lover tae the island.”

Cat grunted her agreement.

“We can make sure it’s kept quiet,” Flòra assured him.

Barith closed his eyes, his heart pounding. He could almost hear Levian’s voice in his head, telling him to stop being an idiot and do what needed to be done. The mage would be running about, doing everything she could to save him if their roles were reversed. He opened his eyes, determination hardening his gaze. Barith wanted to keep the mage close if he could, and he didn’t doubt Flòra. The Queen would send guards to drag him back by his tail if she had to. Plus, no one would dare come after them on the island.

“Call Ismay,” he growled, his voice filled with resolve. “Let her know we’re comin’ and to be ready.”