Chapter 47 #2
He seems to be quickly gaining the upper hand, driving Malachi further and further back with expert, relentless pressure. He moves like a man possessed. No wasted motion, no hesitation, each strike designed not just to land but to destroy.
But it doesn't matter how fast he is, or how powerful, or how determined.
Because whatever power Malachi drew out of me seems to have turned the thin threads of his control into something more like chains, allowing him to steer the dragons with far less conscious effort, even as he continues to focus on the sword fight in front of him.
As he parries Reave's attacks, he simultaneously beckons one of the dragons closer.
The beast responds immediately, streaking away from the group Sesca was herding and coming to hover just above the hilltop. It’s enormous, restless, its attention fixed on Reave, glowing white eyes following his every movement.
Malachi blocks an overhead slash and then immediately sprints away, putting several dozen feet between himself and Reave before shifting all of his attention to controlling the dragon.
In the next breath, that dragon drops from the sky in a steep, controlled dive, its bulk blotting out the sun as it descends.
Reave remains perfectly still even as its shadow overtakes him.
His eyes are solid black. The air goes cold and dense with the familiar pressure of his cursed power, but it isn’t coming as effortlessly as normal, judging by the tension in his jaw, the clench of his fist, the white-knuckled grip he’s suddenly taken on his sword.
The dragon veers away at the very last instant.
It doesn't go far, twisting aside and rising only high enough to prepare for another dive.
I exhale the breath I've been holding. I still don't know the full power that curse in his bloodline gives Reave. I only know that it isn’t a fuel that burns cleanly, and it's a risk every time he reaches for it.
He knows this, too. And he has to realize what it will take to overpower Malachi and the power the Flamebound mark lends him—has to realize it's too much to ask of himself. Too dangerous.
He doesn't seem to care.
The dragon locks on him and prepares to attack again, and Reave still refuses to move, to yield so much as a step.
Another dive. Another near miss. The dragon grows angrier, slamming down onto the hillside and sending deep cracks splitting out from where its feet strike the rocky ground.
Its shadow is so massive it's as though night has already overtaken this hilltop again. Power seems to roll off it in tangible waves, raising the hairs along my arms. It works its jaws in threatening motions, flashing dagger-like teeth, and each time it opens its mouth fully, I’m hit with the nauseating scent of smoke and rotting meat.
Through it all, I can sense the current of Malachi's control running like a bolt through the beast’s twitching muscles, tightening and twisting and prodding it into motion.
I reach for that control and manage just enough interference to make the dragon hesitate one last time, tossing its head and rumbling in confusion, caught between conflicting pulls.
But I can already feel my hold slipping away with my next heartbeat.
Get up, comes a voice—mine, or Sesca's, or something older and deeper that’s driving me. I don't know where the command comes from, but my body obeys it, slipping free of the Mouren soldiers still trying to support me.
I scramble upright and position myself in front of Reave.
He says something to me—I can't focus enough to understand it—and I want nothing more than to turn around and meet his gaze, to let myself be steadied by it for just one moment.
There's no time.
The dragon lunges.
I roll out of its path, but its tail whips around, catching me across the side and sending me off my feet entirely. I close my eyes and brace for the impact of the ground.
It never comes.
Talons snag me out of the air before I land.
A second dragon has descended, catching me with a grip of iron and climbing skyward before I fully understand what's happened.
I hear Reave shout my name—a raw and ragged sound—and then the rush of wind takes his voice away, takes every sound away as I'm carried up, up, up with a speed that steals the breath from my lungs and paralyzes my body.
Sesca. I push for her through the bond with everything I have left. Sesca!
I feel her turning toward me, the urgency spiking through our bond. But she's too far, too entangled in too many other battles. And the dragon carrying me is wickedly fast, frantic to obey Malachi's commands, driving north with single-minded purpose.
In no time at all, we're above the clouds. So high I can't see the valley anymore, can't see the battle or the two armies or the hill where Reave is still standing. My thoughts rush away with the wind. The world below seems less real with every passing second.
I fight for focus, for some thread of control I might be able to catch. I’m stronger than Malachi. He’s using me. He can’t control this dragon without my magic, without the divine bond that lies within my body and soul.
I have to be stronger than him.
The dragon slows at this thought.
I see a chance, and I make myself take it, even though I just want to shut my eyes and give up.
You’re mine, I think.
It flounders in mid-air, wings beating furiously.
You obey me, not him.
Its grip on me shifts, talons loosening only to tighten again with so much force I can’t breathe. Darkness bleeds into my vision.
Stop.
It only grips tighter.
I push one last desperate thought outward, more of a plea than a command: Don't crush me.
The pressure finally releases—
Too much of it releases.
And then I'm falling.