Page 90 of Stealing Embers
Yielding would be the smart thing to do—the reasonable course of action. But as I glare up at Steel, I can’t make the words slip past my lips.
His smile broadens. “Suit yourself.”
I chuck my remaining rattan at his head with a warrior’s cry.
Ducking out of the way, the weapon smashes into stone above our heads and shatters into pieces.
Steel’s gaze swings to me. “Impressive.”
I snarl.
A rumble of amusement bursts from Steel’s chest.
So glad he’s finding this humorous.
The thunder of his laughter continues as I rise. I open my mouth to speak when a trickle of pebbles lands on Steel’s head. Our faces crane upward as the trickle becomes a waterfall of rocks and stone dust.
A building sense of dread keeps me paralyzed as a fissure cuts across the boulder above our heads.
Steel grabs my shoulders, swings me around and chucks me out from underneath the rock cavity. I land on my right side with a grunt.
Snapping my gaze up, I watch as the cropping of rock above Steel slams into the ground, burying him beneath them.
I’m on my feet and sprinting toward Steel even as loose rocks continue to fall.
A sudden ball of fire sparks and then blasts from my chest, racing from its point of detonation to the tips of each of my fingers and toes.
Hot coals burn down my spine and my wings rip free from their enclosures.
Reaching the spot Steel is buried, I stretch my hands out and blast an energized ball of fire at the largest stone, shattering it to dust.
Whoa, how’d I do that?
Figure it out later,my mind screams.Find Steel first.
With the largest piece of the downfall removed, I dig through the rest of the rubble with my bare hands.
I uncover one boot-clad foot first.
Oh gosh, please let it be connected to the rest of him.
I scoop through the mess with shaky hands until I unearth him to the knees.
Crawling over to where his head should be—my heavy, metal-tipped wings make the movement awkward—I start digging again.
The back of his head appears first and I claw my way through the dirt and rocks until I grip the material of his shirt. Pulling upward, I drag his body free of the debris. Taking as much care as possible, I lay him down and roll him face-up.
His normally midnight hair is rusty with crushed rock and his face is streaked with red dirt mixed with blood. His skin has a nightmarish pallor under all the grime.
Parts of his clothes are torn, but most are still intact.
I run my hands over him from head to toe and down each limb. I don’t think anything is broken.
Despite being buried underneath hundreds of pounds of rock, Steel seems relatively unscathed. The cuts I find bleed, but don’t look deep. One on his side is seeping blood through his shirt, and so I lift up the hem to investigate.
There’s a jagged four-inch wound right under his rib cage, but no organs are pouring out of the cut, so that has to be a good sign.
Bending forward, I lift his shirt higher and tilt my head for a better angle.