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For a moment, Yunara allows herself to believe they’ve won. The demonic invader is gone in an instant. Her split-second choice to throw her Aion Er’na to save Xin Zhao’s life has bought them enough time except . . .
Except.
Except he is not Xin Zhao. The face is still his. A handsome face corrupted by silver skin and three red eyes. Grief, despair, anger. Her emotions choke her, and she cannot breathe around what has welled up in her throat, and the Darkin does nothing but stare. Zaahen, Yunara cannot lie to herself even if she wishes she could, does nothing but stare. Everything is quiet. For a moment, time stands still.
Oath breaker, she wants to scream. You promised, she wants to beg, but all that comes out is a sob. Exhaustion has settled deep in her soul. He descends to her now, kneeling to reach out and grab her. His face, Xin Zhao’s face, has blurred from her tears.
“Yunara,” Too much emotion bound in one word.
“Do not touch me.” She snarls back. Pushing herself to her knees and away from him. She feels his hands stop, hovering at her side. Please hold me, she wants to beg, but the words can not breach past her sadness. Instead, she cries. She cries for Xin Zhao, the man who gave up everything for a land that he did not call home anymore. An honorable man, who chose to die far from his home, far from his family.
I am the Fist of Twilight, she thinks, I must strike Zaahen down, I must . . .
“Yunara, my friend,” and Zaahen finally gathers her into his arms. “Let me hold your grief.” And she does. The tears, the rage, the sadness – everything – pours out of her.
“How strong you are.” he whispers into her hair, holding her how one may hold a bride. “Let me lend you my strength.” he vows. “Your enemies shall be mine.” He promises.
Yet here Zaahen is. A promise broken.
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Her strength, extraordinary, a voice tells him.
Yes, Zaahen agrees, clutching Yunara ever closer to himself, greedy for the heat of her body. You have no idea what she is capable of.