Lyrae's POV
The ash-wolf's jaws snap shut an inch from my face.
I throw myself backward, crashing into Riven. We both hit the ground hard. The wolf lands where I was standing a second ago, its claws tearing up the earth.
"RIVEN, RUN!" I scream.
We scramble to our feet and bolt. Behind us, the pack gives chase. I can hear their paws pounding the ground, feel the heat radiating from their lava-cracked skin.
We're not going to make it.
A root catches my foot. I go down, hitting the ground so hard the air leaves my lungs. Riven skids to a stop and runs back for me.
"No!" I gasp. "Keep going!"
"Not without you!" He grabs my arm, trying to pull me up.
The lead ash-wolf leaps, its burning jaws open wide—
An explosion rips through the forest.
The blast wave throws us sideways. Trees crack and fall. Fire blooms in every direction. The ash-wolf yelps and retreats, the whole pack scattering from the flames.
My ears are ringing. Everything sounds muffled and far away. Riven's mouth is moving, but I can't hear what he's saying.
Then the ground beneath us starts to shake.
Not from an explosion this time. The earth itself is moving, cracking, breaking apart.
"Earthquake!" Riven screams, and now I can hear him. "Lyrae, we have to—"
The ground splits open between us.
One second we're together, the next there's a widening crack separating us. Riven reaches for me across the gap, his eyes wide with terror.
"LYRAE!"
"RIVEN!"
The crack becomes a chasm. I can't reach him. The earth keeps splitting, keeps breaking, and I'm on one side while my brother is on the other.
"Find Mom and Dad!" I yell across the distance. "I'll find you! I promise!"
"Lyrae, don't—"
Another explosion cuts off his words. This one is closer, bigger. The shockwave hits me like a fist, and suddenly I'm flying backward through the air.
I slam into a tree. Pain explodes through my ribs. I can't breathe. Can't think.
Get up, a voice in my head screams. GET UP OR DIE.
I force myself to my hands and knees. Everything hurts. Blood runs down my face from a cut on my forehead. My left arm won't move right—maybe broken.
Through the smoke and fire, I see shapes moving. Ashborn warriors. Dozens of them, hunting through the chaos.
"Find the family members!" someone shouts. "War Chief Mordain wants them alive!"
Alive. That's almost worse than dead.
I crawl behind a fallen log, trying to stay hidden. My heart pounds so hard I'm sure they'll hear it. Every breath sends pain shooting through my ribs.
Where's Mom? Where's Dad? Where's Riven?
Are they even alive?
A warrior walks past my hiding spot, so close I can see the burn scars covering his arms. He's holding a weapon I've never seen before—something that glows red-hot at the tip.
"Sector three clear," he calls out. "Moving to sector four."
The moment he's gone, I force myself up and start moving. Every step is agony, but I can't stay here. I have to find my family. I have to—
"OVER HERE!" a voice yells. "I FOUND ONE!"
No.
I run. My broken arm dangles uselessly at my side. My ribs scream with every breath. But I run anyway, crashing through the burning forest like a wounded animal.
Behind me, I hear boots pounding. They're chasing me. Getting closer.
The forest opens up ahead, and my stomach drops.
I'm at the edge of a cliff.
I skid to a stop at the very edge, rocks tumbling into the darkness below. It's a massive drop—maybe a hundred feet down to a rocky ravine. No way to survive that fall.
I turn around. Three Ashborn warriors emerge from the trees, blocking my escape. They're all bigger than me, armed, and smiling like they've already won.
"Nowhere left to run, little Verdana," the middle one says. He's got a scar across his face and eyes like cold amber. "War Chief wants you alive, but he didn't say how alive. So you can come easy, or we can make this hurt."
I back up another step. My heel is literally hanging over the edge now.
"Stay back," I warn, even though my voice shakes. "I'll jump."
The scarred warrior laughs. "No you won't. Look at you—you're terrified. You're not brave enough to die."
He's right. I am terrified. My whole body is shaking so hard my teeth chatter.
But he's wrong about one thing.
"You're right," I say quietly. "I'm not brave like my brother was. I'm not strong like my father. I'm not fierce like my mother. I'm just a scared girl who wants her family back."
I take a breath and close my eyes.
"But I'd rather die than let you use me to hurt them."
I step backward into empty air.
For a split second, there's nothing but wind and the feeling of falling. I hear the warriors yell. Hear them running toward the edge.
Then something slams into my side.
An arm wraps around my waist, yanking me sideways instead of down. We hit the cliff face hard, and I realize someone jumped after me. Someone caught me.
We're sliding down the cliff now, my rescuer using one hand to slow our fall while the other keeps me locked against their chest. Rocks tear at my clothes and skin. I taste blood.
