Page 48 of Claws of Death

“Can you hear me?” Supporting her lolling head, I lay the female down and crouch beside her. Her torn shirt and pants are soaked in blood, but she hasn’t peed or shit herself, I can tell by her odor.

A groan is the only response I get, but it’s a sign I was right. Her chest heaves fast breaths, and her eyelids flutter, but she’s too far gone to wake up. Perhaps that’s a mercy in itself.

“Over here—” In an instant, Myron and Herinor are at my side, both their free hands landing on patches of intact skin, and their power flowing into the female’s system. It’s not enough to heal her completely, but some of the oozing burn marks turn into welted scars, and the gash along her abdomen seals enough to hold in the trickle of blood running down her side.

“There might be more alive.” I’m already on my feet again, dashing to the next fairy and the next, touching their faces to feel warmth or breath, searching for a pulse where the skin on their necks hasn’t been burned away. Only four more are hanging, but I force myself to be thorough with each one, that flicker of hope ready to spark and take flight.Each life saved is a victory for us. Each fairy taken from the claws of the Flames is a blow in their faces.

“We’re done on the ground floor,”Kaira interrupts my focus. “Where are you?”

“Don’t come,”I warn her. “We found the fairies. Find the others, and meet us in the forest.”

There’s nothing they can do down here, and between Herinor, Myron, and me, we can handle carrying out one survivor.

One.

Because that’s all there is.

The others are dead.

Sending Kaira a glimpse of the horror that is this dungeon, I let her know we’ll be out in a minute, too. We’ll sneak back up the stairs, leave through the roof, and find the others in our hideout in the forest.

“Get out of there immediately.”Kaira’s warning comes a split second before I notice them from the corner of my eye.

Figures in brown leather, slender silver blades in their hands and the promise of death on their faces. We were so busy cutting down the dead that we didn’t notice the Flames sneaking up on us on their damned silent feet.

“Shit!”

“You could say so.” Herinor is the first to drop the fairy survivor and step to my side, but Myron is faster. He’s blocking the path between me and whatever the Flames might throw our direction, sword glimmering in the low light of the torches. His hair is floating on a phantom wind which I know means his power is rallying beneath his skin.

A part of me understands that we’ve walked right into a trap, that the Flames knew we were coming and wanted us to make it all the way down here where they could smash our morals and attack in close quarters.

With a glance over my shoulder, I confirm there’s no other exit. It’s through the group of Flames blocking our path or not at all.

“Let us go, and we won’t fry you with our magic,” Myron barks, silver tendrils of power climbing up the blade of his sword.

Beside me, Herinor has become the calm before a storm while, inside my chest, the wild oceans of a hurricane are fighting to break free.

“We need to take the female to safety.”

At my whisper, Herinor raises an eyebrow as if to ask if I’ve lost my mind.

“We need to bring her back to Aceleau,” I insist.

Herinor rolls his eyes, but I know he will grab her when it’s time to run. If not, I’ll do it.

The first ball of fire hits like a clap of thunder, blasting off the shield Herinor and Myron have crafted around us, and I duck behind my dagger like it could protect me from the hot ash raining through the cracks in the male’s magic. One moment the tunnel is bright like a bonfire; the next, all light flickers out, even the everlasting torches on the walls retreating into themselves as if guided by invisible hands.

My eyes fight to adjust to the absence of light so hard I almost miss the flare of silver rightin front of me. All I can do is pull my dagger to my chest, pointy end outward, and meet whatever is coming my way with a blind stab.

A female hisses in a language I don’t understand, making relief dripping across my skin alongside cold beads of sweat. Not Myron. I didn’t accidentally stab Myron.

The Flames are upon us, and, judging by the clashing of metal, both Myron and Herinor are already engaged in battle.

“Shield!” Myron shouts, followed by a crack of power in the air. A silver sheen coats the nearby walls as Herinor throws up a stronger shield, and I could swear the ground is trembling.

Myron is a shadow cutting through flesh and bone as the Flames charge. Ten, maybe fifteen are coming for us; it’s hard to tell with how dark the dungeon has turned behind the reach of Herinor’s shield. All I know is they keep coming. One after the other, they crash against the male’s power while Myron has fallen into a killing calm. Blood sprays left and right, but it’s not just that of the Flames Myron and Herinor are cutting down. I’m contributing to the melee as well.

I’ve inched close enough to the edge of the shield to stab and slice at the coming Flames, drawing blood with each hit I land. My body is singing with strength, and in my veins, magic is swirling.

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