Page 18 of Bound By the Beast Man
26
DIANA
Iam nestled in Corvak’s arms, his confession a warm, glowing ember in my heart.I think I may be in love with you.The words, so rough and hesitant, were the most beautiful I have ever heard. The world outside our small, secluded hollow feels a universe away.
I am not a survivor, not a prisoner, not a half-breed witch. I am just a woman, held by the man she is beginning to love, and the world is perfect.
Then the air shifts. The change is subtle at first, a sudden, unnatural drop in temperature. A wrongness seeps into the peaceful atmosphere, a cold, cloying feeling. Corvak feels it too. He goes from a soft, sleeping warmth to a rigid, coiled readiness in a single heartbeat, his head lifting, his nostrils flaring as he tastes the air. The fire in front of us sputters and dims, its cheerful orange flames turning a sickly, weak blue.
The forest around us begins to warp and twist into a nightmare. The tall, snow-laden pines bend at impossible angles, their branches reaching down like skeletal claws. The shadows beneath them deepen and writhe, coiling into menacing, shifting shapes that are not cast by any fire ormoonlight. The soft, white snow that falls from the sky turns to a rain of black, stinging ash that hisses as it touches the ground. The very air becomes thick and oppressive, filled with faint, malicious whispers that slither into my ears. This is their magic. They have found us. And from the distorted darkness at the edge of the clearing, they emerge, their eyes glowing, their beautiful faces twisted into hungry, triumphant smiles.
Corvak is on his feet before I can even draw a breath to scream. He shoves me behind his powerful body, his form a solid wall of muscle and resolve between me and the nightmare. A roar rips from his throat, a sound of pure, leonine fury that challenges the unnatural quiet. I see his hands change, his fingers thickening, his nails extending into long, curved claws that are as black as obsidian. He is no longer just the gentle man who held me moments ago; he is a beast of legend, a creature of righteous rage.
“Stay behind me!” he snarls, and then he charges.
He throws himself into the fight, a whirlwind of tawny fur and gleaming claws. The Purna, so confident in their magic, are taken by surprise by the sheer ferocity of his physical assault. He moves with a speed and grace that should be impossible for a creature his size, tearing through their illusions. I watch in terrified awe as he engages them, a chaotic, deadly dance of claws and dark magic. Two of the witches fall in the first few seconds, their surprised screams cut short. But there are too many of them. The others regroup, their magic lashing out, bolts of black energy that sizzle through the air.
I know I cannot just hide. I am not that helpless girl anymore. While Corvak creates a desperate diversion, I focus, trying to remember his lessons, trying to find my own power amidst the overwhelming chaos and my own paralyzing fear.
I reach for the magic inside me, trying to unravel their illusions, to push back against the oppressive, terrifyingatmosphere they have created. But their power is immense, a tidal wave of ancient, practiced evil.
As I strain to form a simple defensive ward, a direct blast of their energy strikes me. It is a cold, malevolent force that slams into my chest, knocking me to my knees and driving the air from my lungs.
I am on the ground, gasping for breath, my vision swimming. The Purna’s magic is a chilling poison, seeping into my bones, leaving me weak and disoriented.
The whispers in the air intensify, telling me I am worthless, that I should give up, that I belong to them. Through the swirling black ash, I see Corvak fighting, a magnificent, desperate beast, holding three of them at bay.
But another Purna, the silver-haired leader, is circling around behind him, her eyes glowing with triumph, a spear of crackling black energy forming in her outstretched hand.
He does not see her. He is going to die. He is going to die for me. The thought is a bolt of pure, white-hot rage that burns away my fear, my pain, my despair.
No. I will not let them have him. I am not the frightened girl from the village. I am not their specimen. I am not a victim to be rescued. I am a fighter.
Determined not to be taken alive, and even more determined to protect Corvak, I push back. I don't try to summon the small, controlled light from my lessons. I dig deeper, reaching past the fear and the discipline, and I pull on the raw, wild, untamed power that seems to lurk in me.
It is an act of pure will, a desperate, primal scream from my very soul. I feel the power answer my call, a burning flood of energy that surges through my veins. I get to my feet, my body trembling with the sheer force of it. I raise my hand, not in defense, but in attack.
A raw, untamed blast of white-gold light, the very essence of my life force, explodes from my palm, aimed directly at the witch who is about to kill my mate.
27
CORVAK
The fight is a maelstrom of claws and dark magic. I am locked in a brutal dance with three of the witches, their combined power a battering ram against my defenses. A bolt of cold energy slams into my shoulder, sending a shock of numbing pain down my arm, and I grunt, forcing myself to push through it.
I am wounded, outnumbered, and beginning to tire. But for every blow I take, I give one back, my claws tearing through their shimmering magical shields and finding the soft flesh beneath. My leonine roar is a constant challenge to their arrogant power, a promise of the violence I will inflict upon them for touching what is mine.
Through the chaos, I see her. The silver-haired leader, the one who called Diana a specimen. She is circling the fight, her eyes glowing with triumph, a spear of crackling black energy forming in her outstretched hand.
She is behind me, her spell aimed directly at my back. I am trapped, unable to turn and face her without exposing myself to the three witches in front of me. A cold knot of despair tightensin my gut. I have failed. I brought her out of one prison only to lead her to her death alongside me.
Then, the world erupts in a flash of brilliant, white-gold light. It is not the cold, corrupt magic of the Purna, but something warm, pure, and overwhelmingly powerful. The blast slams into the silver-haired witch, throwing her backward with a shriek of shocked pain, her half-formed spell dissolving into harmless sparks.
The sheer force of the light momentarily stuns the other Purna, their attacks faltering. I whip my head around and see Diana. She is on her feet, her hand outstretched, her green-gold eyes blazing with a golden fire I have never seen. Awe, terror, and a fierce, soaring pride crash through me. This is her power. And she is wielding it to save me.
The golden light fades, but its effect lingers. The Purna’s concentration is shattered. The nightmarish illusions they had woven around the hollow flicker and die, the twisted trees and writhing shadows dissolving to reveal the simple, snow-covered clearing once more. The sudden return to reality seems to disorient the witches, their perfect coordination broken.
This is the opening I need.
