Page 63 of Alpha Exile

"You cannot burn me!" She throws a smirk over her shoulder, and when Kieran gets too close for Roarke, sends a lazy hand out and tosses him away with magic. "I'm immortal, you weakling. Or have you forgotten?"

I haven't. My hand tightens on the dagger, and I warn my mates,I'm going for it.

Do it.Kieran pushes up to his feet and shakes himself off.I want to watch this bitch choke on her own blood.

So do I. But when I race straight towards her, closing the ground between us, I find myself fighting her impossible magic. It tears at my ankles and wraps around my calves, black and oozing, just like the curse magic I once foolishly tried to wield.

Her heart must be blackened and rotting from all that magic. Unlike my fire, which consumes and disappears, it drips onto the ground and coats everything it touches. Roarke's legs, which march robotically forward, are covered with the stuff from knee to ankle. I feel certain I'll have to burn my clothes after this to get rid of the stench of it.

Which gives me an idea. Gathering my flames once more, I weave them into delicate threads this time, my pulse racing. Delphine is moving forward faster and faster, her feet carried by unnatural magic, headed north—towards the mountains. In a moment or two she'll be too far ahead to catch, and so will Roarke.

So I let the flames spin out of me, thousands of threads dancing in the air. Weaving my fingers together in the motions Kerry taught me, I interlace them back and forth. The threads echo my movements, turning into an impossibly strong weft that unfurls on the ground like fabric.

"Almost there," I murmur, gritting my teeth as I strain the very limits of my power, weaving more and more. I warn the guys, "As soon as I do this, get Roarke and drag him away from her!"

They nod their shaggy heads, each of them breaking out into full-out runs, paws fighting the murky black magic that oozes at our feet.

I throw my woven threads of fire into that murk and send it across the magic-coated ground, until the edges of my weave hit first Roarke's, then Delphine's legs. The hybrid jolts to a stop, looking over her shoulder at me, eyes wide.

It's this moment when her gaze lands on the dagger in my interlocked hands, its blade reflecting the warm light of hundreds of thousand of threads made of flame. The only thing in this world that can kill her—something she knows, based on the fearful widening of her eyes.

"Now!"

I pull my hands apart all at once, sending sparks across my weft of flames. The threads burst and surge, turning from harmless threads of heat and light into all-out fire.

Fire that consumes, that destroys, that burns whatever fuel it finds. The only fuel here is the oozing blackness of cursed magic. So it burns through that and curls around, racing across the ground to lick at blades of grass and fallen leaves.

Roarke's feet are freed from the black magic, and he takes a step away from Delphine, his vision clearing for a moment. Her eyes are on me, her expression wild, her focus broken.

I smirk and run full-out directly towards her, my hand tightening on the dagger in my right hand, my fingers curling around the last of my flame in my left palm.

My mates howl, converging on Roarke. I pass them and get close enough to Delphine that I can see the pale color of her eyes.

One more heartbeat. Another. I raise my arms, ready to strike—

Roarke steps between me and Delphine, a snarl twisting his handsome face, his silvered eyes staring me down.

Twenty-Six

Bastian

Delilah drops the dagger, skittering to a stop. She stares up at Roarke, and I feel horror and tension from her through the bond. She's frozen to the spot.

He snarls, his fangs curving out of his mouth, his fingers extending into claws.

Which is when Kieran leaps on Roarke, tackling him and pulling him away before he can attack. Roarke fights back beneath him, while Delilah snaps out of her stupor and sweeps the dagger up off the ground.

"Watch out for that one over there."

The familiar voice makes me jump, and I swing my head around to find the ghost of Jason the necromancer floating just above the ground nearby. I blink at him, struggling to focus on his form, because he's not the only spirit out here.

There are hundreds of others, all milling around restlessly, all staring at one spot.

Delphine. She's stalked away from Roarke and the others, her hands moving rapidly in front of her, wind stirring her long black hair and the burnt, tattered remains of her stained white dress.

Her eyes are fixed on Delilah, a threatening look on her face.

I make eye contact with Lance across from me, and we both move into action. Racing at Delphine from both sides, we tackle her simultaneously, taking her to the ground and interrupting her concentration.

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