Time traveling boyfriends are great. Ten/ten recommend.
Before I can check for his telltale signs of time travel, his arm wraps around my waist.
“What are you?—”
Orange flames engulf us both, and then cold air’s biting at my exposed skin, moonlight’s washing over us, and the distant crash of waves against rocks echoes from below.
He brought us to the cliffs on the far side of the island.
I stumble away from him, my ears ringing from the chaos we left behind. “What the hell?”
“You’re safe.” He’s breathing hard, his face pale in the moonlight. “We need to?—”
I don’t hear the rest. I’m already pulling on my magic and picturing the cave where monsters are attacking my friends, flames rising around me until the cliffside glows orange.
Oliver died because I wasn’t fast enough. I refuse to live with anyone else’s death on my hands. I refuse to run when I could have fought.
The cave reforms around me, and the screaming hits like a wall. People are everywhere, some pressed against rock, others not moving on the ground. Fire blooms from a dozen palms at once, lighting the cave in violent orange bursts.
I fumble for my dagger, nearly drop it, then manage to get a grip on the leather handle with fingers that won’t stop shaking.
Kieran’s voice echoes in my head from Applied Flamecraft.
Feet planted. Blade up.
Don’t die.
One of the creatures charges from the left, and Logan must have fire traveled back immediately after me, because black-lined flames hit the hellhound mid-leap. But it keeps coming, barreling through the flames, its jaws snapping at my arm.
My dagger sinks into its eye socket.
The resistance is soft then hard then soft again. Hot black blood sprays across my hand, my arm, my face, and even into my mouth. The taste of copper and sulfur coats my tongue, the creature crumples to the ground, and I’m standing over it with my dagger buried in its head.
Dead.
I did that.
I killed it.
My stomach heaves. I yank the blade free and the blood keeps coming, coating my hands up to the wrists.
There’s fire everywhere. Screaming everywhere. Garrett’s blade is catching the light. Vera and Nina are back-to-back, hurling flames at anything with red eyes. A third-year whose name I can’t remember is going down under three of the creatures at once.
“What are these things?” I ask, my heart racing with panic. “Logan, what the hell are these things?”
“Hellhounds. Ancient and drawn to dark magic.” He blasts black-lined fire at one, driving it back. “They shouldn’t have been able to cross the island’s wards.”
Shouldn’t.
Shouldn’t is doing a lot of heavy lifting right now.
A scream cuts through the chaos, louder than the others and more commanding. It’s from the left, where Deidre Mitchell is standing on a raised platform, her dark hair wild, her hands raised like she’s about to save us all. Fire spirals around her in elaborate patterns.
“Everyone get behind me!” she screams across the cave. “I’ll create a barrier! I’ve studied advanced defensive formations!”
“Deidre, no!” Lauren calls out from about twenty feet away, just as Vera saves her by driving a dagger into a hellhound lunging for her throat. “You can’t hold that alone!”
Deidre’s barrier expands, bright and fierce. Several creatures skid to a halt, red eyes reflecting the flames.
