Ava Rising: Book 2 of 3

Chapter 13

He's alive. He's alive. Ava whispered it to herself over and over again. She had become so accustomed to Lucas's heartbeat over the last several weeks of their isolation—thump, thump, thump, you are not alone, thump—that she knew its rhythm like that of her own. And although his pulse was weak, he had a pulse. For the last several hours Owen had fed him a little bit of energy—one hand dug into the ground holding a root of the Lifetree and the other resting gently on Lucas's heart. Ava, too afraid of what might happen if she touched Lucas, had tried to relieve Owen by connecting herself to the Lifetree's root and holding Owen's hand, while he held onto Lucas. As exhausted as she was from the events of the last day, Owen must have been even more so—he was forced to go for much longer stretches without her aid. Owen had urged her to sleep when she wasn't helping him. But she had spent much of the time huddled on the ground, knees drawn to her torso, eyes fixed on Lucas's chest—watching each labored breath anxiously.

She had another reason for refusing to sleep—the small voice in her head warning her not to leave Owen and Lucas alone together. After all, Lucas's death by his own hand would be the ideal outcome for the Gaia, and Owen had little incentive to keep him alive now that he had exposed Lucas's lies to Ava. But hour after hour, she had watched as Owen nursed Lucas, tender as a mother bear, blotting the sweat from Lucas's brow and checking his pulse as he used all of his own energy to help Lucas heal. At one point, watching Owen tip Lucas's head forward to feed him a drop of water at a time, it dawned on her that his threats to kill Lucas had been as empty as the desert at high noon. She tucked that knowledge away—she could learn something from Owen's poker face. As the faintest pink streaks appeared in the sky, signaling dawn, Ava could see that Owen was near collapse himself. But still Lucas had not awakened.

"We just need to give him enough energy for his body to start the healing process," Owen had whispered in the first minutes after Lucas had fallen into his coma—his voice a pillar of certainty. Certainty that Ava had clung to like a gymnast to the uneven bars, throwing herself into the task of getting Lucas as much energy as possible. He had added with a reassuring smile, "He's young and strong. I've seen warriors heal from much worse. And they didn't have the Alpha on their side."

His words had the effect of a stick poking a turtle—she pulled her limbs even tighter to her chest, tucking into herself. Owen didn't know it yet, but she knew—hers was a cursed touch. She had killed a man and brought a quaking city to its knees without even meaning to. The merest trace of her fingers would probably suffocate Lucas in his weakened state. Owen had looked at her like she was some kind of deity sent to save the Gaia, but she knew the truth—if she were any kind of immortal, she was a goddess of death and destruction. How had she become so poisoned—she who drew her power from the ultimate force of life?

But Ava saw no need to voice her anxieties—it was clear as the hours passed that Owen had plenty of his own.

Finally, unable to keep silent any longer, she asked, "Why isn't he waking up?"

"The sangstone was placed in such a way that it couldn't be removed without ripping through an artery. Lucas essentially severed that to cut it out, but..."

"But?"

"As I said before, I've seen Gaia warriors heal from much worse. So I think the sangstone must have triggered something. Look here—Lucas's wound hasn't closed at all." He pulled up the bit of Lucas's shirt being used as a tourniquet to show her. "The blood has barely clotted."

After another hour of using the Lifetree as an IV, Owen spoke, "Enough. He's stable for the moment and we're not doing him any favors if we both pass out here to let ourselves be ambushed by Makhai assassins."

He passed her a canteen, from which she drank thirstily. She forced herself to leave some water for her companions and looked up to find Owen giving her a questioning look. She shrugged, brushing off his concern. There was no need to throw yet another problem at him.