That ancient power responded, allowing me to draw its energy into my veins. But I didn’t stop there, for there was also power in the remnants of the sun’s natural warmth, and in the resting heat within the stone walls of the castle sprawled behind me. The void inside me filled with power, hot and potent. I clenched my fists, readying my fire. In response, flames crackled at my fingertips and a roar of heat rippled over my skin. I tasted smoke on my tongue and reveled in the fiery warmth that bloomed in my chest.
Fire was my gift. My inheritance.
I readied my stance, preparing to unleash the fury inside me.
The hound spoke. Its voice was guttural, deep, and bone-jarringly ancient. “Puny Druid. No match for me.”
I didn’t respond with words. I raised my palms and thrust them toward the hound, unleashing the fire that raged inside me. The stream of red-orange flame was a torrent of heat.
But it never touched the hound; its reflexes were too fast. As soon as the fire left my fingertips, it sprang into the air and soared above me. The muzzle that descended was a snarling, twisted mass of hate, the canines viciously sharp and ferocious.
Its enormous paws hit my chest, and I fell backward onto the damp grass. The air whooshed out of my lungs as the weight of the beast pinned me to the ground. I felt its long claws latch and hold onto the skin under my leather jacket, tearing in deep, lethal slices. Ignoring the pain, shutting off the receptors in my brain, I threw my body sideways, away from the muzzle that sought to latch onto my throat and tear into my jugular. At the same time, I slammed my hands into the beast’s sides and channeled into its body the heat I’d created.
The hound howled in rage, but there were lashings of pain in that noise and I could smell the unforgiving stench of burnt fur. Using the distraction of its pain, I wrenched myself out of its grasp and rolled to my feet, ignoring the pull of cut sinew above my right pectoral.
The hell hound paused, its head cocking to the side in an eerie replication of a human. Then it spoke, and its voice was a dark, gravelly serration of sound that sent a piercing jolt of pain to my temples. “You are more than just a pretty face. I haven’t had a worthy opponent in eons. I will enjoy this.” Its muzzle peeled back, and a large tongue rolled out of its mouth to slaver the side of its jaw. “Besides, Druid blood tastes better than any other.”
I ignored my writhing anger, which hammered for release, not losing focus on the shift of the animal’s sinews, and the bunch and release of the muscles in its haunches. It was a language that screamed the beast's next move and was my only advantage in this fight. But then the hound shifted as its attention focused on something behind me.
A cold stillness hit my belly. Nora.
I took a chance and whipped my head around, my blood freezing as I saw Nora standing in front of a dense roiling mass of red and black smoke. And now that I was focusing on my other senses, I could smell the unmistakable signature on the air—acrid smoke and burning flesh.
Talorgan.
“Fuck!”
The Cù-Sìth was a diversion. The real danger had been behind me the whole time!
Talorgan had most likely planned this. Knew I would send Nora running back to the Estate for the safety behind its walls. But she hadn’t reached it. And Nora was no match for Talorgan. Not now. She was too old to win this battle alone, her bones too brittle, her reflexes too slow.
At that moment, I abandoned the fight with the Cù-Sìth, turned my back to the hound, and sprinted toward her. It was a fool’s race. I’d only managed to gain ten meters before a powerful force hit me in the back. The motion propelled me forward, face-first into the soft earth as viciously long claws raked the length of my spine. My back was on fire, and this time I couldn’t stop the cry that erupted from my lips, couldn’t stop the agony that rippled through me. As I lay stunned, without the wits to put up a fight, the hound snapped its jaw around my arm, wrenching me onto my back.
Panting, I lay there, staring up at its cavernous maw of grisly teeth. I could see the blood that ran down its muzzle, the color vivid against its dark green fur. I could smell the iron on the air.
My blood.
The hound knew I was almost broken, knew it had bested me. It reared up to the heavens and loosed a bark of triumph. The sound echoed to my very marrow for that cry, it was for me. I had become its new prey, and the grip of the chase was upon it. But I’d been biding my time while it pinned my chest, and in that moment of its conceit, my questing fingers finally found the handgun shoved under the waistband of my jeans. As soon as my hand clenched around its familiar grip, I didn’t hesitate. I yanked it out and aimed it dead center at the beast’s chest.
Using the last vestige of my power, I squeezed the trigger.
The bullet, laced with a blaze of orange heat, shot forth to spear the hound’s chest, right into its heart. The beast’s head reared down, shock causing its jaw to go slack as the fiery bullet hit its target. I saw the hound’s split-second decision to lunge at my throat for a final killing bite, but before it had time to give effect to that desire, the bullet exploded, and the hound became a living, breathing fireball. It yelped, pain and terror overtaking all reason. Springing backward off my chest, it twisted and turned in frantic leaps, seeking relief from the burn that scoured its skin. There was a high-pitched whine as if the air had been vacuumed, then in the next second, there was a contained explosion, and the hound disintegrated into ash.
Groaning, not sparing a moment to consider what type of injuries I carried, I pushed to my feet. Moving was pure agony as I felt every slashing tear pull and flow with a torrent of blood. I could feel my power diminishing, like quicksand through my fingers. But I couldn’t stop, couldn’t rest. I had to get to Nora, the last Daughter of Winter.
I looked in her direction. That roiling mass of black and red smoke had taken form during my desperate fight with the Cù-Sìth, and now a figure cowled in red stood before her, a hand held out as if in request. Nora had fallen to her knees. She was holding something out to Talorgan.
My heart ceased. No! Not the pendant!
Desperate, I closed my eyes, searching for any last remnants of strength. I found the small ember that eternally burned, the spark of my power. There was a whisper of energy there, just enough to manipulate. I fanned its flames, building it higher, ignoring the tang of iron in my mouth, the warning that I was verging on burnout.
I trained all my consciousness on Nora. “Fight!” I rasped out in a ragged breath, sending the message soaring down our internal thread.
Her emotions snapped back down our shared line. She was scared, screaming at me to help. I could feel her clawing panic at the trap that Talorgan was spinning around her. Nora knew she had lost.
I fanned that ember even higher, pushing my gift to exceed its limits. I felt sweat spring out on my brow, and my breath grew short as the burn of my gift smothered the oxygen in my lungs. Not sparing another moment, I drew a rune in the air and flung my hands toward the hooded form just as he reached out to accept Nora’s offering.
A stream of scorching orange flame hurtled from my palms and smashed with a blinding force into the side of Talorgan’s form. The blast coalesced into the air, flames and smoke twisting and colliding. Choking, coughing, I strained to catch sight of them both, but the air was too thick. Then there was movement, a fast-moving swirl of black and red. The whine on the air was unmistakable—a portal!
I lunged to my feet, desperate to reach Nora, but even as I did so, I knew the effort was in vain. I’d never reach her in time. But that didn’t stop my desperate dash, an innate need that was born of a prophecy thousands of years old.