My breath catches painfully.
“They’re running from me.”
The truth crashes down with brutal clarity. Everything I fought to prevent is happening anyway. The entire village is burning because I was afraid.
And now the only person trying to stop it is the one person my fear is hurting the most.
This is no longer something I can control.
It is only beginning.
20
THREXIAN
Wrath demands blood. The instinct is older than language, older than kingdoms, older even than the fragile villages mortals build from timber and hope. It rises through my veins with merciless clarity as Briarthorn burns around us, the infernal fire answering Elowen’s terror with an enthusiasm that borders on catastrophic. My first impulse is simple and brutally efficient.
Destroy the threat. Eliminate those who harmed her. End the fear that feeds the flames.
The problem is that the fear has already spread too far.
The square has dissolved into chaos as villagers flee through smoke-choked streets, their earlier rage replaced by blind panic. Some run toward the marsh paths of the village while others attempt to form desperate lines with water buckets that shatter the moment another roof collapses nearby.
And I feel the center of it all. Elowen’s fear. Her grief. Her crushing guilt. It pours into the infernal current like oil thrown onto an open flame.
I tighten my wings around her trembling body, shielding her from the worst of the falling sparks as another building collapsesacross the street with a thunderous crash. The ground trembles beneath our feet while embers whirl through the air like burning snow.
“Please, Elowen, please breathe” I say quietly.
Her hands clutch at my shirt with desperate strength.
“I didn’t mean this,” she repeats.
Before I can answer, a group of men surge toward us through the smoke.
Fear has twisted their panic into something reckless and dangerous. Three of them carry tools from the smithy, crude iron bars and axes raised like weapons as they stumble across the burning square toward the infernal shape they believe responsible for the destruction swallowing their homes.
Toward her.
“She’s the witch!” one of them shouts hoarsely. “Kill the demon and the fire will stop!”
Wrath answers instantly.
Demon flame erupts along my claws as I step forward, placing myself fully between them and the woman shaking in my arms. The air recoils from the heat pouring off my body as the men hesitate for a single fatal heartbeat.
I give them one chance to turn back. They do not take it. And my control is non-existent right now. I fighted it for too long…
The first man swings the iron bar. Hellfire answers before the weapon completes its arc.
The blast of heat slams into him with merciless precision, consuming flesh and bone in an instant as white-gold flame devours the threat where he stands. The other two barely manage to cry out before the surge spreads to them as well, reducing their attack to ash in the span of a single breath.
I do not pursue the others. I burn only those foolish enough to attack again. But the destruction does not stop there. Because the fire surrounding us no longer belongs entirely to me.
The current surging through Briarthorn answers a far more volatile source now. Every scream that rises through the smoke feeds the flames further. Every terrified thought racing through Elowen’s mind pushes the inferno outward with renewed strength.
Another street erupts in fire. I grit my teeth and force my power outward, attempting to choke the flames spreading through the village. Demonfire answers my command. For a moment. Then it surges again. Because it is not answering me anymore. It is answering her.
“Elowen,” I say again, tightening my hold on her.
