He screeches. Clamping down on my arm hard enough that his fangs sink into me. Into my muscle, my bones. I scream as I arch up off the floor, but fighting against my nerves, I jolt my arm deeper.
The beast flinches, gurgling on its own blood. Eyes shifting from a sliver of a pupil to full-blown black. With my other hand, I snatch one of his horns, drawing him closer. I throw my body weight over and into him.Knocking him off me and switching places on top. To take a gasping breath, his jaws unlock from my arm as I slam his head back down against the floor. I pull my broken, bloodied arm free. Switch the blade to my left hand as nothing but agony rings within my limp right arm. Black blood pours out of his mouth in heavy spurts as his breaths are wheezy. Hatred burns within those serpentine eyes.
My own breath is tight in my chest. I meet his glare with my own. I raise the dagger. And slam it down into the beast’s chest.
All the breath within its lungs whooshes out. Body jerking to a small tremble as I clap my bloodied, broken hand over the hilt and drive it deeper. Its eyes flare for a moment, then blink slowly. Its body slumps back against the floor. Every ounce of magic seeps away from it. First the horns recede. Then the scales. The bone structure of its face shifts and shrinks. Elongated, clawed fingers retract into hands.
I hold the dagger there. Until minutes pass and the beast fades into him.
Into Cyrus.
His breath is still weak underneath me. Blood still pooling around us at an alarming rate.
But I can’t take my hands off the dagger. I’m locked there.
He would want this. Would want me to end him.
But I don’t care.
My heart screams inside of my chest. Screams to let go, to take that dagger out. But no matter how hard I try, my hands won’t go. My arms shake as I try. Try with everything I have in me to lift, but it’s like I’m competing against someone else entirely. Stuck there.
My muscles, my bones, my very blood locks me in. Fighting against my will. My body betraying me.
No…no, not my body.
Magic.
Fifty-Eight
- MARCELLA -
One year ago
Panting fills my ears. Though I can’t distinguish which is from me or my brother. We run side by side, leaping over tree roots and rocks. Dipping under low branches and skirting around bushes. They’re hot on our trail. We’re no match for the amount of men after us.
“You’ll have to split and hide,” I manage through my breaths. “Go left, and I’ll lead them right, away from you.”
“No!” he barks.
“Connor, once they capture you, they will flog and kill you, whether they believe me or not!”
“I don’t care! We stick together!”
I growl against his stubborn antics. Nabbing the shirt at his shoulder, I rip him to the right with me. We get to the outskirts of Southlight, and I afford myself a grin. Perhaps we can lose them here. We’re so close to the border. All we need is to slip into Arterias, and we’re free.
Warning people to move, we burst into the crowded streets of Southlight. Left, right, left, right again. Turning down every opportunity we can to snake through the town. Once I’ve spotted an empty merchant cart, I rip him underneath it with me, pulling the skirt over the wheels to hide us.
I turn to him. “Quiet your breath. In through your nose, out through your mouth.”
We work on it together, eyes exchanging worries as we slow our breaths. The normal bustle of town buzzes around us. Of boots on cobblestones. Chatter in the alleyways. Wheels hitting each bump, and coins being exchanged. There’s only a slight gap between the bottom of the cart skirt and the street, enough that shadows pass back and forth in busy flashes.
“Alright, Robert. Thank you for the bulk order, I’ll come next month for a restock if you need!” a cheery man calls out.
A creaking of wood sounds before a set of the wheels lifts off the ground an inch.
Eyes flashing wide, I look to Connor. Slamming a finger up to my lips, I crouch with the new angled ceiling above us. I use my two fingers to illustrate a person walking. He nods, then crouches beside me. Whoever the man that owns this cart is, he pushes it down the street. The two of us are awkwardly bent over and keeping pace to stay hidden. My back eventually bursts into a burning at the unnatural angle. Until we’re both struggling to keep pace.
Connor slips first. The back of the cart slamming into him before I can pull him up. The merchant stops and lifts the cart skirt, letting light spill into the space. He gasps when he notices us, and I grab Connor. We slip out from beneath the cart. Squinting, I pull him into the crowd.
