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there—or as close as the flames would allow.
He could push through, shielding himself
in ice or simply by cutting off the air that fed
her flames. But to cross that line, to shove
into her flames when so much, too much, had
been stolen from her ... He didn’t let himself
think about the distant, wary recognition on
her face when she’d seen him—seen all of
them. As if she wasn’t entirely certain to trust
them. Trust this.
Aelin managed another step, teetering.
He glimpsed her neck as she passed. Even
the twin bite marks, his mark of claiming, had
vanished.
Encased in flame, Aelin walked to Fenrys.
The white wolf did not stir.
Sorrow softened her face, even with that
quiet distance. Sorrow, and gratitude.
Gavriel and Elide remained on Fenrys’s
other side as she approached. Backed away a