Page 247 of Burn of the Everflame

Teller’s fingers tightened on his knife. “Just one.”

Somehow, I managed to push past Ophiucae’s magic to my feet, though every step felt like wading through tar.

Ophiucae stopped and raised a hand, his glowing skin darkening to a stormy grey. His fingers curled into a fist, and Teller’s body seized. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you get your arrows back.” He ripped an arrow from his shoulder, then spun its point toward Teller. “Each and every one.”

I reached the wall of Ophiucae’s shield, hurling all my weight against it. The gleaming barrier wavered, but held. I beat my fists against it as I clawed for any shred of my godhood that might have slipped the flameroot’s cracks. Though the voice was silent, a flicker of something answered back.

A whisper.

A spark.

Suddenly, Luther appeared beside me. He rammed against the shield, and a crack appeared across its surface. Taran launched from the ground and did the same.

Ophiucae’s head snapped toward us. “How?” he snarled.

“Over here,” Henri shouted. He was moving slow and bleeding from several places, but he’d managed to crawl back to Teller’s fallen bow.

Luther laid another powerful blow against the shield. The fissure splintered farther. “One more,” he shouted at Taran. “Together!”

Ophiucae pinned Henri in place with his magic, then raised his other palm toward Luther, shadows swirling at his palm. “When you bury them, daughter, remember how they forced my hand.”

The darkness in his voice was the only answer I needed to know that any influence I might have had to change his mind was gone. All that was left for him now was another battle, another enemy, another war.

Luther and Taran hammered his shield with their bodies, and the glittering barrier gave way. The spark in my chest grew brighter and hotter. Heat warmed my blood despite the swirling vortex of icy shadows pushing me backward.

My foot came down on Sorrow’s Edge, forgotten in the melee. The distraction shook my hold on whatever had been building inside me, and it cost me precious seconds.

By the time Ophiucae’s magic unleashed, it was already too late.

The city submerged in vicious darkness. No campfires, no lanterns, no streetlights. No evening stars, no glowing Kindred. No light at all—except for a faint shimmer of gold, calling to me in the dark unknown.

Sharp prickles stung my skin, but the pain I felt wasn’t mine. I shouted Luther’s name, and a quiet grunt answered. I stumbled toward it, fumbling blindly. My fingers brushed skin—ice cold and slick with something that felt unnervingly like blood—and his hand closed around my wrist. He pulled me against him, and I laid against his chest, listening for his heart, hearing only the panicked double-drumbeat of mine.

“This can’t be,” a voice roared nearby. “How?”

The shadows abruptly thinned. The moon shimmered back into sight, along with two blue-grey eyes. Though Ophiucae’s magic had left me unharmed, thousands of tiny wounds covered Luther’s body and painted his skin in a scarlet sheen.

A string of the foulest obscenities I’d ever heard rang out beside us. Taran walked up, drenched in blood and scowling. “What in Sophos’s Blessed Dick was that?”

I scoured the receding darkness in a panic. “Teller, where are you?” I gripped Luther’s arm at the answering silence, fearing the worst. “Teller? Teller!”

“Told you I had one more surprise.”

The last of the shadows wisped away, revealing Ophiucae sprawled on his back—and my brother kneeling over him, his blade buried in Ophiucae’s eye.

Taran whistled. “Damn, little brother. Nice.”

Ophiucae’s hand twitched, and Teller pulled the knife free and stabbed his chest. He did it again, then again—in his throat, his ribs, his skull. He didn’t stop until Ophiucae’s arm fell limp, and his one remaining eye stared unblinking at the clouds.

I ran to Teller’s side. “He’s immortal, Tel. Those wounds won’t kill him.”

“I know.” He stared at Ophiucae’s hand with a thoughtful frown. He lifted up the arm and began sawing at the wrist.

Taran shuddered. “My new family might be scarier than my old one.”

I grabbed Teller, trying to drag him away. “What are you doing?”

“Research.” He shoved me off, then pulled a small jar from his pocket and ripped out the cork. He dug a finger inside, pulling out a clump of a vibrant red paste.