One of the big timber wolves lunged. And then another, and another. I slammed them out of the way, barely able to do spells fast enough to keep them off me. A jet of fire hit my shield from the side and heat bled through my world, so potent that it singed my hair.
I jogged away, sending a cooling blast at Cyra. But I had yet to master elemental magic, and the blast only neutralized her fire instead of countering it. A furry body hit me from the side. Freaking Isabelle!
I flexed my shield, using some of the accumulated magic to blast her off. Then I sent another repulsion spell at the shifters and a wall of blistering pain at the gargoyles, who were advancing much less gracefully than their shifter counterparts. Little clawed hands grabbed my leg, and I just barely caught sight of a gaping mouthful of razor-sharp teeth ready to chomp down before I quickly released more stored magic at Niamh.
Sweating now, I redoubled my efforts, blasting Kace away, keeping Hollace at bay, and knocking Nathanial, the newest gargoyle in our crew, backward. Isabelle slunk behind two of her crew, waiting for an opportunity. I spun to fling a bruiser of a spell at the wolves, but a weight banged into the center of my back, shoving me forward. Before I could regroup, a foot sped for my face. Hollace’s.
I yanked my weight backward, seeing the dirt on his sole as it barely missed my face. That would’ve hurt.
I’d arched too far back, though. My bones groaned. My muscles couldn’t hold the awkward position. I tumbled to the ground, and the shifters were on me immediately, pinning me, trying to get at my jugular.
Fear overwhelmed me, the primal part of me screaming that they were going for the kill. That if I allowed them at my throat, I was done for. That was the benefit to training like this: I did forget, and it allowed me to fight like I really was struggling for my life.
My gargoyle form exploded out, my wings snapping along the ground, one tweaking painfully against my sweats before the confining material ripped away. Magic ballooned from me, a nasty spell I’d learned from the second Ivy House training book rippling outward from my defensive layer. Furry bodies blasted off me. An acidic gale eroded their protective shields, bearing into them without mercy.
I sprang to my feet, fighting the lingering terror, knowing I had my salvation in my magical arsenal.
I pounded everyone with another nasty spell. The dangerous parts didn’t make it through their shields, but the sheer power battered them around the field. Niamh was up first, never down for long, and I sent a magical explosion her way. I’d always been good at blowing things up. She zoomed sky-high from the concussion, her gremlin form almost comical as it zipped through the treetops. The shifters followed.
Cyra stepped forward, slipping out from behind a tree. I knew immediately that she was on the offensive. She must have decided I might not go for her plan unless she goaded me into it, because it was obvious she didn’t intend to wait for a surprise attack.
So be it.
I yanked all of the others’ protective shields away, leaving only mine. Power surged through me, like I was a ship freed from an anchor.
Cyra bent a little and brought her hands together, readying what I knew would be a thick stream of white-hot magma. She wasn’t pulling any punches.
Watching Austin fight her, I’d worried for his life. I’d forged my blood bond with Ivy House after months of hesitating, in the hopes that it would make me powerful enough to intervene and help him. He hadn’t needed me in the end, and although I’d thought it remarkable that he’d defeated such a strong adversary without any help, I hadn’t realized how remarkable. It turned out Austin was the only shifter in recorded history to have dominated a phoenix. Learning he’d knowingly risked his life for me, again, had nearly made me throw up (I’d ignored the primal part of me that had been incredibly turned on).
Now it was my turn. Cyra was one of the most powerful beings in the magical world. Would I measure up?
She pushed her hands forward, sending forth a thin stream of glowing red and white flame that shed smoke as it cut through the air. I fortified my shield with everything I had, as much power as I could wrap around myself.
Her magic hit my shield like a Mack truck. The point of contact couldn’t be larger than the head of a pin, but she’d condensed a staggering amount of power into it. Flame coughed out at the point of contact and black smoke drifted up.
I gritted my teeth and took a step forward, which seemed counterintuitive, but I felt the need to take some sort of action, and stepping back was not an option. Her magic burrowed into my defensive spell, incredibly potent. Cyra shook with the effort, her thin brows low and her jade eyes focused.