Page 17 of Shrine of Fire

I let out another breath, rubbing my thumb along the mostly faded scar of Barrett’s bondmark.

Suddenly I felt a sharp jerk on my arm and opened my eyes. It felt as though my arm was being tugged but there was no one there. Then the pressure increased, and I drew in a sharp breath. I pushed past the pain and focused on the room slowly heating up. Warmth felt good, felt like coming home, like being loved.

Zara gasped, her eyes flying open. “Sorry, sorry, I’m still working on it.”

“I can handle it.” I gritted my teeth, feeling like someone was pulling my arm out of its socket.

“Almost there.” Zara moved her hands in front of her, like she was braiding an invisible rope, twisting them as looking in the air above me.

I’d tried to teach her how to crochet. Seems I should have been more diligent in my lessons.

The ghostly image of Kivai came into view behind her. He was human, blond when in his bodily form, but his hair looked silvery and washed-out in the spirit world. His mouth moved, but no sound came out.

Heat scorched my veins, and I shivered.

It’s okay, I told myself frantically. It’s just fire. With that thought, the flames around us doubled in size.

“The bonds aren’t coming together,” Aki said with a frown at the altar. “Can you try something else?”

“It’s the same method you used to bind yourself.” Valens looked between us. “It should work.”

“I’m okay,” I panted. “Keep going.”

“If you’re sure.” Zara lifted her hands up and the tug on my spirit switched from a hard yank to inexorable pressure, like being crushed by a mountain.

“You can’t force fire and water together just because you try really hard,” Aki snapped.

“There’s something else in the spirit magic here, like a bubble.” Zara frowned at the wall.

Hashir put his hand on Aki’s shoulder. “Take another breath, Nova. Relax. Try to flow like fire, like liquid.”

I bit back a retort about how easy it was to stand and watch, while I breathed in and out. Instead of slow and steady, I changed the rhythm of my breath into fire breathing.

Fire magic wasn’t common, and I’d had to learn most of my techniques through books and conjecture, rather than in discussions with another practitioner. One of those was fire-breathing, or dragon-breath. Quick, controlled pants in and out, designed to warm up my magic without pushing too slow or too fast.

Magic melted around me with the flames licking around my skin, and as I panted in and out, cupping my hands together like I was warming my fingers, the magic twisted around me.

“There you go,” Zara exhaled. Her hands danced, and spirit magic twisted around me. The ring of fire threw shadows on the wall, the people in the murals were moving, planting crops, dancing around the flames, making love.

Then with a gush of cold, grief tore at me.

The flames guttered out.

A loud wail rent the air. Grief and anguish washed over me, and I pitched forward into blackness.

Thick chilly mist curled through dense woods. Someone was wailing, the sound unending, drawing from the deepest reaches of grief, a manifestation of pure loss and heartache. Tears rolled down my face, and I connected with the misery I heard.

The rage and pain of losing my pack burst free. I’d tried so hard to move on, to get over my loss, like everyone had told me.

But there was no moving on from losing the loves of your life.

My pack had died defending me but, without them, I’d wanted to die. It was sacrilege that I lived on, that I endured when they had not.

That I saw sunrises in a world that no longer held Darrin’s warm smile and endless cheer.

That I’d taken a breath without the pulse of Geshon’s matebond in my heart.

That I’d taken a step on the ground that no longer knew Barrett’s feet.

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