The Lost Alliance (Rise of the Drakens Book 2) by Raven Storm (free ebook reader .txt) 📗

His teeth nipped at my neck, and I couldn’t help the small purr that escaped me.

“Why don’t I taste you and find out?”

A loud clunk made me jump, and Thad apologized profusely as he picked up his fallen bowl, his eyes large and dark as he looked at me. Benedict growled, barring his fangs. Thad was gone in a flash.

“I don’t like him. He smells off.”

I laughed, pushing him away. “So do you.”

Benedict snorted. “And here I thought the river counted as a bath.”

My smile faded, my eyes going far away as the black water rushed around me, ripping me away from everyone I loved. I tried to take a breath in but only choked, water filling my nose, my ears, my lungs—

“Wren!”

A trickle of blood was offered to me and I took it, greedily sucking it down as it calmed my anxiety and brought me back to reality. The wrist was yanked away, and I looked up, noticing we were down a dark alley far from the camp. Benedict’s purple eyes glowed in the darkness, concerned.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”

I brought his wrist back to my mouth, and licked it healed. With a sigh I let my draken form out, groaning in relief as I stretched my wings. Benedict was against my body a moment later, his hands running over my waist and stomach.

“Come with me.”

I made a sound of disappointment as he pulled away, guiding me further down the tunnel. I had a flash of the first night we met, and it was incredible how far we’d come since then.

“I thought you would prefer a better backdrop than a sewer?”

We disappeared in a wisp of black, reappearing at the end of the tunnel. Stars glittered overhead, rippling across the quiet bay. Ships floated restlessly in the harbor, silent ghosts in the night.

“What if someone sees—”

He tugged me back into the darkness, a finger on my lips. “You wanted to learn more blood magick, didn’t you?”

“Yes, and Ronan taught me a few sigils, but—”

“Draw them here.”

I scoffed. “In the dark? How can—”

“If you know them well enough to try your first ritual, the dark won’t matter.”

I sighed, then took a deep breath to center myself as Ronan had taught me. I imagined the sweeping arcs of the swirls, and the interlocking circles as I traced them in my mind.

“Do you have something to write with?”

I couldn’t see in the dark, but I knew Benedict could.

“Chalk is for children. Do you feel you know the sigils well?”

I closed my eyes again, assessing myself.

“Yes.”

Benedict’s breath was warm against my cheek, and he stroked his thumb across my face.

“Then use your blood and draw the sigils.”

I took a shuddering breath in and stretched my body. Ronan had lectured about the importance of being limber—one stiff limb or cramped muscle could tumble you out of the rituals, killing you. Like I had done in my trial run back on Lyoness.

I breathed out and cut into my wrist. Blood welled immediately, and I tried to steady my anxiety as I patiently let it coat both sides of my dagger. I knelt on the ground and swept my arms out in a wide arc in front of me, and behind me, carefully and quickly drawing precise, careful strokes. The first circle lit up when complete, glowing in the darkness. The light would make it easier to draw the second.

With more confidence I drew the second circle, nervous as I leaned carefully to the left, paying close attention that my body stayed inside the first. The left circle lit up as soon as I connected the last stroke. I reached to my right and drew the third. When all three circles glowed softly around me, I took a moment to center myself. The swirls would be difficult.

I stood carefully, blood loss making my head fuzzy. Benedict watched from the shadows, his face underlit by my ritual. I leaned out far, hissing in panic when my balance wavered, and I tilted forward. I threw my arms out and caught myself on unmarked soil, closing my eyes in relief. I opened them and started drawing the swirl. I turned carefully, becoming more confident as the swirl moved closer towards my center circle. When I finished the entire sigil lit in a dazzling shade of white, humming softly at me.

“Now, make a matching cut on your other wrist. Breathe deeply, and evenly. When you have experienced the most blood loss is when you are in the most danger.”

I nodded to show I heard Benedict and made the incision on my other wrist. It began to bleed, but sluggishly.

“Make a swirl sigil deep onto your chest; this will be your anchor sigil that the rest of your blood magic will bind to.”

I hesitated for a moment, but then cut into my skin as I breathed out, like Ronan had suggested.

“Draw a matching sigil lightly on your forehead; enough to leave marks, but not enough to bleed. Let your instincts guide you.”

The tip of the knife caressed my skin, moving smoothly as I closed my eyes and became one with the power leaking around me. I held the knife steady to my forehead, instinct telling me not to remove it.

“This part is the hardest. Make twin diagonal incisions on each eyelid, but connect the incisions from your forehead, then back down to your anchor sigil. The knife must not leave your skin until you are finished anchoring it to your chest.”

I made the cuts before my brain could throw a fit about cutting near my eyeballs. Without hesitating I did the other one, adrenaline shooting through my veins. My body started to shake from blood loss and tension as I brought the knife down behind my ear, my neck, and connected it to the chest sigil. Benedict exhaled a heavy breath.

“Lower the knife and jump straight up into the air. Fly over the markings, and land by me.”

It sounded easy, but the moment I told my body to jump