Page 75 of Of Bone and Ash

“Are you going to stop me?” I ask, amused and slightly hopeful. My magic is itching for a fight with violence so close. It’s begging for release. I would love nothing more than to know if I have the ability to put this cocky professor on his ass.

“I will if you force my hand. You are a student here, Serafina. You must abide by all the rules?—”

“Rules are made to be broken.” I cut him off, making the small vein on his forehead throb at my interruption. Something I take great delight in. “And I’m as much a student here as you are a professor. We both have our roles. Stick to yours, Ambrose,” I sneer, pushing through the blue shield when I realize he’s simply wasting my time. But before I can fully enter the chaos, Atlas is attempting to keep separated from the school, a hot lash of pain races up my arm as a golden rope curls itself around my wrist.

I gasp in shock, and the purest form of Angelic magic radiates from the rope and into me as I’m tugged harshly off my feet and away from the blue shield, landing hard on my ass on the frozen grass. It takes a second for me to process what the hell just happened before I slowly glare up at the Angel who still holds the rope wound too tightly around my wrist.

“I said no,” he murmurs, his voice so soft it would almost be an apology if it weren’t for the unrepentant look on his face. “Go back to your apartment, Serafina.”

There is a burst of magic around us, and I’m pretty sure he just attempted to cast a spell on me. I wait for a moment, feeling not my Reaper magic but my Demonic magic rear up, sheltering me enough to block whatever spell the Angel just shot at me before sinking back down. I stroke it in awe, loving how tame it's been since running into Darius. Am I concerned that it suddenly changed on me… yes. One hundred percent. But you can't imagine the relief I finally feel from not fighting it on a daily basis.

“Pretty sure I warned you two times not to touch me,” I whisper as I press to my feet, my magic rolling off me in happy waves, flooding the ground and chilling the air, making the frost thicken and turn to solid ice beneath my bare toes. I can feel my Demonic magic perking up, awaiting my call as the void of death magic curls around me, my cloak shimmering to life over my shoulders, my cheekbones sharpening to the monstrous mask of my true form. My fingers itch for my sword or scythe, but I hold it at bay as I stand, glaring at the Angel before me and then down to the shining gold rope burning my wrist.

A puzzled look crosses Amell's face as he tilts his head, regarding me with new interest.

“Where the hell are you getting this power boost?” he asks, his magic prodding me, looking, always fucking looking for what's deeper.

Don't, my mind whispers while my magic grows. Then let's show him, a darker voice murmurs from the depth of my being, the cold, oily blue magic spiraling inside me like a whirlwind. A smile I don’t control graces my face as I stare down this Angel, and then I move, flipping my wrist that is currently bound by his ropes and snagging the rope in my hand.

“How about I show you?” I rasp, my voice deep—too deep for my liking, but hell, my magic is having so much fun, and who am I to tell it no when it’s being so helpful? Oily-blue magic crawls from my fingertips, the thick, dark magic inching over the hot brand of the rope, cooling it in an instant. Amell’s eyes widen in horror, his face paling of all color as I push more Demonic magic at him.

“No,” he whispers, fear, disgust, and sorrow running over his face in a play of emotion as his bright rope slowly dims. The further my magic crawls, the harder it is to control it. I feel Amell's magic pressing more firmly to mine, attacking the Demonic magic on instinct and making the man grunt and stumble back a few steps.

“Serafina! Let go! It will kill one of us otherwise,” he warns as my magic stops meeting his half way just as the glow of our magic intensifies. “Serafina!” Amell shouts, and sweat dots my brow. My arm trembles, and my knees feel weak as the Demonic magic suddenly starts pulling on my Reaper’s reserves.

I gasp, my lungs suddenly feeling heavy as my magic flares even brighter! Oh shit. Okay, note to self, don’t play with your newly calmed Demonic magic with an Angel without testing it out a little first.

