First Of Her Kind (Book 1) by K.L. Schwengel

become too large for her mouth, a mouth that tasted like ash. He couldn't be dead. Not because of her. By all that is holy, not dead. She winced as stones cut into her palms. By whatever else existed beyond the Goddess and her narrow-minded world, Bolin had to be alive.
    But when she got to his side, his eyes reflected only sky, and his face had an unhealthy pallor. Ciara rested her palm over Bolin's his heart, and exhaled a shuddering breath when a slow, unsteady beat vibrated against her fingertips.
    "Bolin." Her voice croaked, harsh and rasping, almost unrecognizable. She cleared her throat and tried again, louder. "Bolin!"
    His eyelids fluttered shut then reopened slowly. He heard her, on some level. She took his limp, cold hand in hers, and forced herself to focus beyond the physical. Be still and open yourself, and you will always see them if they are still with us. Meriol had taught her that.
    Goddess's blood, her head hurt. It spun like a child's top, taking her stomach along for the ride. She swallowed against the impulse to throw-up, and tried to force herself past the ache.
    "Be still and open, still and open," she whispered. Easier said than done. "Bolin, please, help me."
    He stirred, and took a deeper breath.
    Ciara's eyes were as dry as her mouth and she squeezed them shut to help both her head and focus. She reached into the vale that existed between worlds, the place she would find Bolin if he weren't dead. She pictured him in her mind’s eye. Pictured the feel of him, and held that image as she drew on the strength of the earth, and the deep roots of the trees. Her own discomfort began to fade. Nothing existed beyond this place -- and Bolin.
    The force of his anger hit Ciara like a physical slap, and she nearly lost her tenuous hold on him. She pushed past it. He’d be even angrier when he woke and found her gone again.
    Ciara drew in a shaky lungful of air -- tainted with the smell of charred wood and damp foliage -- and drew Bolin closer to consciousness. It proved no easy task. He resisted her efforts, even when she wrapped a light blanket of earth magic around him. But Ciara persisted until she knew he could find the rest of the way on his own. Only then did she pull away from him and break the contact.
    She climbed clumsily to her feet, and clutched at the nearest tree, leaning against the rough bark to keep from falling over. She glanced back at Bolin, still lying motionless. His eyes were closed, but his chest rose and fell in deep, regular breaths. Ciara didn’t have time to dawdle. She shoved off the tree and ran from the grove in staggering steps like a festival drunkard.
     
    * * *
     
    Bolin hovered on the edge of consciousness. He had a vague memory of Ciara leading him there, and then withdrawing. Pain throbbed through every bone in his body, pulsing to the beat of his heart, and it forced him past the haze of healing magic meant to keep him still. He lurched upwards like a drowning man, and sucked at a desperate gulp of air and then another, despite the fact each one ripped through him like fire. His eyes snapped open to survey his surroundings for potential enemies, fully realizing the only threat to his well-being had already left. He blinked to focus and scanned the grove before allowing himself to collapse back to the ground.
    He'd been the target of magic attacks before, more than once. None had been nearly this  -- raw. He eased a hand across his ribs and groaned. It took much longer than he liked to gather enough strength to try propping himself up on his elbows. The grove tilted, and he rolled onto his side as he lost what little breakfast he had in him, an action that caused his ribs to scream in agony.
    Bolin spit and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. He forced himself to his knees with a frustrated growl, pausing before easing back onto his haunches, arms resting on his thighs, head down and eyes closed. Breathing came slow and shallow, around the pain instead of