Chapter 36

Tristan

The two beasts– one black, one brown – tear through the men like creatures possessed, magic bouncing off their raised fur, men unable to hold back the force of their power. I'm barely required to do a thing – just deflect some fire and take out one or two men who make it past the raging wolves and come at me.

It takes less than a few minutes and then the men we'd faced are dead, the beasts' mouths dripping with blood. The black beast turns its great head and looks at me, its eyes the same chestnut brown as Spencer's.

Is my friend in there somewhere? Can he see and hear me? Is he in control or not?

The beast barks as if impatient and I point down the winding corridor the way the warden had brought me. An alarm blares, and red lights flash overhead. The noise from the prisoners grows a thousand times louder.

The beasts race down the corridor, their claws scraping against the stone floor and I chase after them.

Those won't be the only men we face and soon magic comes colliding around the corner. It skims over the beasts' fur and I duck, letting it hurtle over head. We slow our pace, taking the next corner with caution. More men, more fire. They're no match for the beasts. I remember how Spencer had fought at the academy – strong and powerful, determined to protect Rhianna. Tonight, the two beasts fight with an aggression and power that's almost beautiful if it weren't so destructive. The beasts tear apart the men we meet and I smash apart any locked doors we encounter. Then we're in the main yard of the fortress, the drawbridge raised again right in front of us.

The sounds from within the main fortress are louder than ever. The prisoners know an escape is in progress and sparks of magic splinter into the air, the sound of walls cracking, bars snapping clear in the night.

The chaos means there are no more guards here to face us, only the raised drawbridge blocking our exit.

The black beast stops before it, sniffing at the wood, its great shoulders heaving, its fur damp with sweat and blood.

"How do we get through?" the beast asks me, his voice deeper, older – ancient sounding.

I hurry to his side, inspecting the complicated-looking mechanism. I have no idea how to work it. I raise my arm.

"Fuck it," I say, and the bridge releases, crashing across the moat, freedom stretching into the distance beyond.

I step forward, motioning for the wolves to follow me, and as I do another group of guards come sprinting into the yard.

"Stop!" one of them yells. "Stop right there!"

Not likely.

I call on all the energy I have, forming a fireball the size of a small car to form in the air and then I fling it at them, running after the beasts, burning the goddamn bridge behind me for good measure.

As I reach the end of the bridge, my foot hitting the road beyond, I allow myself to smile.

We did it.

We fucking did it.

But then the beasts are screeching to a halt in front of me, and the smile falls from my lips.

Charging our way, surrounded by more men than I can count, is my father.

"Hello, Tristan," he calls out, his voice amplified by his magic, "I'd heard you were here."

And I've nothing left, not enough in the tank to fight him with, the pain in my gut overwhelming, making me far weaker than I should be.

The giant brown beast bares his teeth, blood and spit drooling from his jaws, and launches up into the air, right towards the mass of men.

My father simply lifts his hand, and the beast is caught in mid-air by some invisible force. It hangs there, thrashing and snarling, unable to free itself. My father cackles, flicks his wrist and a horrifying snapping sound shoots through the air. The great beast dangles limp and lifeless, then crashes to the ground, dead.

Before me, the black beast – Moreau – is bombarded with magic, hissing and smarting against his fur, the smell of it putrid, and then he too collapses motionless before me as the cold tentacles of my father's magic wrap around my neck and I fall to my knees.

"Spencer," I croak, my hands at my throat. "Spencer."