Page 65 of Poison Sun

Seeing possible futures and not wanting to tell people their possible futures has made me a pretty decent liar over the years.

I just hate the sick feeling I’m getting in my stomach when I lie to Blaze.

He nods, a thoughtful look crossing his face, the moonlight somehow making his eyes burn brighter and more intense. “I understand,” he says, and suddenly, I feel something I haven’t felt in a while.

Safe.

“I know what it’s like to carry a burden alone,” he continues. “And if you ever decide to share more about yourself, then I want you to know I’m here to listen.”

“Thank you,” I say. “I appreciate it.”

“Well, I mean it.”

The air between us crackles, charged with something stronger than magic. It’s pulling us together, and I find myself leaning closer to him, the words I’ve been holding back teetering on the edge of my lips.

I’m like you. I’m a blood witch. You’re not alone. You have me now.

But before I can confess, the ground beneath us trembles, a growl echoes through the air, and a giant monster with the head of a dragon and the body of a snake bursts from the earth with its mouth wide open, ready to strike.

Morgan

The dragon-snake monster lunges at us with a ferocity that turns my blood to ice, its teeth ready to rip us to shreds so it can assumedly eat us alive.

“The Taztelwurm!” Blaze yells as we jump out of the way.

Its chin collides with the ground so hard that the earth shakes.

I remember the Taztelwurm from one of the stories Blaze shared yesterday. A creature straight out of Alpine folklore, known for its vicious nature, venomous bite, and poison breath.

Luckily, the collision with the ground seems to have startled it for a few seconds. And our packs are too cumbersome to keep on our backs, so we do as planned for situations like this—throw them off and prepare to kill this thing.

“Fire!” I yell out to Blaze. “Now!”

We unleash our magic simultaneously, streams of flames shooting from our hands, intertwining as they race toward the beast.

They envelop its head completely.

Fry it, I think, pushing more and more magic at it. Die.

But when the smoke clears, my heart sinks.

The Taztelwurm is unscathed, its scales glistening in the moonlight, a smirk almost evident on its monstrous face.

“It’s not working!” I shout, and the creature lunges again, faster this time, its tail whipping through the air like a lethal weapon.

I leap to the side, narrowly avoiding being crushed.

Blaze blasts the monster’s face with fire again, blinding it for a few seconds.

“I’ll distract,” he says to me. “You get to its belly and stab.”

As if to show what he means, Blaze aims another stream of fire at the monster—into its mouth this time.

I reach for my magic, let it erupt in flames around me, and teleport to the underside of the wurm—right at its center where its head and tail hopefully can’t reach.

Then, I reach for my dagger, gather my strength, and drive the blade through its thick, reptilian skin.

I don’t take time to admire my work after pulling out the weapon. Instead, I fire travel to the opposite side of its body, closer to its tail end than before, and stab it in the underside again.

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