Chapter 49

49

T he Beast

I launch my still-transforming body into the throng of magicals.

The boy’s plan is disintegrating. The students have failed to hold their ground. Instead of containing our enemy, they battle them hand to hand, magical bolts flying through the sky, exploding on the ground, crashing into bodies and into faces.

I ignore all the magic, ignore the way it singes my fur, stings at my skin. Ignore it and sink my fangs into the throat of an enemy, rip through the body of another, barrel another to the ground, cracking his skull.

The girl is not among us, instead she circles above us on one of the great reptiles, its wings wide and casting us into even darker shadows.

Her other mates are here though .

The enforcer fights with skill and a ruthless efficiency. His face wears a determined expression, his jaw set, his brow furrowed.

In contrast, the madman fights with a wild grin on his face, slashing at anyone around him with his knife, flicking his chaotic magic through the air, disappearing one moment and then reappearing another.

The learned man does not fight alone. He stands in the midst of the younger ones, calling out to them, directing and encouraging them, reminding them of spells as he casts his own and fights to keep the enemy at bay.

And then there’s the boy’s friend. The boy has always admired him for his strength and his skill and I see it all demonstrated now. His magic is nothing short of magnificent, elegant and beautiful in its power. It cuts through the enemy, scattering and dispersing them and no one and no thing can come close to him.

It is all for nothing though.

I see it clearly. There are too many of them. And as many as we cut down, more race up the hill to replace them. Around me the magicals fall.

First one, then another and another.

Those that remain weaken and tire.

Someone calls out for their mother. Another begs for release. Another weeps as blood seeps from their neck.

The older woman – the one that knew our secret – beckons her students forward. Calls on them to keep fighting. She stands among them wielding magic like lightning, the hair on her head dancing in the wind, her eyes a bright silver.

She is formidable.

And then she too is struck, a bolt of magic from nowhere. It hits her square on the chest. The lightning flickers on the ends of her fingers. Her gaze drops to the gaping hole in her chest. She opens her mouth to cry out, but she’s already dead.

I look up to the sky again, to the dragon and the girl.

What will you do now, little mate?