They’re struck down, dead.
The vision changes. Another part of the city wrecked. Baphomet’s Prince stands above the crowd of his Soldiers, directing an affinitied alpha forward—because that must be what the red bands mean. He sets his hands to the ground, and the earth quakes as he pumps his magic into the road beneath him. Cracks form as the street tears itself apart with the tremors. The resistance retreats, but not all of them make it. Rubble falls from above as buildings crumble, striking down our allies. An omega with a shielding ability runs forward into the fray, throwing her hands up over her head, holding all the rubble at bay, but her power flags, and she’s crushed beneath a piece of Promontory Tower.
The vision changes.
An alpha wields blades in midair, controlling the metal, shooting the blades toward the last resistance encampment in the city. Another alpha with explosive powers blows a crater into the street, resistance members falling into it, screaming until they hit the bottom of the crater. Their screams cut off abruptly.
Saints, it’s a massacre.
All-out war, led by affinitied alphas.
Baphomet’s Prince watches on as another alpha races forward to the resistance encampment, closing his hands into fists. Resistance members start coughing and grasping at their chests before they fall, dead.
The Prince’s vicious smile glints in the light of the setting sun. Wicked. The battle won.
I snap back to consciousness with a sob.
Ian, kneeling beside Marcus, brushes my tears away. He must have sensed my distress through our bond and come for me.
“Vision,” I murmur.
“I know, my darling. Were you training?”
“Against the mental warfare her bastard of a father is engaging in. Blocking out thoughts,” Marcus rumbles, holding me tighter.
“Training must make you susceptible to visions. I’m sure of it. Whenever your affinity is engaged, you seem to be in a more vulnerable state,” Ian surmises, stroking my cheek.
“It was all-out war,” I say, my voice hollow. “And we lost.” I shove out of Marcus’ arms, despite his protest. I sway on my feet but take my stance once more.
“Again,” I tell Marcus. “I need to get this.”
“No, sweet-tart. You just had a horrific vision. You should rest.”
“I don’t want to rest,” I growl out. I couldn’t rest if I wanted to after what I’ve just seen. “I need to protect myself against my father.”
Ian drives a sigil into my mind, and I wince.
I shoot Ian a peevish frown. “I wasn’t ready, damn it.”
“You may not be ready tomorrow either. We need to work on your reaction time and your shielding. I’ll take over from Marcus.”
Marcus rumbles out a curse and gets to his feet, reaching out for my hand, running the tips of his fingers over his bite. “We can both work with her at once. If any of the Soldiers find out about this weakness in her affinity, they could try to use it against her.”
“That would completely incapacitate me,” I say, my voice low and forlorn.
Ian sighs. “Then we train like Marcus said. We need this ability to be second nature to you. Ideally, you would be ableto use your other abilities even if being bombarded with thoughts.”
I press my lips together and nod. “Let’s get to it, then.”
“Pharmaceutical advances,”my father says, rolling a piece of chalk between his fingers, “have allowed healers to be more effective in their work. With the use of magical medicinals, mage healers and doctors alike can treat contagions with ease.”
I sit rigid in my seat, Alyssa at one side and Ellie at my other. The class feels empty without Bitsy, though my father’s course has drawn many interested students. I see it in Ellie’s despondent expression. She toys with the edge of a sheet of paper in her notebook, her pen set aside. Alyssa and I have been extra vigilant about capturing notes in this class so we can help Ellie when midterms come around, if she’s even still here by then. She talks about dropping out daily, saying she has no reason to be here anymore. Only Simon and her mother have managed to convince her to stay.
I return my attention to the lecture, but I know I’m going to have to rely on Alyssa’s notes for this one. I’m too keyed up, too worried about what my father will do to me, to focus. When practicum comes around, I throw up my mental shields, but waver when I catch a thought from my father.
Saints above, his success rate is up to seventy-five percent.
He must know I’ve heard him with my affinity when I let out a soft gasp. He takes that opportunity for what it is: a chance to force thoughts into my mind. I drag my shields back up, but not before he gets one image into my head, the alpha with fire abilities burning a stack of omega corpses.
