Page 17 of Their Fated Magic

“Watch out!” I shout as the beast bears down on Garrick.

The bear shifter rolls and is on his feet before the monster can attack again. They circle each other. Both are panting, brimming with anger and violence.

Suddenly, the monster leaps forward, clamping down on Garrick’s arm. The bear throws back its head and roars, but slashes his claws angrily over the monster, until he manages to dig his claws into the monster’s neck, and the bastard unclamps its mouth. When it pulls away with blood dripping down its chin, I cover my mouth to stifle the scream that wants to escape.

What the hell should I do? How can I help?

Before I can decide, shapes leap from the shadows. Three wolves all jump on the monster’s back, digging their teeth into its pale flesh. The monster goes crazy, staggering around. He bashes his back against the tree, smashing the wolves against the tree in an attempt to knock them off, while Garrick struggles after him.

The miserable creature reaches for its back and grabs the brown wolf – Drogo – and yanks him off like he weighs nothing at all. Drogo hits the ground in front of the monster with a whimper, and despite its size, the monster knocks Garrick out of the way and closes in on Drogo. It lurches forward, muscles rippling and jaw open.

Pinning Drogo to the ground with his claws, its jaw closes around Drogo’s neck. The wolves leap off his back and back on it, trying to distract it, biting every inch of flesh that they can get. One clawed hand yanks Rinan roughly off and flings him, but it doesn’t distract the monster from the wolf on the ground. Garrick tries too, but it’s not enough. The beast’s strength and size are untouchable.

He’s trying to kill Drogo. I have to do something.

Desperate, terrified, I tug on my magic, lift my hand and point at the monster, and say, “Melt.”

I don’t know what I expected, but the blood-curdling scream was not it. The sound echoes through the forest as the monster’s flesh starts to bubble and blister, the white skin fading as he staggers away from Drogo. The wolves drop off of him and Garrick scrambles backward, everyone watching in shock as dark fluid oozes from its wounds, mingling with the black blood that’s now everywhere. The creature seems to collapse in on itself, bones snapping and crackling under the intense heat my magic created.

My heart races. I feel sick.

The stench of burning flesh fills the air, and my stomach clenches. I retch violently into a bush, embarrassed by my weak stomach. It’s just… horrifying, and not like anything I’ve ever seen before. I’ve only heard of this type of Battle Magic, but seeing it right in front of me is another matter completely.

And I did it. Me. Some of the most difficult magic for any witch to harness. I used my magic to… kill.

I put my horror to the side. Drogo isn’t moving. He hasn’t moved since he was attacked, and it doesn’t look like he’s all right.

What if he’s…?

Fear grips me so tightly that it’s hard to breathe, and I run to his side, praying that he’s okay.

NINE

Tara

Drogo still hasn’t woken up. Not the whole trip back to camp. Everyone’s battered and broken in one way or another. Somehow, Garrick managed to carry Drogo back here, even with his own terrible injuries. And he’s not alone in that. All my men are in rough shape. Looking around the camp at everyone makes me want to run away.

I can’t believe this happened.

Guilt chews at my belly. This is wrong. All of this.

I force myself to look at Drogo’s bloodied body in front of me. This is my fault. If my magic wasn’t so shitty, I’d have acted faster. I would have realized I could defeat that monster as soon as it appeared. Instead, all my husbands are laying around this fire with cuts and bites and gashes. All of them are hurting because of me. I will never forgive myself.

My thoughts freeze for a moment, replaying how I’d used Battle Magic. Me. The least likely witch in the world used some of the most powerful magic witches can harness. I’m angry at myself for not using it sooner, but I’m also shocked it worked in the first place.

How did it work?

Guilt, regret, and fear war within me, but I try to push the feelings aside. Feelings are useless right now. I need to act. Somehow, my powers have to work again the way they’re supposed to. I was never a healer, never good at much of anything, but I was able to heal Rinan before. I need to be able to do it again now.

I take Drogo’s cold hand in both of mine. It’s limp and covered in blood. I fight back the urge to cry, and I whisper, “Heal,” pushing power into the word.

Magic unleases within me, responding to my call in a way that's still unbelievable. I feel the warmth rush from my hands and flow into Drogo. But even so, I watch him, praying my magic will do what it’s supposed to.

Before my eyes, the cuts and gashes on his body close. The scratches disappear and his skin warms. The sickly pale color of his skin changes and a healthy glow returns.

I know healing isn't this easy, that he won't be one hundred percent, but at least he's not dying. At least it worked. I think. Hopefully. Maybe.

“Drogo?” I whisper, stroking his hand.

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