Free Dragonoak by Sam Farren Page A

now, I continue to be useless...”
    “It's
alright, Katja,” I said, placing a hand on the back of her head.
“You've done everything you can. I know that. Kouris and Akela and
Atthis, they know that too. I know it's hard, but there isn't a
magical solution to this. Being a necromancer won't change the
past. I can't bring back everyone we've lost, and I can't kill all
of the dragons on my own. You're a healer, Katja. You're never
going to be useless.”
    Swaying
in my arms, Katja finally nodded shallowly against my shoulder. In
spite of everything she'd put me through, I couldn't blame her. Not
with her crumpled in my arms, not after all she'd been through. All
she'd wanted to do was help, and she'd put more effort into the
impossible than any of us. I held her close, wanting her to know
how deeply sorry I was for all that she'd lost, hoping that time
would be kind and bring her back to her true self as soon as it
could.
    Leaning
back, eyes half-lidded, Katja placed a hand against my cheek and
rested her forehead against mine. Her shoulders tensed and I wanted
to tell her that it was alright, that she could relax, but I wasn't
given the chance to let my own eyes close.
    The
metal bit into me, cold and sharp.
    Blood
oozed between my ribs and pain cut through my understanding of what
had happened. There was nothing else in the world: only the red
sting cutting through my chest and Katja's eyes meeting mine. I did
all I could to force a sound from my throat, but none came. I could
only reach blindly, fingers finding Katja's elbow, tracing down to
her wrist, to her fingers wrapped tight around the hilt of the
kitchen knife.
    The
wound was trying to force itself shut around the blade, and Katja
pushed the knife in deeper.
    Her
fingers curled against my cheek and I slumped forward, knees
buckling, everything in my body letting go.
    Katja
pulled the knife back and the wound gasped before closing. I clung
to her with all the strength I had left as she drove it in again
and again, into my stomach, between my ribs.
    Stop , I would've pleaded, had my
throat not been thick with blood . Stop it,
stop it, please. I don't want to die, I don't—please.
     

CHAPTER IV
    The
darkness was absolute.
    I was
not sleeping, I was not dreaming, and I was not
unconscious.
    I wasn't
aware of the depths I had drifted into until I came to, blinking my
eyes open, surroundings warping and blurring around me. I wasn't
granted any sort of blissful delusion; I knew exactly where I was,
exactly what had happened to me. There were no words to describe
the pain. It had become me: I was intimately aware of every inch of
my body, every fibre. Every layer of skin and sinew burnt bright in
the back of my mind, every muscle and tendon that had been cut
through.
    Moving
caused metal to jangle behind me. Chains were wrapped tightly
around my wrists and I found myself sitting, head slumped forward.
Slowly, I stretched my fingers out, finding that my hands were
bound behind a thick, iron bar, curved at the base. The leg of the
stove, I realised, feeling the hefty door dig against my back. I
jerked my arms, shoulders straining, but even if I'd had any
strength left in me, I wouldn't have been able to pull the stove
from the wall.
    The
front of my shirt was torn to ribbons, lap soaked in blood,
floorboards not much better off. I could replenish blood as quickly
as I lost it, and I couldn't account for how many times I'd had to
refill myself, over and over.
    Katja
was standing over me. I saw her feet but couldn't bring myself to
look up. She cleared her throat, dragging a chair from the table
and sat in front of me.
    “Rowan,”
she said plainly, and trembling, I lifted my head, for fear of what
would happen if I didn't.
    She'd
changed. There wasn't a fleck of blood on the dress she was
wearing, and her hair was dark where it had recently been washed.
Watery trails of blood were still smeared across her jawline and
throat, but it didn't make any difference. She could