Page 58 of Ivy & Bone

But the ivy was only slowing them down, not stopping them. Gritting her teeth, Prue sent an onslaught of magic, her third eye winking open. She suppressed the shudder that usually accompanied that sensation, the sickness and disgust at the thought of using Mona’s power for herself.

Not now, she told herself. If there’s a time to use it, it’s here and now. This is for Mona, not me.

But the revulsion had been so ingrained in her since Mona’s death that it was hard to shake.

Plus, she didn’t know what these men wanted with her and Cyrus. Did they want to kill or capture? And why were they after them?

If only she knew the answers to these questions, then she could make a decision. But her spinning thoughts wouldn’t solidify, and the only thing blaring into her mind was pure panic.

Focus! she roared at herself. She shot a glance at Cyrus, who battled several soldiers at once. Judging by the way the men swung their swords without restraint, she knew they aimed to kill.

She would have to do the same.

Sweat pooled on her neck and back as she urged the more deadly plants to rise up from the ground. Hemlock, nightshade, oleander . . . She felt the roots climbing and spreading, the leaves blooming along the vines. The soldiers, assuming they were just more Algerian ivy, kept ripping off the vines, not noticing the different shape and texture of the leaves.

And then, the poisonous plants reached skin, winding and twisting, forcing their way into the soldiers’ mouths. Several men started retching and gasping, arms flailing as they tried to fling the ivy away from them. But even as they snapped the vines and continued their assault, they couldn’t escape the deadly effects of the poison that had already entered their bodies.

The nearest soldier screamed as the toxicity claimed him. He fell to his knees and slumped over, unmoving.

His companion stiffened, paling at the sight of his dead friend. “It’s poisonous! It’s—“ His words were cut off with a choked gagging sound as the plant slithered between his lips and plunged down his throat. Foam spread from his mouth, and his body jerked and twitched before falling over, dead.

The other two soldiers stiffened, now tugging at the vines with more urgency. Prue offered a cruel smile, knowing she’d won. Her pesky vines had grounded them, holding them in place while the poison did its job.

Perhaps her ivy wasn’t so bad after all.

Something grabbed at her from behind. Yelping, Prue stiffened and tried to move, to raise her hands to strike down her assailant. But the soldier pinned her arms behind her with one hand and grabbed her throat with the other.

Shit. Prue hadn’t realized one of the soldiers had peeled away from the others. Already, his gloved fingers put pressure on her throat, making each breath strain.

“Come quietly,” the man said in a gruff voice, “or die, witch.”

A sudden burst of ice filled Prue’s chest, and she gasped from the intensity of it. But it wasn’t her magic.

It was Cyrus’s.

Then, Cyrus was there, appearing out of nowhere just behind the soldier. Though Prue couldn’t see him, she felt that dark, powerful presence taking up space behind her.

“Don’t. Touch. Her.” Cyrus’s voice was a snarl, so venomous and full of hatred that it reminded Prue of their first meeting in the crypt.

Only this time, his fury wasn’t directed at her.

The soldier’s hands loosened ever so slightly, and Prue took advantage of his lapse in concentration. On instinct, she ducked down, just as a horrible squelching sound echoed behind her. Thick, warm blood sprayed along the snow in front of her, and she winced as flecks showered down on her head.

Panting, Prue stood up slowly, once she was certain the man wouldn’t grab her again. When she shifted, facing where the man had once been, her stomach turned over.

The soldier’s body lay in the snow, his head completely severed. Prue’s eyes grew wide, and she couldn’t look away from it. Only belatedly did she realize Cyrus was speaking to her.

“Prudence. Are you hurt?”

Prue blinked, just now noticing the blood dribbling down her face. “I—No, I’m not hurt.” Her gaze roved over the snowy expanse before them, which was now soaked with blood. All around them, the dismembered remains of the soldiers lay scattered like forgotten sacks of raw meat.

“Are you—Did you—” Prue couldn’t speak between the panic still racing in her chest and the breaths that just would not come. “Did you kill him with your hands?” She felt lightheaded, and a distant part of her registered she was close to burning out. She had never used so much magic before.

Cyrus said nothing, but the darkness in his eyes and the blood coating his hands said enough.

Yes. This god was powerful enough to decapitate a man with his bare hands.

A howl echoed through the night, and Prue’s head shot up as she noticed the ghosts in the sky. Slowly, the spirits floated nearer, closing in on Prue and Cyrus.

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