Then we hit something—a ledge, maybe twenty feet down from the top. My rescuer takes the impact with their body, protecting me. We roll to a stop.
I'm alive.
I can't believe it. I'm alive.
"Are you trying to kill yourself?" a voice growls in my ear. "Or are you just stupid?"
The voice is male. Deep. Rough like gravel.
And definitely not from my family.
I try to pull away, but the arm around my waist tightens. "Don't move," the voice commands. "They're still up there looking for us."
Above, I hear the warriors shouting. Arguing about whether to climb down. One of them says, "Forget it. She's dead anyway. That fall would kill anyone."
"War Chief's not going to like this."
"War Chief doesn't need to know. We'll say she died in the explosion."
Their voices fade as they move away.
The arm around me loosens. I scramble away from my rescuer and finally get a good look at him.
He's Ashborn. I know it instantly from the burn scars covering the left side of his face and body, the warrior markings on his arms, and those eyes—amber like fire, like all Ashborn have.
This is the enemy. This is the person who should have let me fall.
So why did he save me?
We stare at each other on that tiny ledge. He's breathing hard, and I notice blood running down his side. He's hurt—badly, from the looks of it.
"Why?" I whisper. "Why did you save me?"
He doesn't answer right away. Just keeps staring at me with those burning eyes, like he's trying to figure out a puzzle.
Finally, he speaks, and his voice is cold as winter.
"I don't know."
Above us, another explosion rocks the cliff. Rocks start falling, bouncing off the ledge. The whole cliff face is unstable.
"We need to move," he says, trying to stand. But the moment he puts weight on his left leg, it buckles. He grabs the wall to steady himself, his face going white with pain.
He's hurt worse than I thought.
"You're bleeding," I say, pointing to his side where something—an arrow maybe—is sticking out of his ribs.
"I'm fine."
"You're not fine. You can barely stand."
"And you have a broken arm and probably broken ribs," he shoots back. "So we're both useless. Great."
More rocks fall. The ledge creaks ominously under our combined weight.
"This ledge won't hold much longer," I say. "We need to climb down."
"You think I don't know that?" He tries to move again and nearly falls. I catch his arm without thinking.
He jerks away from my touch like I burned him. "Don't."
"You need help."
"I don't need help from a Verdana."
The way he says my family name—with pure hatred—makes me flinch.
"Fine," I snap. "Die here then. See if I care."
I start climbing down the cliff face, even though every movement sends pain shooting through my body. My broken arm is useless, so I have to do everything one-handed.
I make it maybe five feet before my hand slips. I catch myself on a root, dangling over the drop.
Strong fingers grab my wrist, steadying me.
"Stubborn idiot," the Ashborn warrior mutters. "You're going to get us both killed."
Together—slowly, painfully—we climb down. Him guiding me, me supporting his weight when his injured leg fails. We don't speak. We barely even breathe.
When we finally reach the bottom of the ravine, we both collapse.
I lie on my back, staring up at the cliff we just descended. We fell at least eighty feet. We should be dead.
"Your family?" the warrior asks suddenly.
"What?"
"The ones you were with. Are they alive?"
I don't know why he's asking. I don't know why I answer.
"I don't know," I whisper. Tears burn my eyes. "I got separated. I don't know if they made it out."
Silence falls between us. Night is coming fast, and the temperature is dropping.
"My name is Draven," he finally says.
I turn my head to look at him. He's still lying on his back, staring at the darkening sky. Blood stains the ground beneath him.
"Why are you telling me that?"
"Because if we're going to die down here together, you should at least know the name of the person who tried to save you."
His eyes close. His breathing is getting shallow.
He's dying. And despite everything—despite him being my enemy, despite the war, despite everything—I can't just let him die.
"My name is Lyrae," I say quietly. "And we're not dying. Not today."
I drag myself over to him, ignoring the screaming pain in my ribs. The arrow in his side needs to come out, or he'll die from blood loss.
"What are you doing?" he mutters.
"Saving you back."
His eyes open, and for just a second, I see surprise there. Maybe even gratitude.
Then his hand shoots out and grabs my wrist in an iron grip.
"Don't touch the arrow," he gasps. "It's barbed. Pull it out wrong and I bleed to death in seconds."
We stare at each other in the gathering darkness.
"So what do I do?" I whisper.
Draven's amber eyes burn into mine, and when he speaks, his voice is barely audible.
"You run. Before my people find us. Before they find you."
"I'm not leaving you to die."
"Then you're a fool." His grip on my wrist loosens. His eyes are starting to close again. "Because when my brothers find us... they'll kill you anyway."
His hand drops. His breathing stops.
And in the darkness above, I hear voices.
Ashborn voices. Coming closer.