“Probably because they’re not mass murderers.”
Malysa laughed then. Laughed and laughed. “Your hands are all red.”
Suddenly, Cyrene’s hands were literally red. Blood dripping off of them as if she’d just killed all those people she feared she would.
“Doesn’t it call you?”
Cyrene shivered as if Malysa had run a nail down her neck.
“The blood magic?”
“No,” Cyrene ground out.
“It wants you to come home. To me.”
Suddenly, the need hit her full force like it hadn’t since she was cured in Fen. She dropped to her knees. It ached so bad. She thought she was going to die. The need, the want, the pain, the desire, the blood. Her stomach clenched, and she groaned.
She closed her eyes and tried to fight the blood magic from overwhelming her and leaving her senseless. She was stronger than this. She could get out of this. She didn’t need it. She didn’t want it. She had promised that she would never do it again or else it would end in disaster.
She gritted her teeth and remembered this was just a dream. Just spirit. It was all controlled by whoever was strongest. Cyrene pushed back inch by inch. Released her need for it. Shoved it away from her. Pressed it out of her body and then tossed it toward Malysa.
Malysa took a step back in surprise. Her eyes widened and then narrowed.
Cyrene knew then that Malysa was about to grasp back control of the dream. That she was here to toy with her. And, if she got the edge again, she’d never let her go.
She concentrated, and with a gasp, she fell backward out of the spiritual plane. The sound of Malysa’s screams of frustration was her last thought before she crashed back into her body, emotionally and physically spent.
4
The Council
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Vera cried over and over again. Tears spilled down her cheeks as she rocked Cyrene’s body. “Please forgive me. I held on as long as I could. But she saw my weakness. She pushed me out.”
“Vera,” Cyrene choked.
“Oh, Cyrene,” Vera gasped. “You’re alive. How did you get out? She let you out?”
Cyrene’s only response was rolling over and vomiting up the contents of her stomach. She purged and purged and purged. Would have opened up her own veins to try to get the dark magic out of her bloodstream if she thought it would help. But all she felt was the tingling ache of it zinging through her system. The desire gnawing through her stomach.
Vera ran her hand down Cyrene’s back. She could sense Sarielle and Ameerath hovering nearby. Their distress was palpable.
What happened, my soul sister? I felt the great Vera break the link, her magic fracturing, but then you were gone. Pulled away from me.
The fear was clear in Sarielle’s voice as she spoke directly into Cyrene’s mind, but she had no words yet. The sensation of blood magic still crawled through her. So potent. So tempting.
“It was Malysa,” Vera said. “She pulled you to her.”
Cyrene nodded, spitting the disgusting taste of bile out of her mouth. She swallowed and winced at the raw texture of her throat. She was in no condition to speak about what had happened. The fear was still raw, and the sickness continued to escalate and run rampant through her.
She needed to get away.
Far, far away from any humans.
She didn’t trust herself. Not with Malysa’s influence in her veins. Not with the blood magic threatening for her to take a life.
She closed her eyes and dug her hands into the hard-packed earth. She was stronger than this. She had only used blood magic once. She did not want this. She was stronger than this.
“Cyrene,” Vera croaked, “what happened in there?”
Cyrene just shook her head and bodily crawled away from Vera. She wrapped her arms around her legs and then rocked back and forth, back and forth. She needed to get it out. She needed it gone.
She felt the brush of the bonding link between her and Sarielle. The question that she didn’t have to give voice to. The strength that was there for her if she needed it.
She took a deep breath and then released it. She did it again. And again.
Until her body didn’t tremble with the magic, didn’t attempt to suffocate her.
Then, she looked up and found both dragons and a battered Vera staring at her with concern on their ancient faces. The sun crested the horizon behind them, bathing them in a soft orange glow. Dawn. They’d been out here all night. And she hadn’t slept or eaten in…she didn’t know how long.
Recharge.
She had to recharge.
If she didn’t…she didn’t know what she would do.
“Blood magic,” was all she could get out through gritted teeth.
Vera’s shocked face said everything she needed to know. This was bad. Very bad. “Let’s get you back to camp.”
Cyrene’s eyes widened with fear. Camp. Where the people were. And Vera had no magic. No sister. Avoca was broken. And the Network was a jumble of magical users. Nothing like the Ancient Ones in Fen who had helped bring her back from the brink. If things went south, there would be no one to stop it. She could become a vessel for Malysa without even thinking about it.
“Away,” she said at once. Her eyes shifted to Sarielle. A plea in the blue orbs. “Far away.”
“Cyrene, wait,” Vera gasped. “We can figure this out.”
Climb on my back, and we will soar into the skies. I will protect you from the taint that calls to you.
Taint. Yes, that was what was in her.
Yes…the skies.
Cyrene crawled away from Vera, rising to her feet as she reached Sarielle’s flank. Then, she used her remaining strength to haul herself onto her dragon’s back. And they flew away into the distance. Far from the army that beckoned her.
Cyrene felt weak.
It was a sensation she did not much appreciate. And would not allow to happen again. Could not afford to let happen again.
Sarielle landed back in the clearing the next morning. The camp was visible beyond as Cyrene slid from her powerful back and dropped to her feet. She straightened, her posture stiff yet strong. She’d slept on Sarielle’s back until the dragon set down on the banks of a small lake. Cyrene had eaten late spring brambles and roasted fish over a fire. And she had thought. Thought deeply about all Malysa had said and done in the spirit plane.
With no blood nearby—save Sarielle, who seemed to have no influence on her blood-magic cravings—she had a clear head. For the first time since Malysa had dropped in on her army.
She’d harnessed the blood magic. Buried it down deep within the pit of her stomach and trapped it there. The addiction would never go away. That much she knew. That much she had accepted. But what she wouldn’t accept was its control over her. Malysa had implanted the need in her mind, and Cyrene had every intention of plucking it right back out. And shielding her mind to keep that from ever happening again.
I still think that we should fly to the mountains now and take her on.
Cyrene snorted. “I know that you do. But we have to do this the right way.”
You do it the right way. I will await the time that we can take the skies again, uninhibited. When we can go after the petulant child calling herself a goddess and show her the power of a true dragon-bound pairing.