She clutched strands from the horse’s mane to keep from falling. When they reached the landing, she had but a moment to look out at the stretch of snow-covered earth that edged the river in front of it and the forest beyond, at the base of the ridge where Darien’s castle sat. She screamed for him.
A heartbeat later, the wraith threw her from the horse, tossing her to the ground. With the roof burnt, the thick bank of snow coating the hard floor broke her fall. But her blood stained the pristine white.
Her face and arms were slashed and she tried to concentrate on healing them, but she had no time. The wraith’s fingers wrapped around her neck and he lifted her off the ground, only to launch her across the span of the church where her backside crashed against the remainder of a decayed, stone wall.
Her strangled cry of agony pierced the quiet night as she slumped to the floor again. She felt the blood trickle down the nape of her neck from a laceration at the base of her head. And from her shoulder blades to her tailbone, it seemed as though every inch of her had been beaten to a pulp.
The pain was excruciating, but she tried to stand. The wraith was not done with her. He hauled her up one more time and slammed her onto a backless pew made of granite. On her back, with the wind knocked out of her, she couldn’t suck in a breath, much less scream again. Until the wraith’s razor-sharp fingertips grazed her skin above her left breast, slicing it open.
A shrill, terror-laden sound erupted from within her. The wraith hovered over her as he seemed to penetrate tissue in search of her heart. Her eyes nearly rolled into the back of her head. The agony was so unbearable, she couldn’t detect a single ounce of her that wasn’t burning with pain.
“Jade!”
She heard Darien’s voice in the distance. Too far off, she surmised, for him to help her. Yet she whispered his name.
Her eyelids became too heavy to manage and they closed. A tragic death was not one she’d allowed herself to think of, but somehow, it seemed befitting of the world in which she lived—and the trouble she’d unwittingly invited into her life months ago.
The wraith’s hand moved from her chest, but she didn’t bother to open her eyes to see what he was up to next. She could barely breathe, let alone fight him off. She wheezed and sputtered, finding it impossible to focus on one particular injury to heal first. They were all too severe, the damage soul deep, it seemed.
Yet when the fiery sensations suddenly came from outside her body, her eyes snapped open. The wraith had taken his flame-edged form. His scorching heat melted the snow around her, including the thick layer on the pew. The water instantly boiled and she howled as it burned her skin through her sweater. Her body convulsed with violent seizures, causing her to fall off the granite bench.
“Jade!”
Over the ringing in her ears, she heard Darien’s voice again and the unsheathing of a sword. She rolled onto her back, finding a hint of relief on her scalded skin as the snow penetrated her sweater.
“Focus!”
Staring up at the sky, she realized she had no desire to do as he commanded. A few minutes more and she’d pass out from the sheer agony. She wouldn’t heal enough in her unconscious state to ever wake. There was too much damage and no way to concentrate on the individual wounds.
That was okay, she decided. Who the hell wanted to a live a life such as this anyway? With even the tiniest bit of emotional or physical pain creating so much trauma, she had to push it into the far depths of her soul on almost a daily basis?
She was about to close her eyes again, but Darien said, “You’re stronger than this.”
It sounded as though he was across the church, by the steps. She even heard Thunder snort and whine. The heat cloaking the wraith had vanished, so she assumed the ghost had left her. A moment later, she got her answer as she heard metal blades clashing.
She had faith in the Demon King’s skill. He would prevail. She closed her eyes. Too many horrific sensations consumed her to focus on one, so she didn’t. Her entire body throbbed, and sharp stabs pricked her everywhere. But it wouldn’t be much longer before she felt nothing at all. A feeling she welcomed.
Although… A nagging thought kept her from succumbing to unconsciousness. She didn’t know how Michael had fared—whether he was seriously hurt from his run-in with the demon’s horse. And what if, by some chance, Darien didn’t win this battle? His kingdom might fall—and so too would Ryleigh. Other villages. More humans.
So much was at stake, she couldn’t help but force her lids open once more. She rolled her head to the side and watched through blurry eyes as the fight ensued. She silently prayed Morgan would arrive. And the slayers. But Darien held his own against the fire wraith, meeting him blow for blow, with enough power behind his swings to back the wraith into a corner.
A hint of relief penetrated the darkness devouring her. The king would be fine. And the slayers had likely already found Michael. If he was hurt, they’d take him to the village doctor. He’d survive. She convinced herself of these things, and they provided a small measure of peace.
As she was about to drift off, though, she saw a fireball similar to the one she’d witnessed earlier in the woods shoot out from the wraith’s mouth. Just as the case had been with her, the blaze exploded at the tip of Darien’s sword and she could see the bright red heat radiate all the way down the shaft, to the handle.
Darien kept his grip much longer than she had, and the wraith expelled a second fireball. This time, the blistering heat proved to be too much for even the Demon King. He dropped his sword and let out a low snarl.
The fire wraith advanced on him with renewed confidence. Panic gripped Jade. She watched hopelessly as Darien lunged for his weapon but couldn’t reach it before the ghastly apparition got close enough to singe him. Darien stumbled backward.
Pulling strength from somewhere beyond her comprehension, Jade managed to sit up. She focused all of her energy, every single thought, on mentally lifting the sword.
She didn’t use her psychokinesis often, but her father had taught her to hone the skill. Jade had to push past her pain to concentrate on raising the heavy object. No easy feat as agony ripped through her over putting one more strain on her body. But this was a mental effort, not a physical one. She still had control over her mind, despite the fact her limbs vibrated of their own accord.
With her gaze on the sword, she lifted it a mere six inches from the snow and moved it toward Darien. He seemed to keep one eye on the demon and one on his weapon.
When it was nearly in his reach, he yelled, “Let it go.”
This distracted the wraith. At the same time, Darien lurched forward, clasped the