I immediately begin pulsing Ha’i into Rafe’s chest, and this time it works. The blood slows. The tissue begins to mend. But Rafe has lost so much blood. He’s not healing fast enough, and I feel my own strength flagging.

“Help me,” I scream to Kor, who’s looking on, horror-stricken.

“I… I’ve never—” He looks to Roman, who looks just as panicked and unsure, tears in his eyes.

“Do you want to have his death on your conscience?” I shriek. I see the indecision in his eyes, the war of pride and guilt.

“Kor, I need you to help me save his life!” I’m choking on my own sobs. “Help me!” I demand again. He has to help me. No matter what he’s said about being okay with collateral damage, I know he’s not a killer.

He drops the gun and comes running.

I show Kor how to align his shiin next to mine, and as soon as our hands harmonize, a powerful flow of Ha’i pulses through the triangle made by our fingers. Rafe’s body jerks erratically.

“Again!” I yell, and with the next push of Ha’i, Rafe gasps in a deep breath, then seems to breathe more easily.

The flow of Ha’i was astounding, more than I’ve ever felt from myself or another person. But now Kor looks shaky and weakened. I remember Rafe explaining how blood doping will give a Sire tremendous power but also cause them to exhaust more quickly. Kor doesn’t look like he has the strength to conduct anymore. But Rafe isn’t fully healed yet.

Kaylie’s face is a mask of horror. She presses her knuckles to her lips in Avant’s royal salute. She doesn’t think their prince will live.

I know what I have to do.

I grab Kaylie’s blade, and without letting myself think too hard about it, I slice into my forearm.

Blood wells up through the cut, and I aim its drip directly into Rafe’s mouth. Adrenaline and Ha’i are rushing through me with such strong force that I see the bleeding slow and the skin around the wound tighten as my body tries to heal itself. I jab at the cut with the point of the knife to keep the blood flowing. Somehow, my mind drowns out the pain. I feel like an outside observer, watching as the warm life inside me spurts out of the messy wound onto Rafe’s lips.

Kor shifts away from us, and I catch an expression on his face that can’t be described as anything other than hunger.

“Should we retreat?” I hear Roman ask Kor.

But I don’t hear Kor’s response as Rafe blinks and swallows my blood spilling into his mouth. So much blood. Until, in a ragged voice, he says, “Enough.” He grips my arm. “Sing me your strength.”