Page 113 of A Hunter for Luna

It burned like a coal in my mind's grasp, searing away thought, doubt, even self. But I refused to let it consume me. This was my child's strength, but it was mine to direct. Slowly, agonizingly, I shaped the droplet into a shard of pure moonlight, sharp as thought and cold as death.

The working fought me, bucking wildly in my hold. It had been too long denied and desired to run rampant. But I held fast, pouring all my iron will into the effort. Then, with whispered words of power that flayed my throat, I hurled my spell-blade across the shimmering air, straight at the chains that bound my beloved Benedetto.

The shackles were woven of magics far beyond my ken, and I was all but exhausted in mind and body. I could so easily miss, or fail to cut deep enough, or gods forbid, slice into Benedetto himself with this wild, unfettered magic.

But I had no other choice. No recourse but this desperate gamble. So I poured all that I had, all that I was, into this single strike. My love, my defiance, my raging, unquenchable need to protect my own.

For a heartbeat that lasted an eternity, my spell-blade flew through the turbulent air. Then, with a discordant chime that set my teeth on edge, it struck the chains binding Benedetto. Sickly purple light flared, and the manacles flashed incandescent. Hairline cracks raced along the magic-forged metal and Benedetto vanished in a flare of blinding silver.

"Bene, now!" I screamed, my voice cracking with strain. "Strike hard!"

And strike he did. Between one blink and the next, Benedetto appeared behind Moonshifter. The mage began to turn, too late. Benedetto's sword hissed from its sheath in a whisper of steel, and he lunged forward, his eyes blazing with fury.

Moonshifter threw himself aside with preternatural speed, and the blade meant for his black heart scored deep along his ribs instead, spraying blood. Liquid crimson splattered the sand as the two men crashed together, grappling furiously.

"Foolish boy," Moonshifter hissed, his voice edged in pain and mockery. "You cannot win. And when you fall, I will shatter your mind as I shattered your brother's. The mad king and madder pauper. What a pair you'll make!"

Benedetto snarled, redoubling his efforts. His blade flashed in the eldritch light as he hammered at Moonshifter's defenses, raining down blows. The mage slipped and swayed like an eel, impossibly nimble, but even he couldn't evade that storm of steel forever.

In the heart of the ritual circle, the vortex pulsed erratically, reacting to the disruption. Streamers of black and silver fire ripped free, scorching sigils into the sand. The earth beneath my knees buckled like a wild horse, and the sky split open with thunder. The air tasted of blood, ashes, and the terrible sweetness of putrefaction.

Magic, raw and untamed, rioted within the circle. It battered at my senses, threatening to sweep me away in sheer chaos. At the same time, I felt the dark moon's power flare again in mycore - stronger, wilder, an ocean of ice and fire begging to be unleashed.

The baby... our magics resonated in a mounting crescendo. I could taste the copper of our shared blood on my tongue. We were one in that endless moment, bound by a link that transcended flesh.

With an effort that nearly broke me, I forced down my instinctive panic, my urge to lock down my mind and body against this howling invasion. Instead, I threw open every door and window of my soul, inviting in the child's rising tide of magic.

It crashed into me with the force of a glacier calving, and for a terrifying instant, I thought it would rip me apart, scouring away all that I was. But I held fast, pouring every ounce of my love and desperate will into the mental embrace. I would not shatter. I could not. Too much depended on me.

Slowly, agonizingly, I wrestled the surging tide of magic into submission. It fought me every step of the way, yearning to break free. But I persisted, weaving my own fledgling power around it like bands of spider-silk, delicate but strong.

Shaking and drenched in icy sweat, I unleashed our dark moon-magic and aimed it at the draining spell that still blazed above us.

"Let us end this nightmare. Together," I whispered to my unborn little one.

The combined magics, mine and my baby's, roared out of us. It was the most exquisite agony I had ever known, an ecstasy annihilating thought and self. I was a river of light, a sunbeam in flesh, a falling star given breath.

And that torrent smashed into the ritual’s manifestation with the force of a thousand storms. The portal shattered like glass, and the backlash exploded through the ritual circle in a wave of coruscating force.

Dimly, distantly, I heard Vala’s scream and Moonshifter’s curse. The earth bucked and heaved beneath me, spasms of agony coiling in me as all my limbs cramped. But all sensation was washed out and faded, happening to some other soul in some other world.

I could feel myself ebbing, my mind and spirit eroded to feed that blast of magic. The spell that connected me to my child guttered and vanished.

We had given our all and more. Both of us were done.

My grandmother stood above me, shaking her head and weeping. Another woman knelt by her, a woman of my own age, with hair bright as flame.

She embraced me tenderly. “Little one, baby girl, fight to stay.”

"Luna!" Benedetto's desperate cry cut through the haze, banishing the vision. "Love, no. Hold on! I love you!"

I clung to his voice like a lifeline, letting it draw me back. With the dregs of my strength, I let go of the other world, with my battered flesh, feeling every scrape and bruise as if for the first time. My eyes fluttered open.

The world went mad.

The desert, the ritual circle, the eldritch storm, all of it shattered into glimmering shards, leaving only the blood-soaked stone of the castle chamber. The magic backlash smashed into the farwall with a deafening boom, shaking dust and rubble from the ceiling.

Benedetto lay beside me, wounded, a scorch mark in his back. Moonshifter, fists burning, surveyed the two of us with an unholy rage in his eyes. He raised one hand, and in his palm bloomed a sphere of oily darkness.

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