—Fire filled her.
It struck through her like white lightning. The flame poured into her, until she felt that she must blaze with it, shining like the sun.
Corbin shrieked, recoiling, his hands burned and blistered. He tried to scrabble away, but now it was her turn to hold fast.
The force inside her knew the warlock. It burned with a deep, powerful emotion. Not rage, or hatred, but something pure and bright and utterly without mercy.
Justice.
He had brought pain and suffering to countless lives. He should not exist.
And so, as easy as thought, he didn’t.
She unmade him, burning him right down to component particles. Wordless satisfaction radiated from that foreign force in her soul as the smoke drifted away. In a million ways, a million lives, the atoms that had once been the warlock would find new purpose. All matter danced in the endless cycle, constantly changing, eternally reborn.
Just like the Phoenix.
There was still a tiny spot of blackness in the blazing whiteness within her. Her swan nestled in the heart of the inferno, dwarfed by the fiery wings enfolding it. Yet it opened its own ebony wings wide in a welcoming embrace.
Oh! her swan called out fiercely. Oh, at last, at last! You came back, as we knew you wou
ld, at last you are back!
Her swan knew the incandescent power filling them. Knew him.
“Rose!” Virginia seized her shoulders, ashen with terror. “Are you all right? Did Corbin hurt you?”
“No,” Rose said. Her voice sounded strange in her own ears. Some part of her expected it to be much deeper. “I’m fine.” A pure, delighted laugh bubbled up from the center of her being. “Everything’s fine.”
“Rose…” Virginia swallowed, hesitating. “Ash is, is…Hugh’s working on him now. But it’s not looking good.”
Rose put her hand on Virginia’s, squeezing it. “It’s going to be fine.”
Virginia was still eying her worriedly, as though concerned she had gone mad with shock. Rose wished she could reassure her, but time was running short.
Very carefully, she stood up. Walking with the Phoenix inside her felt a bit like trying to balance a tray of full, brimming pint glasses. Power threatened to spill out with every movement.
She heard Connie suck in a gasp. “Her feet. Look at her feet!”
The scent of scorched rock rose in her wake. Dai put out a hand—to support her, to stop her, she couldn’t tell—but snatched it back. The red dragon shifter stared at his burnt fingers.
“Hugh,“ she said softly. “Stop.”
The unicorn didn’t move. Its forelegs were bent, whole body bowed low, every muscle tense. The silver radiance of its horn was too bright to look at directly. The sharp point rested directly over Ash’s heart.
Yet his chest stayed still. Despite the healing power pouring into him, there was no flicker of life. His open eyes gazed into eternity, empty and peaceful.
“Hugh,” Rose said again. She held out a hand, moving closer. “It’s all right. You can stop now.”
The unicorn flinched from her burning aura. It stumbled back, head hanging in exhaustion. With a shimmer of light, it shrank back into Hugh.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice cracking. Ivy hurried to support him, wrapping comforting arms around her mate. “There’s nothing I can do. He’s gone.”
“I know.” Rose sank to her knees next to Ash’s body. “Don’t worry. It’s going to be all right.”
He was still warm. She cradled his head in her lap, smoothing back his graying hair. Her fingertips traced the beloved lines of his face.
Now, she said, to her swan.