CHAPTER 34
"Strip." The word cut through the haze of Isabella's pain like a blade, sharp and impossible to ignore.
She blinked, chest tightening, certain she had misheard. "What…?" she rasped, her voice fragile against the ringing in her ears.
Lucian didn't answer. His focus had shifted entirely. Kneeling over Clara, he pressed a careful hand to the witch's pulse, scanning for any sign of life, his crimson eyes dark with the weight of blood, silver, and shared agony.
"The water," he clarified, his voice a guttural scrape as he looked back at Isabella. He rolled Clara onto her side and began forcing the water from her lungs.
A heavy stream of obsidian water spilled out of Clara's mouth, splashing onto the rug with a sound that was far too dense for a liquid.
It hissed against the floorboards, smelling of iron and old secrets. "It's not just water," Lucian repeated, his voice strained as he pushed against Clara's ribs to clear her lungs.
