Chapter 130. The Cost of Holy Nova

Eryndor’s POV

Auraya lunged forward with lightning speed, her blade slicing into Zephyr’s forearm and shearing it cleanly from his body. The severed limb hit the ground with a dull thud, and for a moment the werewolf staggered backward, shock rippling through his muscular frame. Yet almost as quickly as the arm fell away, Zephyr knelt, grasped the wound, and—calling upon his uncanny “pain nerves”—sewed the flesh back into place. Within heartbeats, the arm reattached itself, bone knitting and sinew reforming as though nothing had happened. A cruel smirk curled the corner of his mouth.

He turned toward Auraya, reading the fury etched across her face. Rage and grief burned in her eyes—he could taste it. He reveled in the intensity of her emotion. “Wonderful, simply wonderful,” he purred, stepping into the moonlit clearing and prancing as if on stage. “You’ve felt a truly singular agony tonight: the loss of home, the loss of a family member—pure, exquisite pain.”