The beast landed on its side and bellowed out. It kicked and blazed fire down its limb. Dorian pulled his strength. He ignored the pain. He knew his form would protect him as long as he could control it.
His own fire pulsed down the whip. The beast flinched in smoke as it tried to get away. It tugged and pulled at its caught leg, faltering to its side as it struggled. Dorian didn't know how long the bind would last since he'd only trapped the paw.
Hands wrapping around the leather, Dorian dragged the beast towards him. Every inch of his body wailed. The flamed whip tight around his hands, and he screamed out with each tug. Until the beast was mere feet away. The pain clouded him, and his form flickered, but he forced his feet before the Ghost of Fire.
Slowly, it bared its fangs, lips curling up in an attempt to intimidate him. The world vibrated in Dorian's gaze, and he heard his own deafening growl emit from his throat.
The true form of the Fire Prince stood over the fallen Ghost of Fire, its paw caught in a wrap of a navy flamed leather whip.
A fly caught in a spider’s web.
The beast was so giant, even with Dorian standing at his full stature and the beast on its side, it still came up past his chest. Every muscle in Dorian's body edged.
"How are you here?" Dorian seethed.
Your Venari is not the only one knowing of the ancient Scrolls' location,it replied.
Another growl came from his own throat at the news, teeth bared. He wrapped the whip again around his hand and yanked at it, navy flames searing up the beast's leg and making it flinch and roar in his face.
But Dorian stood his ground.
"Stay out of our affairs," Dorian warned it. "This isnotyour Age."
Until you call, Prince, the Ghost of Fire answered, blackened eyes blinking at him.Now set me free.
Dorian straightened, chest heaving, torso spasming with pain, and he unwound the whip from its paw. The moment it was free, the Ghost of Fire shot to its feet and towered over Dorian once more.
"Leave," Dorian warned.
The beast slowly closed its growling mouth. It took one step backward.
And then it disappeared into a cloud of black smoke.
Breath finally left Dorian's lungs. His form flickered. His knees buckled.
He collapsed in the mud.
Shouts and gasps echoed all around. With his form dwindling, the pain of the gashes and burns on his side slammed into him. A pain so great that he couldn't feel anything else. Dorian nearly vomited. He could do nothing more than squirm on the ground, hands holding to the wounds. The stick of blood pooled beneath his fingertips.
A lot of blood.
With the sun blinding him, he coughed and cringed his knees up as his body shuddered beneath the pain. Blood collected in his throat. But a shadow pressed between him and the glare, and Dorian forgot how to move.
The male was more of a beast than Dorian had ever seen. Shags of dark hair fell over his eyes. A thick stubbled beard wrapping his chin. He was middle-aged, older than most of the other Blackhands he'd met who most had been Aydra's age. Small bags wrapped beneath his darkened gaze, wrinkles at the creases. His creme tunic strained against his muscles. He looked like he was covered in soot, and in fact, was wiping his hands with a small cloth as though he'd just come from the forges. There was a smirk on his lips, and he hovered over Dorian.
"Son of Arbina. Wasn't expecting that" was all he said before extending his large hand down to Dorian.
Dorian's gaze flickered around the stadium as he forced himself to reach for his hand. Blackhands were on their knees—including every Elder and General. The male wrapped an arm around Dorian when he pushed to his knees, and he helped him to his feet. Dorian still hadn't found his voice.
Blood vomited from his insides.
Though it wasn't just blood. It was blood and fire.
Corbin and Reverie rushed out into the field. Corbin pushed his arm beneath Dorian's other side just as dizziness took his balance.
"We need the surgeon," Reverie said.
"No surgeons," the man said.
