As if hearing us and reacting, a twisting rope of flame leaps through the air and ignites the trees behind the horses. Like a door slamming shut, an impenetrable wall rises with a roar, blocking our only exit.
I stare in shock. Fear is a terrible emotion. It strips away hope and leaves a gaping hole.
Griffin curses and loosens his hold. “You’re stronger than this.” He turns me toward him with sudden ferocity, the terrifying beauty of the fire reflected in his somber gaze. “You’re better. You can do anything you set your mind to.”
I swallow, my throat painfully dry. If it were just me, I wonder how hard I’d fight, what extremes I’d go to to survive. But it isn’t just me, and extremes don’t even come close to what I’d do to protect the people I love.
I take Griffin’s hand. Energy and vitality pulse where our palms meet, and I squeeze. Strength leaps from the point of contact and thunders through my veins. I know in my gut that I have enough of the power of the Gods in me to bend nearly anything to my will, even this rogue, reactive magic that’s burning out of control.
My concentration doesn’t falter again, and sheer mental determination pours from me in an almost tangible wave. Little by little, I force the Dragon’s Breath out of the trees and into the ground. The long struggle leaves my brain throbbing and my body weak. The world around me blurs into a rust color. Something warm and wet leaks from my eyes. More drips from my nose.
I bow my head and grit my teeth, tasting blood on my lips. Kato materializes on my other side and takes my free hand. I hold on to both men hard enough to feel their bones grind. My knees nearly buckle under the agonizing pressure, but bit by bit, the magic implodes at my feet. The heat lessens. The roar diminishes, and my brain stops feeling like it’s being hammered with a burning rock.
At last, the final flames burn themselves to death in a smoking crater, leaving leafless, lifeless trees standing like charred sentinels all around the clearing and as far as I can see. I collapse to my knees, swaying. Liquid, dense and soupy, swims in my eyes. The fire is out, but everything is still red and yellow.
“Is it over?” I croak.
“You did it.” Griffin drops down next to me. “I knew you could.”
I snort. Sort of. “You tried to drag me away.”
“It seemed like the best choice at the time.” He takes my face in his hands and then sweeps his thumbs under my eyes. His fingers come away with my blood on them, but it’s not just red. It’s red veined with shimmering rivulets of gold.
“What is this?” Griffin asks.
I stare, too exhausted to feel much emotion. “Ichor.” It’s never been visible before. Sometimes, I wondered if it was really there.
“Blood like the Gods,” Griffin says quietly, awe in his smoke-roughened voice.
“Diluted.”Unfortunately.
My body feels like honey straight from the beehive—thick and slow. The more I try to move, the heavier it gets. I close my eyes, and a great void rushes up to meet me.
Griffin catches me against his front as I tip over, utterly beyond caring that my cheek is pressed against hard leather, or that I’m smearing it with the blood of Olympus.
“Tired…” Dimness wraps me up like dusk enfolding the day. The small amount of Dragon’s Breath I reclaimed doesn’t sit well inside me. I don’t want it anymore when I think about what almost happened. Griffin and I would have suffocated. Carver, Flynn, and Kato would have burned. My brave Panotii would have died.
A violent series of coughs makes it impossible to drift off to sleep like I want to—and to breathe. “This was my fault,” I finally wheeze.
Griffin lifts my hand to his lips. “No. You saved us.”
An ache spreads through my chest that has nothing to do with smoke and ash. “I don’t know what happened.” Griffin blurs before me. I blink, but my eyes slide out of focus again.
“Get up. Now.” Carver’s terse command is like a thunderbolt to my veins, flooding them with adrenaline. I turn.Oh, no.
“Hades, Hera, and Hestia,” Flynn murmurs, drawing his ax again as well as his sword.
Kato mutters a more violent oath as he and Flynn take up positions next to Carver, forming a wall in front of Griffin and me.
“Up!” Griffin says sharply, hauling me to my feet.
Low vibrations skim my ears, deep with menace. I grab Griffin’s arm for balance because my legs aren’t ready for this. No part of me is ready for this.
Mother’s beasts are alive. Growling. Moving. A few canine shakes send their fire-blackened pelts flying. Tattoos cover the mottled skin underneath, running up and down their drum-shaped bodies in vertical lines. The ink extends down their legs to paint their enormous, razor-clawed paws.
The sight of the primitive, powerful symbols jolts into me with the force of a physical blow. I reel back, and only Griffin’s hand on my upper arm keeps me from falling over. I’m no expert in the archaic language of wards. I don’t know all the symbols, or even how to put most of them together, but I recognize the ones for lock and fire well enough. Thanos taught me how to bar my door against my brother, although I never did it right. Wards always mutated things when I tried to use them, made my magic—“Son of a Cyclops!”
Griffin looks at me.
