Page 47 of The Phoenix Inheritance

My jaw drops. The King was murdered? The man who took the lives of my parents, but also the father of the man I love…

Garrison shakes his hand impatiently, eyeing two monsters in the distance bolting our way. “Come on, Isobel!”

I search my friend’s gaze and send a firm shake of my head. “No,” I say as clearly as I can muster despite the chaos everywhere around us. “I’m not a Hunter anymore.”

He studies me in utter consternation. “Why?”

For all the reasons I gave in my cottage but two days ago, before this whole mess broke loose. In the current state of affairs though, I don’t have time to explain that I no longer want to belong to an organization that resorts to violence and terror to combat the very same crimes.

Not that Garrison would’ve listened anyway, as he’s gawking at something a few feet behind me. Just at that moment, an arm winds around my waist to lift me up.

“Oh,” Garrison utters, sarcasm lacing his voice. “I see why now.”

And with one last disappointed look, my friend runs out of my life.

“Climb on my back, Isobel,” Dane barks before I even begin to process the loss. I awkwardly crawl on top of his bare torso, between the mighty wings folded at his flanks. His fingers snatch my hands and wind them in a tight shackle around his neck. “Hold on tight!”

I nod hastily, glancing at the approaching pair of beasts with unease. “Let’s hurry!”

Perhaps I should’ve thought twice before rushing Dane, because he takes off so brusquely it feels like I left my stomach somewhere around the ground. We soar unsteadily through the air, only narrowly escaping a fiery cannonball. Even my heart can’t beat as fast as the speed with which we glide through the tempestuous skies above Østrom, and yet I’m certain it never pumped this rapidly.

“Are you feeling alright up there?”

I grunt in what I hope sounds more like a confirmation than a terrified moan, because the last thing I want is for Dane to lose focus. How can he even see, for crying out loud? Thick, toxic wads of smoke make my eyes prickle as we shoot into the clouds.

I bury myself in the junction of Dane’s shoulders, trying to forget all but his reassuring warmth. A steady, vigorous beat pulses at the base of his neck. Dane can do this. I need to trust him. He won a blasted tournament, for heaven’s sake.

Little by little my panic ebbs away, leaving place to a more reasonable fear – I am at least a thousand feet high, after all. I peek down.

It seems we left the burning fort, and are flying above miles and miles of farmland and forests, more lush and green that I could ever imagine. My curiosity wins over, and I dare poke my head out a bit to better observe.

For a woman who never traveled much, I’m sure seeing a lot of the country now. The sun is setting, bathing homes smaller than my pimkie and fields no larger than my palm in a soft, golden glow. It’s beautiful, I think wistfully. I wonder if wherever we’re headed is as beautiful as this.

But then, a dark form slices through the perfection of the landscape. Too big for a bird. I check a few yards above. It’s not Warwick, who drifts over our heads. Agitation courses through me as I squint to better make out the winged silhouette.

A distinctly bumpy spine, leading to a pair of twisty horns and sharp fangs. A body dark and grey as the walls of Østrom. Hooked wings. Gnarly, clawed fingers.

Garrison’s warning fills my ears as nausea rolls in the pit of my stomach.

“Dane!” I still manage to choke out. “There’s a Gargoyle!”

He swears and changes directions so swiftly I’m nearly blown away by the wind. The demon veers in our direction, growing closer by the second.

“Go!” I hear Warwick bellow over the deafening gusts of air. “I’ll take care of it and join you after.”

Dane bobs his head and sails higher while Warwick swoops down below. I follow his every move, a silent scream hovering on my lips.

“He’ll be fine,” Dane promises, sensing my alarm. “If things go wrong, a Gargoyle can’t do us anything we can't be reborn from. The only end that’s final for us comes from a phoenix’s talon.”

My grip around his shoulders relaxes at the reminder. The stakes aren’t life or death here. So instead of gaping at the fierce battle in horror, I study Dane’s brother’s movements in awe. The phoenix is infinitely more precise than the fort’s minion. As lethal as the Gargoyle was five years ago, faced with a swift being like Warwick, the demon now looks as slow and heavy as the two-hundred pound statue that it is.

Dane and I fly further, but not so far that I miss the demise of the very same kind of creature that haunted me down to my dreams. In an incredibly accurate zigzag that leaves the beast reeling, Warwick shoots away just in time to avoid crashing into a tall building.

The Gargoyle, however, isn’t so clever. It storms straight into the stone wall and snaps in half from the impact. From our height I can’t assess the damage, but judging by the piercing cry that reaches our ears, the demon is in a sorry shape right now.

Cruel as it may be, wicked satisfaction fills my chest at the small revenge on my parents’ attacker.

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