For a fraction of a moment, I floated, suspended in the air. I saw Volkir reach for me and heard him shout my name, and then I fell.
It should only have taken a few seconds for me to reach the floor, but time is different when you're about to die—or at the very least, sustain serious injuries—and it felt like I tumbled a mile through the air.
Even so, I knew I didn't have time for real magic, but I reached for it by instinct anyway, drawing on my own reserves and on whatever ambient energies might be nearby. I tried to imagine something catching me—a cushion of air, maybe—and then I squeezed my eyes shut and braced myself for either oblivion or pain.
It was not air that caught me, though, but Volkir.
His body collided with mine, his arms snapping me into a crushing embrace with a force that stunned me and knocked the breath from my lungs. A split-second later he landed, the impact jolting me, but causing me far less harm than the unforgiving stone would have done.
Then he knelt, loosening his grasp so he could look at me, worry etched in every line of his face.
"Dear gods, boy, are you hurt? Speak!"
My lungs hadn't quite unlocked yet, and I couldn't move. His eyes flicked between mine, and then I felt his hands on me, searching for injury. A moment ago I'd never seen him so angry, and now I'd never seen him so scared.
"Oh, Great Odin, what have I done?" he gasped, as dramatic as ever, and if I wasn't currently paralyzed I'd have rolled my eyes. "Speak, my dear, I beg you! Tell me, are you hurt?
Finally, and to my great relief, my brain managed to reconnect to the rest of my body, and I drew a shuddering gasp. After a few such desperate inhalations, my breath settled into a steadier rhythm, and I took stock.
I was not hurt. Not badly, anyway. I'd have some bruises, no doubt, but I was not in serious pain, and at last, I was able to speak.
"I'm okay," I said. "I'm fine."
Volkir continued to study me with intense anxiety. "You are not injured?" he asked, his one hand supporting my head at the back of my neck and the other resting on my chest.
"No, I'm okay," I said again.
His eyes widened slightly, and then he crushed me to him with enough force that I was again in danger of not being able to breathe. "Oh, thank fuck," he gasped.
I'd never heard Volkir swear before. He must have been truly shaken.
As he held me, I realized I was trembling with adrenaline and with the aftermath of fear, and that my heart still ran a wild race in my chest. I made a conscious, if feeble, effort to slow its pace, and then felt Volkir's vampiric power flood me as he calmed us both.
His energy and mine had never mixed well—resulting in a feeling that was both slightly enjoyable and uncomfortably violating, and which I didn't like at all—but I was happy enough to accept it now.
When at last my heart beat at a reasonable pace and I'd stopped shaking quite so much, he took a deep breath, loosened his grip, held me away from him and shook me lightly by the shoulders.
"Aristotle Lorenfield," he said gravely, his eyes fixed on mine, "what on earth were you thinking, to come down here alone?"
"I—"
Before I could answer, a loud bang sounded from above, but it wasn't whatever was in the safe-room this time. I looked up and saw Soren leaning over the rail, looking down at us with an expression of shock and horror. Then he launched himself into the air, plummeting to the floor and landing like a cat.
No wonder Volkir didn't worry about safety regulations.
Straightening, he stormed towards us, his eyes lit with pale fire.
"Get away from him, you monster! What have you done!?" he shouted, sounding both furious and afraid.
"Nothing, Soren, nothing," Volkir assured him, raising his hands. "Calm yourself, dear boy. Calling me a monster at your age," he shook his head. "It is just a little misunderstanding—a little accident—although a very close call," he added, turning his gaze back to me and growing suddenly much more grave. "Very close indeed."
Soren reached us and snatched me from Volkir's arms into his own. I felt a little bit like a rag-doll being played with by two large dogs, and I was getting tired of it.
"How could you do this?" Soren snapped, teeth bared at his father. "How could you bring him down here, when you know—"
"He didn't," I said, cutting him off. "I came myself. I only—"
Actually, remembering why I'd wanted to come here was a bad idea. The way our voices were echoing in the cavern, the play of lights on the walls and floor, the coldness of the stone and the air—all were bringing my memories flooding back, and suddenly I didn't want to be here anymore.
So much for my attempt at exposure therapy.
"I only wanted to see it," I gasped, grabbing handfuls of his shirt and feeling my heart begin to accelerate again. "Get me out of here, Soren, please."
He nodded and lifted me, carrying me quickly up the spiral stairs, around the catwalk, and up the stone steps out of the caverns. I kept my eyes shut, my face pressed into his chest, and heard Volkir's footsteps following close behind.
