Twin Flames by Elizabeth Winters

enough, we could really use your help with the wounded.” She placed a cup on the nightstand. “I brought you some water. Take a few moments. I’ll be back in a bit.”
    Raven grabbed the water. It worked magic to soothe her parched throat. Finished, she leaned against the bed and tried to get her bearings. By the time Melanie returned, she felt more like herself.
    Devlin. She had to find out about Devlin.
    Raven watched Melanie pace around the room, a bundle of fresh clothing in her arms.
    “Where is Devlin?” Raven could barely stand to watch Melanie’s display of nervous energy. She wanted to shake her, tell her to stand still.
    Instead, Melanie pretended she didn’t hear. “We should hurry. I can’t be away for long.”
    Raven grasped her by the arm. “Answer my question. Where’s Devlin?”
    The other woman wouldn’t meet her eyes. Fear pooled in Raven’s belly.
    “No one knows.” Melanie stared at the floor, her toe tapping on the wood. “He never returned. Many think the battle is still going on and he is fighting.”
    Or dead.
    Melanie didn’t say it, but her thoughts were clear. It wasn’t true. Devlin was not dead. She would know. He would come. She couldn’t begin to contemplate what her life would be like without him. She pushed the thought from her mind, covering it with another, he was simply still fighting. He would return soon.
    “Where are we?” Raven asked. She took the cotton shirt Melanie handed her and slipped it over her head.
    Melanie handed her the skirt. “This is the inner sanctum. The Council resides here. It is our last line of defense.” Raven tied on the shirt and Melanie handed her a black knee-length apron. “You’ll need this. The wounded are many and caring for them is messy.”
    Raven nodded and took the apron. It felt unbearably restricting tied around her waist.
    She followed Melanie down to the makeshift hospice. Bedrolls for the wounded lay in horizontal rows across the marble floor, those caring for them marching through the rows like soldiers.
    She tended to them, one then another, all the while forcing herself not to think about Devlin’s fate. She yearned to touch him, to press against his nude body and revel in his warmth.
    A tear trickled down her cheek. She brushed it away with the back of her hand, hoping no one had noticed. He was coming back.
    It was then that she saw Chalice propped against the far wall. She didn’t know him well, but imagined he’d be too stubborn to take a bed, as there were far too few. When he saw her, his face suddenly became alert and he waved her to him.
    When she stood at his side he took her hand in his, squeezing tightly. “Do you feel Devlin? Is he alive?”
    She stared at him. Had he sustained a brain injury? Was he lucid?
    He yanked her to him. “Damn it, girl. You’re his mate. You should feel whether he’s dead. I must know. If I could move from this chair, I’d find out for myself.”
    He believed his words. The truth was shining in his eyes. She closed her eyes and let her psychic power pour out, searching. It swirled through the sanctuary, then out into the barren desert, again underground until it found the city.
    The men still warred. The battle had become desperate. Both sides had gone without food or rest for three days, and it was starting to wear on them. The adrenaline of battle could no longer sustain their needs.
    She moved amongst them, searching every bloody body for his face. She found him lying against a wall, badly wounded but alive. He was trying to teleport himself, but did not have the strength.
    Her power reached out to him, wrapping around his shivering body to keep him warm. She infused him with her strength, giving him the power he so desperately needed. She was shocked to see him use the power, not to transport, but to heal himself. How was that possible?
    Before her eyes, he stood healthy and whole and she knew he would return to the battle.
    Two days passed and the battle showed no signs