I stayed beside Derek, holding his hand and watching his chest rise and fall. His breathing was steady, but he still looked too pale. Every few moments, I brushed his hair away from his forehead, hoping the touch would bring him back to me.
He looked so much like Deucalion. The memory of his red eyes returned, followed by the terrible force that had thrown grown warriors across the battlefield.
What if it had hurt him?
“Malia,” Mara said softly from the other side of the bed. “You need to sit down. Your ribs are still injured.”
“I’m fine.”
“You said that before, and nearly fell while we were carrying Derek.”
“I can worry about myself later.”
Mara pressed her lips together, but she did not argue. Lydia stood near the window, listening to the voices outside. The shouting had grown lou