I didn't want to imagine what the rest of the Circle would think if they could see me now—supposedly the most powerful witch-mage in centuries, being carried like a child who'd spooked himself in the dark.
Soren took me not to our room, but to the great library instead, setting me gently on a couch and then kneeling at my side. Frowning, he ran his hands over my face and body, checking, as Volkir had done, for some injury he could not see.
"What happened, darling?" he asked. "What possessed you to go down there on your own?"
It was almost the same question Volkir had asked, and for some reason, it annoyed me. The upside was that my irritation gave me strength, and I sat up, pushing Soren's hands away and feeling much more like myself, now that I was out of the caves.
"I wanted to see it," I said. "That place. I wanted to see if I could..." I blinked and swallowed, but forged on despite the tremor in my voice. "I wanted to see if I could forget."
"Ari..."
I couldn't bear the look on his face, the pity and the understanding in his eyes. It hurt too much to be reminded that I had a right to my pain, and a reason for my fear.
"How did you know I was down there, anyway?" I asked. "I thought you'd sleep through anything."
"I don't know what woke me," he said, rubbing his hand in slow circles over the place above my heart, "but when I saw that you were gone, I went looking, and then I saw the door to the caverns was open, and..."
He looked up at his father, who stood a few paces back, watching us with an unhappy turn to his sculpted mouth.
"And what were you doing, father?" he asked sharply. "I could taste your fear in the very air. What made you so afraid?"
Volkir sighed. "For goodness sake, Soren. And people call me dramatic." He waved a hand in a dismissive gesture, and then sighed. "I had a bad fright, yes. I went down to check on my...guest...and found our dear Aristotle about to get himself torn to pieces. I admit I lost control, and then...well, and then I accidentally pushed him over the railings and he fell."
Soren inhaled sharply, but Volkir went on, unperturbed.
"And then I caught him, and his magic protected us both, and we are fine, Soren. There's no need to be so..." he waved his hand again, "...theatrical," he concluded.
"What do you mean by 'guest?'" Soren asked, eyes narrowed and a hint of fang showing over his lip. "What have you got down there?"
"Just a new-blood," Volkir answered. "It is not going well for her, I fear."
"My gods...you turned another?" Soren gasped, clearly appalled.
"Soren, why do you suddenly think so ill of me?" Volkir replied, exasperation lacing his tone. "First you call me a monster, and think me capable of doing who-knows-what—with our own dear Ari, no less—and now you assume the worst." He huffed out a breath. "No, I did not turn her. I have not turned anyone since Jeremy. I found her. I'm trying to help the poor creature, but unfortunately... Well, as I said, it isn't going well."
"What do you mean, you 'found' her?" Soren snapped, his frown deepening.
Volkir didn't answer, instead ignoring him and coming to lean over the back of the couch to take my hand, raising it to his lips.
"Ari, I do apologize. I let my fear master me, and although it was fear for your safety, I know that I frightened you and very nearly caused you great harm. Can you forgive me?"
"Of course," I answered. "And I'm sorry I went where I wasn't welcome."
He shook his head. "No, you have every right to go wherever you please. The fault is mine. I should have warned you of the danger. I simply did not imagine you would have any desire to go near that place..."
"Father—"
"Not now, Soren," Volkir said, a little sharply, and released my hand. "Return to your room with Ari, and rest. In the morning, we will discuss this further, and I will tell you everything you wish to know—and probably quite a bit more, in fact."
Then he turned and departed, sweeping from the room and leaving us alone. I still wasn't sure exactly where Volkir slept, or if he even did.
Soren sighed, turning his attention back to me.
"Ari—"
"I'd rather not talk about it right now," I said with as much firmness as I could manage without sounding harsh. "Let's do as he says and go back to bed. I doubt I can sleep, after that, but..."
"As you wish," he agreed, and started to lift me again, but I pushed him away and stood on my own.
"Soren, I'm fine," I said, and then I took a closer look at him.
It was clear that, while awake, he was still under the influence of whatever my blood sometimes did to him, and he wasn't quite all there.
No wonder he was acting so over-the-top. It was like Volkir had cloned himself or something.
"I'm fine," I said again, more gently. "And Soren? When your father, of all people, tells you you're being dramatic, you ought to believe him. Come on."
Then I took his hand and, having had quite enough of facing my fears for one night, led him back up to our room.