Page 51 of Goody Magic Academy: Year Three

Time seemed to slow as my talons extended. I saw Jaxon’s eyes widen, heard the sharp intake of his breath. Then, with a sickening sound of tearing flesh, my claws raked fiercely across his arm.

Blood spurted into the air, a crimson mist that hung suspended for a moment before descending to splatter across the stone floor. The metallic scent filled my nostrils, making my dragon instincts roar to life even as my human sensibilities recoiled in horror.

A shriek of frustration and anguish tore from my throat, the sound more terrifying than any dragon roar. It echoed through the church, an expression of rage and despair that shook the dust from the rafters.

As I stood there with Jaxon’s blood dripping from my claws, I realized with sudden dread that this was only the beginning.

I had to burn him next.

Chapter

Twenty-Eight

The second part of the high priestess’ command hung in the air, and I fought it with every ounce of willpower, clenching my teeth so hard I thought they might shatter. But it was like trying to hold back the wind. My jaws were wrenched open against my will, a guttural roar of despair escaping as the fire within me surged forth.

The world became a blur of orange and red as flames erupted from my maw, scorching the air with their intense heat. Time itself seemed to slow as I helplessly watched the inferno engulf Jaxon.

The stench hit me first, making my stomach heave—acrid and sickening, the unmistakable odor of burning flesh and hair. Then came the screams. Jaxon’s agonized cries pierced the air, each one a dagger to my heart. I saw him recoil from the flames, his body twisting in a desperate attempt to escape them.

“Enough,” the high priestess ordered, her voice cutting through Jaxon’s howls.

My jaws instantly snapped shut with such force that pain lanced through my skull. The abrupt silence was almost as horrifying as the screams had been.

Jaxon lay before me, his body a horrific patchwork of blood and burns. Somehow, impossibly, he was still alive. His chest rose and fell with ragged, pained breaths. The sight of him, broken and suffering because of my actions, shattered something inside me.

Hot tears slid down the scales on my cheeks, sizzling as they hit the floor. Rage boiled within me, my entire being screaming to turn my fire on the high priestess. But I was paralyzed, trapped in my own body, unable to move except with her command.

“You must escape her control, Peyton,” a haggard male voice called from behind me. “It’s the only way.”

I swung my massive head around, focusing on my father at the back of the church. His gag had come loose, his face a mask of determination despite his obvious pain and weakened state.

Ari’s snarl cut through the air. “Shut up,” he growled, lashing out with his razor-sharp nails. My father’s cry of agony as Ari’s claws raked across his flesh sent a fresh wave of fury through me.

Doubt gnawed at me. Would shifting break her control? As if reading my thoughts, the high priestess’ voice boomed through the church. “I command you not to shift,” she bellowed, her words slamming into me like half a dozen physical blows.

“Draw on your witch powers, Peyton.” Jaxon’s voice, weak and pained, reached my ears. “They can help you.”

The high priestess’ response was immediate, but I thought I caught a hint of fear in her voice. “No. You are my slave. No power in the world can change that.”

Uncertainty warred with determination inside me. I didn’t know if I could do it, but I had to try. I refused to hurt the people I loved any longer. Closing my eyes, I reached deep within myself, searching for that well of power I knew was there.

At first, nothing happened. Then, slowly, I felt it—a familiar, tingling sensation that started in my core and then spreadoutward. My talons dug into the stone floor, and suddenly I had become connected to the earth beneath the church, drawing strength from its ancient power.

Water began to seep under the double doors and flow beneath me, cool against my heated scales. Sunlight burst through the windows, shattering the gloom and bathing me in warmth, like liquid fire flowing through my veins. A whirlwind sprang up around me, whipping at my scales and stirring the air into a frenzy.

The four elements surged through me, wild and powerful. For a moment, I thought I might be torn apart by the sheer force of it. But then suddenly everything clicked into perfect balance, and the high priestess’ control over me shattered like glass.

My body began to change again, but this time there was no pain, no resistance. My dragon form melted away smoothly, scales receding, bones shifting, until I lay on the cold stone floor, human once more.

I panted heavily, my naked skin hypersensitive to the cool air and rough stone beneath me. I was utterly exposed and completely vulnerable, but for the first time since entering this nightmarish place, I felt something else: hope.

The high priestess’ face contorted with rage, her eyes flashing dangerously. “Damn you,” she spat venomously. She spun toward Balthazar, her robes swirling around her like a storm cloud. “Balthazar—kill her.”

Balthazar’s lips curled into a cruel grin, his red eyes gleaming with bloodlust. He advanced on me, a wicked blade suddenly materializing in his hand, its metal gleaming in the dim light of the church. “Sorry, Peyton,” he purred, his voice a mockery of tenderness. “You picked the wrong side.”

Terror gripped me, icy fingers of fear clutching at my heart. I scrambled away from him, my bare skin scraping against the rough stone floor. My breath came in ragged gasps and eachmovement sent jolts of pain through my battered body, but the survival instinct drove me on even as panic threatened to overwhelm me.

Balthazar loomed over me, the blade raised high above his head. Time slowed to a crawl as I watched it begin its deadly arc toward me. I could see my own terrified reflection in Balthazar’s eyes, death staring me in the face.

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