White Heart of Justice by Jill Archer

hand clutched the shaft of the arrow. The only thing I seemed capable of comprehending right then was how tightly it was wedged in my chest. My grip on the arrow loosened and I stumbled backward, falling into the snow.
    Above me Kalisto shifted into a bear and roared. She stood up on her hind legs and her pelt puffed out like a porcupine while she gazed around the lower level of her winter bazaar looking for the erring archer. On the ground, I wheezed as Kalisto bared her teeth and then snapped them shut. She fell down on four legs, causing a minor explosion of snow at her feet and then turned and ran toward the direction the arrow had come from.
    Less than a second later, Rafe was at my side. His expression scared me so I turned my head and focused on the snow, hiccupping because I couldn’t breathe right. The snow’s lack of color was calming. Peaceful. The cold and the numbness returned. Rafe knelt beside me and pressed his cheek to mine. My breath hitched. And then I stopped breathing.
    I passed out to the quiet murmur of Rafe’s voice whispering spells in my ear.

Chapter 8
    W hen I woke up, we were on a train, but all around us was darkness. My head was in Rafe’s lap and we were in a railcar alone. From the sway of the seat beneath me, I figured we’d pulled out of the station long ago. Above me, Rafe slept. His cheeks were hollow and his skin had a grayish green cast to it. I’d seen other Angels run out of
potentia
, but never Rafe. Until now, his power to cast spells had seemed limitless. I knew then, without a doubt, that the only thing keeping me alive was Rafe’s
potentia
. I wanted to tell him not to worry if he failed. That my dying wouldn’t be his fault. I knew, because of the memory I’d been given of his brother’s funeral, how guilty he still felt over
that
death. I couldn’t stand the thought of mine being another weight that he would have to bear.
    Without thinking, I tried to raise my hand to grab his sleeve so that I could tell him that but pain immediately arced across my chest. I groaned and coughed and tried to talk, but couldn’t. There was a thick, bubbly feeling in my throat, like I’d been gurgling with salty syrup and had accidentally swallowed some. But I knew it wasn’t syrup. I looked down. The arrow shaft had been sawed off, but its tip was still in my chest. I could feel it. Rafe woke and looked down at me, his eyes bloodshot and wild. He swiped his arm across his face, rubbing at his eyes and cheeks with his sleeve. He then reached down and put his palm on my forehead and started feverishly murmuring the words to a spell again.
    When I woke again, the train was still. Rafe was lifting me off the seat and into his arms. The pain was excruciating. I tried to tell Rafe to
leave me be
. I didn’t want to move, even if I died on the train. I didn’t have the strength to put my arms around his neck so I just lay there like a rag doll, my cheek pressed against his chest, my mouth opened in this horrible scream I didn’t have enough breath to complete.
Leave me!
was my only thought. But there was no way to tell Rafe that’s what I wanted. I didn’t have enough energy to grit my teeth or move my fingers, let alone talk or grab Rafe’s arm to make him listen.
    And that’s when I felt the other waning magic signature. But this one wasn’t dark and malignant like the one I’d felt just before the arrow pierced my heart at Kalisto’s palace. This one was white-hot and felt like the sun. It was Ari. Or rather, it was an echo of Ari. It was my dying memory of him because it faded as soon as Rafe started whispering the words of his healing spell in my ear again.
    Rafe walked down the aisle of the train and descended a short set of steps, trying—and failing—to keep my bleeding body still. It was an agony I thought I’d never survive. When Rafe’s foot hit the ground, the impact jolted me.