Stolen Mate

The lunar flower's glow flickered in my hands like a dying star. Rylan limped beside me, blood seeping through the makeshift bandage on his shoulder. Dawn was hours away, and the woods felt endless. 

"Morana's close," he muttered, though his voice lacked its usual grit. 

I nodded, clutching the flower tighter. Its light dimmed with every step. *Hurry. Hurry.* 

A twig snapped. 

Three Nightshade traitors lunged from the shadows, blades glinting. Rylan shoved me behind him, but his movements were sluggish, his wounds slowing him. 

"Give us the flower," one hissed, "and we'll make it quick." 

Rylan snarled, swinging his dagger. "Over my corpse." 

The clash was brutal. Rylan parried two attackers, but the third circled toward me. I backed into a tree, the flower's stem digging into my palm. 

"Pathetic," the traitor spat. "Scentless and weak." 

He swung. I ducked, but his blade grazed my arm—a shallow cut, burning instantly. Poison. 

My knees buckled. The flower tumbled into the leaves as fire spread through my veins. 

Rylan's roar shook the air. He gutted the traitor, then hauled me up, his eyes wild. "Elara—*look at me*." 

"The flower…" I choked, pointing. 

He snatched it, shoving it into his satchel, then lifted me into his arms. "Hold on." 

The world blurred. Trees, stars, his heartbeat against my ear. Cold seeped into my bones, but the poison burned hotter. 

"Rylan…" 

"Quiet. Save your strength." 

"I can't… feel my legs." 

He swore, stumbling into a clearing. Moonlight bathed a crumbling stone altar—Morana's territory. But the witch was nowhere. 

Rylan laid me on the altar, hands trembling as he tore open my sleeve. The cut was black, tendrils of venom crawling toward my heart. 

"No. *No.*" He pressed his forehead to mine. "Stay with me." 

I tried to speak, but my tongue was lead. 

He rummaged through his satchel, pulling out herbs, the flower, a vial of Kieran's blood. "Morana!" he bellowed. "Damn you, *help her*!" 

Silence. 

He sank to his knees, gripping my hand. "Listen. You're not dying here. Not after all this." 

Tears cut through the grime on his face. I'd never seen him cry. 

"I should've told you," he rasped. "That night by the fire. When you said we could make a new world." His thumb brushed my knuckles. "I wanted that world. With *you*." 

The poison blurred his face, but his voice anchored me. 

"You're not a ghost," he whispered. "You're the strongest thing I've ever known. So *fight*." 

A cackle echoed. Morana emerged, her runes glowing. "Touching. But save the ballads—she's not dead yet." 

Rylan surged up. "Heal her." 

The witch eyed the flower. "The ritual first." 

"*Now*." 

Morana sighed, slapping a poultice onto my wound. The burn dulled. "Temporary. Finish the ritual, or she rots." 

Rylan lifted me again, his arms steady. "Hear that, Lumina? We're not done." 

I clung to him as the woods spun. His confession pulsed in my chest, warmer than the poison. 

*We're not done.*