Page 87 of Fate Promised

He growled. “Hoyt must have used a lot of magic creating that explosion. I’m going to wear him out. All you need to do is wait a few more minutes.”

“Everyone could be injured. Or dying!”

He scanned the cliffs. Hans was already on his feet, his eyes scarlet and his claws out. He roared and leaped toward the nearest necromancer. Bits of black robe flew into the air. “Don’t worry about the vulk. Stay here.”

He moved forward, but Triska stopped him. She pulled the necklace from her neck. “Here. Take this. It’s good luck.”

He slid it over his neck and stepped out of the trees.

Across the cliff, Hoyt turned toward Hans. Juri sprinted out of the forest and yelled. It was time to end the necromancer.

Hoyt whirled and faced him. “Who are you?” A faint trace of flame licked up his arms, much weaker than the flames that covered him before.

“I’m a barber.” He spread his arms, and a smattering of rain hit his face. “I heard how unfortunate your facial hair was and came to offer my services.”

Hoyt narrowed his eyes, then flicked his hand lazily. A thread of flame jerked out like a whip. Juri leaped sideways, and it barely missed his thigh.

A tight smile twisted Hoyt’s lips, making his scar turn whiter. “Golden eyes? You’re that vulk with the rune. And in human form.” He shook his head. “The rune really is a weakness.” He pointed across the meadow at Fergal. “The magicwielders are no longer a problem. And now the vulk are turning back into men. This is almost too easy.”

From the charred circle on the ground, a great puff of green smoke blew into the air. It rose around Juri and cut off his vision. The sulfur stung his eyes, and he coughed.

A green ball of magic soared out of the smoke and slammed into his shoulder. He spun hard and fell back to the ground. White-hot heat spread from his shoulder through his limbs as if he’d been struck by lightning. His fingers curled, and his legs twitched. The pain intensified. Once again, he couldn’t move. Could barely breathe.

Hoyt stood over him, bouncing a ball of emerald light on his palm. He bent and his gaze drifted to Juri’s chest. The simple shirt he’d gotten from Finn was in tatters, and his chest was visible. “Yep, there’s the rune.” The necromancer shook his head.

Hoyt drew his arm back and shot his ball of magic directly at Juri’s chest.

Darkness enveloped him. Pain seared through his limbs, but it was far away. He was floating, and in the air in front of him was the beautiful golden symbol of the rune. It winked once, twice, then the edges faded, turning crispy and black.

“No!” If he let the symbol leave, he’d never get it back. Never have Triska as his own. She was his mate. The only person in the entire world made to be at his side. Forever. He’d known it when he was ten. He’d known it when he’d leaped for her on the beach three weeks ago. And he knew it even more now.

Juri touched the symbol before him, letting its magic wash through him—and chose.

Golden light flowed through him. The pain disappeared. The ring around his neck warmed. His hand, coated in the gold of the rune, darkened into a vulk’s fur and claws. The symbol winked once more and shot into his chest.

Juri gasped. The surrounding darkness faded, and he lay on the ground in the meadow once more as rain pelted his face.

“What? How are you still alive?” Hoyt’s mouth twisted into a grimace, and he hurled another bolt at Juri. The ring glowed and surrounded Juri in golden light. It heated on his chest. Hoyt’s blast of green magic clashed with the golden light and snapped back, hitting Hoyt in the head.

As Hoyt was lifted off his feet, he screamed one tortured cry. The necromancer cartwheeled through the air and landed in a heap on his side. Juri ran forward, his claws lancing out to their full six inches. He roared.

Damn it was good to be a vulk again.

Before he reached Hoyt, a black-robed figure with a red hand on the chest sprinted toward the fallen figure. He ripped Hoyt’s robes open and grabbed something out of it. The grimoire! As Juri sprang for him, the man created a mass of swirling air and vaulted into a portal. It snapped shut.

Juri roared again, but it was too late. Hans and Finn leaped to his side, but the only thing left to see was the life draining from Hoyt’s eyes.

The necromancer was dead.

The three vulk stared down at him. Rain dripped from Juri’s muzzle in a steady stream. “We lost the leader.” He scanned the cliff. The other Dark Cabal members lay dead on the stone.

Hazel, holding her hand to her side, stood with Triska by a now seated Fergal. Juri sprinted across the cliffs and joined them.

He put his arm around Triska and hugged her close. She put a hand to his face. “You got your vulk form back!”

Fergal’s face was pale, his cheeks sunken. “What happened?”

Hazel pushed a lock of her hair out of her face. “The one with the red hand on his chest got away. He .…” She frowned. “My magic was spent, and he had the upper hand. He could have ended me, but he didn’t. He portaled away.”

---