Chapter One Hundred and sixteen

　　Present Day

　　Sylvin felt the crack beneath his fingers and looked down in startlement. His chest heaved, panting, and his skin was slick with sweat and gore from the battle. For a moment, he was blinded by finally achieving the release from the need that had been tormenting him and he stared at Yelena, at his hand around her throat, without comprehending what it was that he had done. Her skin had already begun to bruise from his hold, and the cartilage that had been under his thumb was indented. He gasped in a breath.

　　“Yelena.” He released her throat and put his hand on her chest. “By the Great Tree, breathe Yelena!” He demanded. “Breathe Yelena!” He yelled the words at her, pressing down on her chest to force her to do so. She did not breathe, her face rapidly growing pale, her lips blue…

　　“A healer,” he dug his hands into his hair, frantically. “A healer!”