“Serafina! I can’t release my magic until you have yours under control,” he snaps as his magic brightens, his glamour fading as gold armor wraps up and around his biceps. Bright white feathered wings materialize from his shoulder blades, gleaming like pearls in the blue glow of Atlas’ shield. His golden hair lengthens a little as swirling liquid gold tattoos curl over his skin, wrapping over his wrists and up his neck as he strains to control his magic.

Shit. I’m not sure who’s about to win this fight. But it looks like we might both be losers here in a moment, considering how pale Amell is. Taking hold of the oily blue magic, I coax it back, beckoning it to me, and watch in great delight as it stills then moves just the slightest bit back in my direction. I sigh in relief, knowing that I still have control of it as I instruct it to release my Reaper's magic.

After a moment, it does as I ask just as Amell curses and drops the rope, my magic retreating enough for him to pull his back. The golden magic shatters into a million shards that erupt into the air, allowing my Demonic magic to spiral in the air, darkening his glow in seconds before I reach a hand out, palm up, and call it to me. It comes, listening to me like we’ve done this for years. I smile, watching the magic seeping into my skin where it fades and sinks down, lying dormant for whenever I need it next.

Looking back up, I watch from the depths of my hood as Amell stands straight. “If you’re so desperate to play with Demonic magic, I know some that actually want to hurt people. But if you’re going to sit here and be useless, then go, Amell. No one wants or needs you here. I’m pretty sure the feathered pricks you work for don't want you watching over us lowly peasants while we die. Go to your ivory tower and wait like a good little Angel,” I snap at him, pivoting on my heels and rushing through Atlas’ shield, stepping straight into a battle from Hell.

THIRTY-SIX

Serafina

The stench of sulfur is the first thing I’m met with as I step through Atlas’ shields. Then blood and, finally, ash. So much fire and ash. The outer rim of the forest is on fire, the blaze reaching dangerous heights as hordes of lower-class Demons mindlessly attack Dragons and Shifters of all kinds. I blink at them in surprise, my sword materializing in one hand, a knife in the other as I watch the bloodbath in front of me.

For some reason, I was expecting only Dragons to be fighting, but there are at least two or more dozen Shifters of all species fighting on the ground along with dozens of Dragons. They are attacking in formation, the ones on the ground circling the Shifters, making sure they’re not overrun by Demons, while the ones flying overhead dive down, half spraying the Demons with fire, while others simply plow into them, snatching up the Demons like pests in their talons.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many Dragons in one place. They are rare to begin with, especially in the States, but more common here since this is their birthplace and the home of their Royalty.

Hundreds of lower-class Demons surge toward the school, their blood-red eyes and black, almost-bear-like bodies easy to pick out between the Shifters and Dragons. They attack like mindless blood-crazed animals. No order, only death and violence.

When I see a Demon a few yards from me tuck its malformed head down and charge in my direction, I lift my hand and flick my blade, watching in sick satisfaction as it spirals through the air, lodging itself deep into the Demon’s right red eye. The Beast drops, dying instantly, its body sliding on the ground a few feet until it comes to rest in front of me. Walking around it, I pat its dead, filthy head as I collect its soul, letting it feed my magic as I walk further onto the field, my mind on one thing and one thing alone.

He won’t be where the silly lower-class Demons are. Knowing Ryland, he’s going to be in the thick of it, fighting either a Hound or some High-class Demon.

A flash of red catches my attention, and I watch as a familiar red-cloaked man struggles with a girl, throwing her to the ground near the line of trees before wrapping his hands around her hair and dragging her screaming into the forest.

A shout of anger is followed as Ryland runs after him, wearing only a pair of black combat pants and work boots, his hair a mess, tattooed torso covered in black and red blood. He shouts something over his shoulder at his men just as he runs into the forest, gold blades in hand.

“Fuck!”

I dash after them, fear etching itself into my soul as I twist and run, darting between Demons, killing two more before I finally reach the forest edge. I hesitate, looking behind me, wondering if I should tell Atlas where I’m going. He knew I was looking for a murder scene before, and I still managed to get in some trouble before Ryland showed up. But when I hear the desperate cries for help from the girl echo from the dark forest's edge, I curse and run in, knowing I’ll have Ryland in there as backup.

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