Corrupted: An Epic Dragons and Immortals Romantic Fantasy (Fallen Emrys Chronicles Book 1) by E.E. Everly (motivational books for men txt) 📕

“Oh. I dropped my wall.” I squirmed in his grasp, feeling foolish. I couldn’t believe it. A mortal read me. And he wasn’t even an emrys with the ability to see into a soul. He’d read the expression on my face!

Owein’s hand tightened. “Stop weaseling out of my grip. I’m not trying to court you. I want to be your friend. I understand that your heart might be broken. It’s all right. I’m not looking for attachment.”

That was a relief. “I appreciate your friendship. Thanks.”

“You are giving me quite the thrill. Immortal beauty from another world and all. I do believe I’m the envy of every man here.”

“Oh!” I smacked his shoulder.

Owein laughed, but the twinkle in his eye died when a scream rent the air.

Something was wrong. Upset, fear, and horror ballooned through the crowd. I was sure the alarm was more from the scream than the actual reality of what was happening. Once a siren went off, everyone panicked.

The festival patrons swelled against Owein and me. Most people headed toward the scream, which had morphed into a mournful howl.

Someone was in a lot of pain.

And everyone wanted to know why.

The crowd clustered as people surged forward to the edge of the festival where the tournaments were held. I pushed my way through.

“Niawen,” Owein said. “We should stay back.”

“I can help,” I called over my shoulder. “If someone is in as much agony as his wail proclaims, he’ll need me.”

“How—?”

“Move!” I shouted at those standing in front of me. They had come to a standstill and pressed up on tiptoes, craning their necks.

Startled, several people moved out of the way so I could view the catastrophe.

What I presumed had been a dais for judges lay crumbled as a pile of metal and wood. The tournaments had not yet begun, but nonetheless, a body stuck out from the wreckage.

“The bricklayer,” someone said.

And another. “The scaffolding just collapsed over him.”

I barely heard the murmurs over the trapped man’s cries as men lifted poles and shifted objects.

As a board was moved, unveiling the buried man, I saw the injury.

Cries of mercy filtered through the gawkers. Whispers that he’d never survive burned my nerves.

Stupid mortals. So stupidly fragile.

Blood gushed from the bricklayer’s thigh where bone protruded from his flesh. The man’s ashen face hinted at shock overtaking his body. That, and his continual wail.

“Why won’t he survive?” I asked. “Can’t someone mend a break like that?” I had to ask, but I guessed the answer. Of course not. None of these mortals had the power I had. What did these mortals, with such minute light, know about healing an injury as drastic as this?

“Even if a physician set the break, fever would do him in,” a man on my left muttered.

I grasped the reality. His death was certain if I didn’t use my powers.

Are you sure you want to? Seren asked. Are you ready to reveal yourself?

I can’t stand by, knowing he’ll bleed to death. “Pull him out, now!” I raced forward, grateful for Owein beside me.

“What can we do? I’ve seen this before. No one but the king’s physician could heal this,” Owein said.

With the help of two other men, we pulled the bricklayer free.

“What’s his name?” I hollered as I slid to my knees beside him.

“Alphis, my lady,” a ragged, old man said. “Alphis. He has three young’uns. Just lost his wife last year. It doesn’t look good.”

Alphis was writhing too much.

“Hold him,” I said to the men around us. “Alphis.” I touched his head. “Be still. You’ll be fine.” I poured my light into his mind. The grace of Deian slipped along the neural pathways, seeking the pain’s origin. I found the source—the receptors telling him he was hurt—and wrapped them in the warmth of light, blocking the body’s perception of pain. Alphis’s body slackened, and he breathed easy.

A collective murmur surfed the onlookers. The dragon was out of the cave, or possibly, they thought Alphis had passed out.

“We can’t help him,” the old man said as he applied pressure around the bone.

“Niawen, you can help him, can’t you?” Owein asked, shooting me a questioning look because I’d just stopped pain.

“Yes, but I’ll need your assistance.”

Owein nodded.

“I need traction. You there, hold him under his shoulders. You, hold his hip. Owein, grab his leg. Pull the leg straight while I set the bone. I have to align it properly. Then once it’s in place, hold it while I mend it.”

“You’re mad, woman,” the old man said. “How do you expect to do that?”

I glared at him. “Don’t say a word if you’re not being supportive. He’s already lost a lot of blood. I can’t create that… unless you want to give him your blood.”

“No, ma’am. I’ll be quiet.”

“I must extend the wound. Lend me a knife.” I held my hand out, waiting. Cold metal—the very knife Owein flashed upon our first meeting—met my palm. I deftly wielded the blade, slicing far enough up the leg for my hands to reach inside.

A lady in the crowd fainted.

Blood squelched when I reached into the opening and pushed my hands against the bone. “Pull. Pull now.”

As the men braced and Owein pulled, I closed my eyes. I thought with only my mind and saw with only my light and told the power what to do. Light healed with Deian’s blessing—Deian’s light, which was inside me—the same light inside all emrys.

I envisioned the bone’s raw edges. I analyzed the shape. With the light, I saw every microscopic detail of the puzzle. I slid the bones together, rotating them slightly into alignment, using light as my guide. “There,” I said. “Hold it there.”