Chapter Fifty-Seven
He stared at the rubble piled about the threshold, ignoring the bite of the bitter cold sleet stinging against his wounded flesh. Adjusting the strips of bloody cloth wrapped around his torso, Torin winced as he knotted the ragged plaid a bit tighter. As his fingers brushed against the empty scabbard hanging at his side, Torin kicked loose stones from his path. Damnaigh. He hated that he’d lost his sword. It was like losing one of his arms. He patted the blood-soaked leather laced tight against the inside of his bruised calf. Good. At least he still had his dagger.
A high-pitched howl ripped through the darkness, rising above the sound of the wind rattling through the leafless trees. Torin ignored the warning cry of the hidden beast, lifted his head and sniffed the icy air. The freezing rain burned in his nostrils. His senses told him he needed to head north into the mountains, directly into the heart of the storm. Perhaps there he’d find shelter from the aching cold and be able to build a fire to chase the dampness from his bones.
He cast one last glance back at the annihilated portal and Arach’s ash-covered corpse. His heart wrenched as his gaze settled on the glistening black pile of ice-covered ruins. She’d done well, destroyed the portal and permanently closed the passage to Arach’s world. Torin ground his teeth as the wind whipped icy strands of soaked hair into his eyes. He wished he’d had more time with her. Time to teach her all her strengths. Torin swallowed hard, choking back his pain. He wished he’d told her how to find him.
Closing his eyes, he threw back his head and bellowed her name with the fury of his pain. “Emma!” The sound echoed through the dimensions, only increasing the hopeless loneliness already burning in his chest.